The Cul-de-Sac Cons

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/29785194.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: F/M
Fandom: | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Relationship: Jeon Jungkook/Original Female Character(s), Jung Hoseok | J-
Hope/Original Female Character(s), Jeon Jungkook/You, Jung Hoseok
| J-Hope/You, Jeon Jungkook/Reader, Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Reader
Character: Kim Namjoon | RM, Kim Seokjin | Jin, Min Yoongi | Suga, Jung Hoseok
| J-Hope, Park Jimin (BTS), Kim Taehyung | V, Jeon Jungkook, Kim
Sejin (BTS), Bang Shihyuk
Additional Tags: Strangers to Lovers, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Jeon Jungkook is a
Tease, Jeon Jungkook is a Little Shit, Jung Hoseok | J-Hope is
Whipped, Cute Jung Hoseok | J-Hope, Gang Violence, Alternate
Universe - Gang World, Domestic Fluff, Alternate Universe - Domestic,
Cheating, Infidelity, Emotional Infidelity, Emotional Baggage,
Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Trauma, Psychological Trauma,
Grumpy Min Yoongi | Suga, Protective Jung Hoseok | J-Hope,
Protective Jeon Jungkook, Mentioned Kim Sejin (BTS), Criminal Park
Jimin (BTS), Criminal Kim Taehyung | V, Criminal Jeon Jungkook, Con
Artist Jeon Jungkook, Con Artists, Guns, Cars, Oral Sex, Foreplay,
Teasing, Light BDSM, Soft Dom Jeon Jungkook, Soft Dom Jung
Hoseok | J-Hope, Rough Sex, Sex, Vaginal Sex, Sex Toys,
Masturbation
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2021-03-01 Completed: 2021-05-15 Chapters: 5/5 Words:
115692

The Cul-de-Sac Cons

by bonvoyage_noona

Summary

Your two-story Tudor sits at the end of the cul-de-sac, miles away from the life that you
used to lead. The life that involved more than a few scrapes here and there. The life that
kept you on the run. But here, with your darling husband, you’ve found roots. You’ve found
peace. The kind of peace that, unfortunately, could only be ruined by the new neighbors
moving in.

Playlist: The Cul-de-Sac Cons Playlist

 The Job

When the given address turns out to be a grungy, dilapidated warehouse, you can’t help but scoff
and roll your eyes. Cliche , you think. You can already get a sense of the task at hand, some mid-
level job that won’t call for much creativity in the planning, nor any fun in the execution. You’ve
immediately lost respect for whoever this client is. The workload you’d taken on in the past couple
of months was already feeling stale, and you’d hoped that taking a chance on this new client might
bring you something exciting.

You drive around the block to do another scan. None of your sensors are chirping, which means
you’re most likely alone. And then you pull into the abandoned lot, choosing a particularly
shadowy spot to park. It’s tedious, showing up two hours early to make sure things are up to snuff,
but your process has saved your hide from raids and idiots. But like with your usual suspects, you
feel safe enough to at least put a little bit of music on while you wait and monitor the situation.

You’re even prepared for that. You have a playlist for it, slow beats, no vocals, lest you draw
attention to yourself. It’s burned onto a CD, helping you to stay untraceable, and whispering
through your beat-up, junker’s speakers now.

Leaning back in your seat, and sighing, your eyes fall to your hands on the steering wheel. You
pick them up and look at your nails. They’re a bit grubby. You haven’t had a manicure in a while.
Maybe part of your take from this job can go toward that. And a pedicure. Maybe a whole spa day.

Scoffing, you think, Fuck it. A whole spa week. At one of those fancy places too, where people
bring you delicious and relaxing things that you didn’t even know existed, much less think to ask
for. Where people lose their jobs if they look you in the eye. Maybe somewhere out of the
country.

The take should be able to cover those expenses a thousand times over, at least.

You have to keep reminding yourself that you’ve done well with your shady little shop on the dark
web. You do an exquisite job, and your rates now reflect that. It helps that your techy, gunslinging
skill set also includes a natural ability to skim the veneer with people.

After all, every business is defined by its customer service.

Being superficially charming helps with your personal life as well. Every time Mom or Pops calls
to thank you for the money or gifts you send them, or to pass along gratitude from any of your
other family members for the things you send abroad, they buy your cover story.

You pull out what you lovingly refer to as your “work phone”, an old, bubble gum pink slab of
plastic with a fake real estate company sticker on the back. A stranger would open it up to see a
stock photo of a house with a FOR SALE sign in the yard and judge it as some basic nonsense.
Mom or Pops would open it up and start bragging about how well you’re doing as a real estate
agent.

That is, if they could open it up.

Your work phone is a device that you’ve so masterfully crafted, encrypted and organized so
precisely that the rotating schedule of new IP addresses and contact numbers is fully and securely
automated. You’ve even taken care of your most frequent clients, the process keeping them up-to-
date with how best to contact you. It’s the one thing that stays with you, forever.
Opening the phone now, you double-check to make sure the screen is at its dimmest setting, and
you look around before checking for any updates in the direct message with the warehouse address.

Client 93 (9:22 AM): I’m in the market for a mid-century modern, 4 bedrooms.
Maybe some green space for the kids. Any suggestions?

You (9:22 AM): I can think of a few good options.

Client 93 (9:23 AM): Great. Let’s chat. 10 AM Tuesday.

You grin at the message.

The basics of your ordering system are relatively easy to figure out. All clients are anonymized and
numbered sequentially. Times are understood to be PM. All addresses for meeting spots must be
hyperlinked, providing a degree of separation and a potential argument for plausible deniability
should things ever get messy, legally.

But the ordering nomenclature is what you’re really proud of. You chose real estate because it’s
something that not a lot of people in your life really know much about, and though it takes some
extra effort for you to get educated on the ins and outs, the language suits what you need perfectly.

There are six styles that you specialize in: Ranch, Modern, Tudor, Spanish, Craftsman, and
Victorian. The styles denote the kind of work to expect, and the size of the total take. Clients order
your services depending on the job they want to hire you for. Most of your jobs are Ranch style
homes, which usually run about $10k and only require some light work. Stuff you can do online,
alone, and in your sleep.

The number of bedrooms tells you the number of team members to account for when splitting up
the take. Last month’s Spanish style home introduced an element of violence when you had to
work to get past armed security. The request was for a six-bedroom, though, and your cut of the
$500k take mostly went to some medical bills after someone on the team accidentally alerted a
guard.

You grin when you re-read Client 93’s message because you finally feel like you really know what
you’re doing.

And then your smile shortens a bit at the client’s conversational tone. They seemed to know what
they were doing, too. That’s why you thought that this job might be more thrilling than the others.
It might’ve presented a real challenge. It remains to be seen, but seeing this meeting venue makes
you think that maybe the client is just a romantic who has a way with words.

You sigh lazily, put your phone back in your pocket, and wait.

About fifteen minutes before the appointment is set to begin, another car pulls up to the
warehouse. You duck down and pick up the handgun in your passenger seat. You hover your finger
over the safety, watching the new stranger very carefully as he opens the door of his car.

A boot softly lands on the concrete.

The door closes with a muted slam.

The stranger looks around before straightening his jacket and fiddling with his sleeves at the wrists.

And then, he just… waltzes inside.

You shake your head.

But aside from his seeming haphazard absent-mindedness or disregard for his own safety, you two
have lots of surface similarities. Just like you, he’s driving what only seems to be a clunker; you
know from the sound of the engine that the beat-up body is just for show. Like you, he’s clad in all
black, but not in a way that draws attention. Also like you, he seems to have an affinity for leather.

You always wait until ten minutes before the appointment to go inside, but you get the impulse to
wait a little longer because you haven’t seen anyone else pull up. The request indicated that you’d
be working with three other people, and there are no other cars within the radius. But rather than
feeling like something is amiss, you feel irked at the prospect that the meeting won’t start on time.

At two minutes ‘til, you decide that it’s probably alright to head inside. No one else has shown up,
but nothing else has exploded or given you any reason for alarm. Yet.

You place your gun in your jacket pocket, and you follow the path that the driver took.

You come upon a big, open area with a foldable card table at the center. Four men look up and
stare at you as you cautiously approach.

“Someone’s buying a house?” you say, stopping a few feet away.

In your pocket, your finger hovers over the trigger of your gun in your pocket.

“I am,” one man says. He’s wearing a pair of thin-rimmed glasses. You take this to be Client 93.
He smirks at your hand placement. And then he shows you his empty hands. He looks to his right
at two of the other men, who do the same at his prompting.

All eyes fall to the black-clad stranger that you saw outside, who scoffs and shows his empty,
upturned palms to you.

“Come join us,” Client 93 replies.

You slowly bring your hands out of your pockets and sit in the last available chair. Apart from the
one wearing glasses, the men look particularly confused to see you. You always wonder what it is
about you that makes people stare at these meetings, but then you remember that for whatever
reason, it’s still somewhat of a shock for women to be doing this work.

Client 93 grins at you. He speaks like he wrote in his message, the tone more suited for bumping
into a neighbor at the grocery store. “I heard you were precise. Do you always show up right on
time?”

“She’s been here for a while,” the black-clad stranger says.

Your eyes flash over to him.

“Should’ve found a better hiding spot. Saw your car on my way in,” the black-clad stranger
explains, sneering.

“Glad you’re alive to talk about it, with you just waltzing in here without checking for booby traps
or anything else,” you hurl back, making him frown.

“Already pointing out each other’s weaknesses,” Client 93 says, smiling genuinely. “I like that. It’ll
make for a stronger team.”
He leans over to shake your hand.

“I’m Sejin.”

He looks over to the two men to his right.

“Jimin,” he introduces, nodding over to the blonde undercut in the red suit. He’s leaning his chair
back, his left ankle resting on his right knee, teetering slightly back and forth as he rests his arm on
the table. His seemingly innocent face is probably his biggest asset. You wonder what kinds of
trouble he’s gotten into, and dazzled his way right back out of, in the past.

“Taehyung,” Sejin goes on, looking at the black curls in the gray suit. Though you can’t see his
eyes through his hair, he seems soft. But with that thick neck, that mouth set in a slight frown, and
those big, strong hands, you know that must regularly leave destruction in his wake.

“And this is…?” you ask Sejin, gesturing to the black-clad stranger.

The stranger smirks. “Jeon Jungkook.” He moves from hunching forward in his chair, legs spread
wide, elbows resting on his knees, fingers intertwined, to half-standing and extending his hand to
you for a high-five.

You shoot him a quizzical look. When you don’t high-five him back, he laughs, amused, and sits
back in his chair.

“Alright, well, shall we get down to it?” you ask, turning back to Sejin.

“You haven’t introduced yourself,” Jungkook replies, his curious eyes still trained on you.

“You know her,” Sejin tells Jungkook with a smile. “This is The Seller.”

Taehyung and Jimin’s faces widen with surprise. Even respect.

You can’t help but feel proud at the fact that your reputation now precedes you.

Jungkook’s expression is blank, but at least that cocky smirk has been wiped off of his face.

Sejin grins softly. “Forgive him. He’s meant to be the muscle.”

“Obviously,” Jungkook says under his breath, missing the diss completely but laughing to himself
about all of your comparatively weak builds.

Sejin points to himself. “Needless to say, I’m the brains of this outfit.”

You doubt that, given that he’s introducing his team using their real names.

Sejin nods again to Jimin. “Cars.”

Then at Taehyung. “Guns.”

“Wait a second,” you say, planting your soles against the floor a little firmer. “You said that you
were in the market for a mid-century modern. Why do we need muscle, cars, and most importantly,
guns?”

“Yeah, why do we need guns?” Jungkook teases, eyeing your jacket pocket.

You narrow your eyes at him and hover your finger over the trigger. “I’m talking about the nature
of the job. This is just a bit of protection.”

“Ah, who needs protection?” Jungkook says, arching his eyebrow at you and sticking his tongue
out at you.

You roll your eyes and turn back to Sejin.

“Let me explain, before you blacklist me,” Sejin offers.

He scoots forward and sets a phone on the card table.

You look at Sejin skeptically for a moment before scooting your chair forward, too.

Jimin and Taehyung remain in place, seemingly already having heard this spiel.

But Jungkook copies your movements and leans on his arms on the card table, peering down at the
phone screen.

It displays a high-resolution picture of an abstract painting. It’s a small 1x1 canvas, framed
ornately. It’s an obscure piece, one that most people wouldn’t know about. But its moody colors
and patterns are unmistakable to you.

“A Gomez?” you ask, looking up at Sejin and unable to fight your smile. “That’s definitely not a
mid-century modern kind of ask.”

He chuckles. “What should I have asked for instead?”

You’ve designated Victorian houses for these kinds of outrageous jobs, but these take years and
years of planning. Or so you think. You’ve never actually gotten a request for one before. Now,
you wish that you had. Because you don’t quite know how to work a job that will have a $50
million take.

Your fear takes over.

“I’m out,” you say, standing up.

Sejin frowns. “What? Why?”

“This requires a huge team and more resources,” you say.

Sejin nods. “And how do you know I haven’t already accounted for those?”

“You said a four-bedroom,” you reply, gesturing to the team around you. “You need at least ten.”

“Not for this phase,” Sejin tells you.

You crumple your lips together. Sejin really is the brains of this operation.

“It’s the final phase in our project,” he goes on, and Jimin and Taehyung smile. “I’ve been after this
one for a while. Hoping you’d be able to help me out with the unique nuances needed for this last
stretch.”

He looks deeply into your eyes and picks up on something within. It frightens you a bit, the way he
latches onto you.

“You’ve been impressive in the amateur leagues. Don’t you want to start having some real fun?”
The way he says it.

Quietly.

Seductively.

You sigh and relax again.

Sejin looks over at Jungkook. “Any concerns on your end?”

“Nope,” Jungkook replies, drumming his hands on the table. “What do we need to do?”

Sejin explains the details to you, the plan so ingrained in him that he doesn’t need any notes or
visual aides, and Jimin and Taehyung are lazily mouthing along to his words.

“I’ve already located the Gomez. All my work up to this point has led me to find out that it’s being
prepared for an auction downtown. It’s being delivered in three days. We’re going to steal it as it’s
en route, in an armored truck being driven and accompanied by armed guards, and escorted by the
art dealer in charge of selling it.”

He looks around the table as each person’s task comes up.

He starts with you.

“We need your expertise in disrupting telematics and communications to make sure that the driver
and guards go off the grid.”

He nods to Taehyung, Jungkook, and Jimin as they come up.

“Once that’s done, Taehyung will disable the truck and keep watch as Jungkook steals the painting,
and Jimin drives the getaway car.”

He takes his phone back and puts it in his pocket.

“The next three days will be spent going over everything, from every single detail of the truck
itself, as well as all possible routes that the truck will be taking, even studying the city and traffic
flow to be prepared for decisions made by their team on the fly.”

And then he looks at you and Jungkook specifically.

“I hope you’ll find our accommodations comfortable.”

You furrow your brow. “Accommodations?”

“Yeah, here, at the warehouse,” Sejin replies. He gestures to some shadows behind him. “We’ve
got cots set up for everyone. We hooked up running water to one of the old employee showers in
the back. And there’ll be tons of food and drinks stocked in the break room fridge.”

You furrow your brow. “Hang on. You didn’t explain any of this in the---”

“Maybe I haven’t made things clear,” Sejin says. He’s losing patience, judging by the way he’s
folding his arms, which prompts Jimin and Taehyung to stand and flank him. “You are doing this
job. And you are doing it my way.”

Jimin and Taehyung grin at you as they hold up their guns, Jimin holding up a Beretta M9 in each
hand, and Taehyung smirking as he leans back against his upturned AK-47.
“Where the fuck did those come from?” Jungkook mutters to you, his eyes wide.

You think through the situation carefully, but quickly. You obviously can’t outrun the guns.
You’re stuck here for the night, at least. They won’t hurt you because they need you, so you’re
presumably safe for the next three days. Sejin mentioned phases, which means he must have the
resources to follow you, especially if he’s dared to set his sights on an original Gomez. The best
thing to do is get through this job and get your take. Think about what you can control, and don’t
worry about the rest. Focus on the scale of the task right in front of you.

Treat this like any other job.

There’s something else keeping you from doing that, though.

This job is vastly different in another way. There’s a thrill in the air, goosebumps flowering all over
your body.

You hate that you like this.

You hate that you’re like this.

Sejin looks at you expectantly. “You wanna play with the big boys?”

You meet Sejin’s eyes, and you give a small, wicked grin.

Sejin hovers over you and Jungkook, and for the first time, his smile looks sinister.

“Then get ready to work for it.”

**

“You’re there.”

Taehyung points his index and middle finger in a V to two cots that lie side by side.

“We’re there.”

He turns around and points his V to two more cots.

“Where’s Sejin sleeping?” Jungkook asks sarcastically. “The VIP room? The Presidential Suite?”

Taehyung giggles, but Jimin furrows his brow and shakes his head warningly at him.

“Don’t worry about it,” Jimin says to Jungkook, with dead eyes and a fake smile.

You’re impressed at how quickly Jimin can turn the dazzle on and off.

“Jimin!” Sejin calls, and Jimin jogs back over to the card table.

Taehyung sits on one of the cots and lays his AK-47 across his lap. You stare at it, a little nervous.
“Look,” he says, catching your slightly pained expression, “it’s like he said. I’ve worked with him
on these projects for years. I’ve never seen him rough up a hire who just treated this whole thing
professionally.”

“Sure,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“I mean it,” Taehyung says, seemingly earnestly. “He likes to use contractors only once. Just do
what we say, and you’ll never see us again.”

He looks up at you and wiggles his fingers expectantly.

You sigh and pull your trusty Sig Sauer M17 out of your jacket pocket. “And will I ever see this
again?” you ask, handing it over to him.

“You’ll get it back in the morning,” he says, surprised that you even had to ask. Then, Taehyung
realizes and says, “He doesn’t mind if you have them on you when everyone’s awake. But at
night, he wants all the guns kept in one place. As a precaution.”

Taehyung looks over at Jungkook and does the same.

“I meant it when I said I didn’t use protection,” Jungkook says with a naughty grin.

Taehyung doesn’t react. He just keeps his hand outstretched.

Jungkook frowns. And then he reaches into the back of his jeans and pulls out a Glock from his
waistband.

You scoff, meeting Jungkook’s playful smile with a sour expression. And then you sit down on the
nearest cot.

“Guess I’m sleeping on this one,” Jungkook says pointedly, watching you as he crosses to sit on the
cot on the other side of yours.

You look at Taehyung thoughtfully, as he admires your gun.

“You’re really gonna keep watch and everything?” you ask.

Taehyung looks around. “Well… I mean… yeah. That’s kind of why we have this whole setup.”

You huff. “How am I supposed to do all my work without my stuff?”

“Supplies are coming,” Taehyung says, taking the clip out of your gun and examining it. “Wow.
For a computer nerd, you’ve kept your gun maintained really well. Clean. Responsive.” He smiles
at you. “Good job.”

You scowl at Taehyung’s appraisal.

“Ooh, do me, do me!” Jungkook says excitedly.

You and Taehyung turn to look at him.

“Well, when you handed your gun to me, it was all sweaty, so…” Taehyung replies, looking a little
disgusted.

Jungkook nods knowingly. “It’s probably the leather pants. I always get swamp ass.”

You turn back to Taehyung, desperate to change the subject. “Is there a TV or something? Books?
Anything for entertainment?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” Jungkook observes, making your blood boil.

Taehyung shakes his head, replacing the clip in your gun. “No entertainment except the kind we
make for ourselves. Learn to appreciate the silence now.”

Groaning, you strip your jacket and shoes off and climb into the cot. “Fine. I’m going to sleep.”

“OK, then,” Taehyung says. “Night.”

You shut your eyes, but you still feel Taehyung’s eyes on you. You open your eyes again and look
at him. “Wait, are you seriously going to watch us sleep?”

Taehyung nods. “That’s my job.” And then he smiles. “But it’s nice to have something pretty to
look at for a change.”

You lie on your side and try not to lose it. In addition to the unintelligible mix of fear, anger, and
annoyance, you feel pretty damn stupid for getting caught up in this mess. Especially when you
had come into the warehouse thinking you were some kind of big shot.

Jungkook looks around the empty warehouse, clicking his teeth, punctuating the faraway
conversation that Jimin and Sejin are having. Then, he sighs loudly, resigned, and takes off his
jacket and boots.

“I guess I’ll sleep too,” he says, getting into his cot and climbing under the blankets.

He lies on his side and faces you, tucking his hands under the pillow.

“Sweet dreams,” Jungkook says to you, with a cheesy grin.

“Ugh,” you reply, rolling over and shutting your eyes.

You’ve always been a good sleeper. You can block out most things. You can force yourself to
sleep. It’s a good thing, given some of the work you’ve done. The things that you’ve needed to
block out. So, despite the knots in your stomach, the clicking of Taehyung messing with and
muttering with repugnance at Jungkook’s sweaty gun, and Jimin and Sejin’s hushed voices, you
start to fade.

The problem isn’t that you can’t sleep.

The problem is what you see when you sleep.

And what you hear.

What you feel.

Faces of the people you’ve had to put down. Gravel pressing into your cheek as a foot holds your
head to the ground. Screaming. Bullets ricocheting. That nasty stab wound that you got in your
thigh, millimeters away from your femoral artery.

Even the smaller jobs have their ghosts. Under the right context, a twig could snap, and you’d
abandon everything to start over somewhere else. The thing that you listen for most, though, are
strange footsteps crossing in front of your apartment. This apartment, or the one in the city before,
or the one before that. You listen for the sound of boots. Guns cocked and at the ready. Whispered
directions from a team lead. People could argue that to you, all footsteps are unfamiliar, with how
often you move. But people also don’t know how to tell the difference between unfamiliar and
strange.

The other life, the one that you had with Mom and Pops, is far away. No one in your family asks
you any major questions. They’re just happy for the new TV, or that month’s mortgage check, or
the money for Granny’s surgery. They tell you how proud of you they are all the time. That they
love and miss you. But you haven’t seen them or been home in 10 years. No one asks you to come
home, either. You’re partially thankful, because that would put them at risk. But you also get the
sense that they fear what your shiny, new eyes would take in, seeing them in the meager life that
they lead.

The worst dreams, by far, are the ones from your childhood. Tons of sunlight. Backyard grass
between your toes. Mom singing while she cooked. Pops singing along, off-key. Friends telling
funny jokes. Warm hugs. Beautiful reminders of how happy and simple things to be.

Gut-wrenching reminders of how things got so messed up.

**

You wouldn’t have expected such a delightful breakfast buffet to be showcased on a rusty, dust-
covered card table in a warehouse forgotten by time, but then again, you’ve never met someone
quite like Taehyung.

He places a hand to block Jimin from reaching for some eggs.

“Wait!” Taehyung exclaims.

He looks around and places the last few flowers on the table, turning the spread into a social
media-worthy post.

“Aw, excellent touch, Tae!” Jimin cheers, ruffling Taehyung’s hair.

Taehyung beams with pride. You have no idea where he found those flowers. You hadn’t thought
about it, but you wouldn’t have expected a munitions expert to have this kind of an eye for delicate
aesthetics. Now that you see how his eyes gleam at the breakfast spread, the same way his eyes
gleamed at the elegance of your Sig Sauer, which is comfortably and reassuringly back in your
jacket pocket, you realize that it kind of makes sense.

There’s a nuanced beauty to both.

You and Jungkook try to stifle your shared, fond smiles as best as you can. You hand him a paper
plate, and he falls in line behind Jimin.

“Did you guys cook all of this?” Jungkook asks, heaping piles and piles of food onto his plate.

Taehyung and Jimin laugh. “No, we do a food run every morning,” Jimin explains. “Sejin likes us
to start the morning like this. Puts us in a good mood.”

“Ah, a benevolent overlord,” Jungkook reflects.

You notice that Jungkook’s plate can barely keep its form under all the weight of his food, so you
quickly shove four or five more plates underneath it, and into his hand, just in time.

Jungkook looks at you sheepishly, but thankfully. You just shake your head.

“What time does Sejin usually get in?” you ask, starting to make a plate of your own.

“Around 11 or so,” Taehyung says.

“So we have the morning to ourselves?” Jungkook asks hopefully. “I was wondering if I could pop
out to a store really quick and get a toothbrush, some toothpaste, body wash, ooh, maybe my face
cream---”

“Supplies are coming,” Taehyung repeats in sing-song, adjusting some of the flowers on the table
and looking back up at you. “No leaving the premises.”

You and Jungkook sit in your chairs from last night and start chowing down. Jimin and Taehyung
choose to sit on their cots. You know this move. This is basically the same thing that happens in
high school cafeterias. Can’t get too friendly with the new kids. Especially if you’re kind of
holding them hostage.

Jungkook stares at you as he chews, and though you avoid his gaze at first, you eventually scoff
and say, “What do you want?”

“Did you sleep well?” he asks.

“Yeah, I got a full eight hours.”

“But did you sleep well?” he asks again.

You startle at the way he asks it this time.

“Sure,” you say robotically.

Jungkook nods, but he looks like he doesn’t believe you.

“Were you also watching me while I slept?” you demand, feeling cagey.

“Just making conversation,” Jungkook says, shrugging and looking back at his plate.

In addition to the actual casualties in your line of work, your ability to chat with people who know
more about who you are has waned. Yes, you are charming and have a natural ability with people,
but it’s the kind of ability that’s more akin to an alien who has adopted the rituals and practices of
humans after years of observation. You can put on a show and string together vague and interesting
sentences to distract people from what’s really happening, but you struggle to find the next thing to
say to keep a conversation moving.

Figuring that things would run smoother if you practiced that skill now, you take a deep breath and
fix your eyes on Jungkook as he shoves two slices of bacon into his mouth. “Did… did you sleep
well?” you try.

Jungkook smiles, bacon hanging out of the side of his mouth. “Like a corpse,” he says, grease
dribbling where his lips meet. He pokes the ends of his bacon slices into his mouth, chews quickly,
and then swallows. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he says, “Sorry if I was
prying.”
“It’s OK,” you say.

“Can’t believe you’re The Seller,” Jungkook goes on. “I’ve heard about you.”

You shrug. “Don’t know if that’s a good thing.”

“All I hear are good things,” he tells you. “I’m not much for planning, but the people I’ve worked
with who’ve worked with you have said that you have a certain… poise.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Huh.”

Jungkook smirks. “This surprises you? Even with your reputation?”

First Sejin and his lackeys, and now Jungkook. You feel a little proud.

“I’ve just never heard it said out loud before,” you admit. “And certainly not in one 24-hour span.”

“You work a lot?”

“All I do is work.” You stick your fork in a sausage link. “But I don’t actually talk to many
people.”

“I get that.” He looks at you. “Do you ever miss that part though?”

“If I’m being honest, I never was really one for small talk.”

“I get that, too.”

You look up at Jungkook, and his expression tells you that he doesn’t mean it as a criticism. He
just understands, somehow.

“You seem good at it, though,” you say. “I never know what to say past a certain point.”

He repeats, “You ask a lot of questions.”

And he laughs at your resulting pout.

“I just meant that you’re not as bad as you think you are,” Jungkook replies. “And compliments
work too,” he adds gently, acknowledging what you’ve observed about him and showing you an
example of what to do, all in one response.

Your pout recedes a little.

You finish the rest of your food and start to feel sleepy again. You’ve got another hour, and you
wonder if it’s a good idea to fall into the food coma that looms over you.

“I’m going to take a nap,” you say, standing and throwing your plate, fork, and spoon into the trash
bag that Taehyung has tied to the table using the stem of a sweet, purple flower.

“I knew you didn’t sleep well,” Jungkook says under his breath.

You turn around and furrow your brow at him.

Jungkook explains.

“When I woke up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, I noticed that you were crying in
your sleep.”
**

Jimin directs a truck as it backs its trailer into the warehouse loading bay. You stir and rouse from
your nap at the yelling and beeping.

As you look around, you notice that Jungkook has scaled an old railing and is watching from his
seat on a dilapidated fire escape balcony.

You walk over and look up at him.

“What are you doing up there?” you ask.

“Just watching,” Jungkook says. He peers down at you with a smile. “I like getting up high and
scoping places out. Gives me a good idea of the space I have to work with.”

Makes sense, you think.

Curious, you scale the railing carefully and join him. He smiles at you as you both straddle the
dirty window pane to get a better look. The two of you may find it amusing, the way Jimin is
swinging his arms around, but the truck driver is getting annoyed.

“What the hell are you doing? Get out of the way!” the truck driver yells.

“You’re going to scrape the wall!” Jimin cries out.

“Really? You’re gonna try to guide me??” the truck driver shouts over the engine, as they start to
bicker.

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m trying to do!”

“I don’t need a fucking stewardess!”

“You mean an air traffic controller, dumbass!”

Jungkook giggles, and you roll your eyes, though you’re trying to fight a smirk.

“Listen, kid, I’ve been doing this every day for the last 30 years!”

“All the more reason you need me!” Jimin snaps back. He throws his arms out to the side
emphatically. “Turn left, you ancient fuck!”

You cackle suddenly at the choice phrasing, and Jungkook whips his head around to face you,
thrilled that he’s hearing something come out of your mouth in a major key.

For some reason, when Jungkook smiles at you, you feel very embarrassed, and you look down at
the ground. It’s unnerving, you decide, going from existing completely independently, to suddenly
sharing an entire vantage point with eyes as curious and insistent as Jungkook’s.

He’s about to say something, but then Taehyung claps before making an announcement.
“Supplies are here!”

Taehyung waves the two of you over.

“Time to unpack.”

You and Jungkook climb back down, and you join Taehyung, Jimin, and Si-hyuk the Truck Driver
to set up an assembly line of sorts, shuttling guns, ammunition, lightweight tables, steel suitcases,
car parts, and all sorts of electronics back and forth between the truck trailer and the warehouse.

Now that it’s daytime, and now that you’re moving around the entire warehouse, you see that
certain areas are dedicated to certain jobs. Jimin has set up a garage of sorts just off to the side.
Taehyung has a whole barrage of his own, tucked away in some secret room. And you’re taking
over the card table in the main area for your own control room.

As Jungkook hands off materials to you, he tries to find your eyes. Most of the time, you go about
your work without fussing, trying your best to follow Sejin’s instructions. But sometimes, every
now and then, the hand-off from Jungkook will be sloppy, or awkward, and he has to grab your
hands in his to make sure you don’t drop something.

When this happens, you look up. Startled.

And he meets your gaze. Eager.

You swear that he’s doing this on purpose.

But he’s not going to get a rise out of you. You’re already starting to feel more sure of yourself as
you lay out all of your materials on the card table. This is where you’re most comfortable. This is
where you’re safest. Behind screens and wires. Behind codes and pseudonyms. Behind shields that
protect you from having to deal with any real fallout. Behind life, instead of right smack dab in the
middle of it.

“Need anything else?” Jungkook asks, watching you pore over your supplies.

“No,” you say, nearly cutting him off without so much as a glance at him.

Jungkook lingers, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. You can still feel his presence.
You can still feel his eyes on you.

“What?” you ask, annoyed, still not looking at him.

“Sorry,” Jungkook replies, his tone indicating that he’s starting to get annoyed with you as well. “I
just thought that it would be interesting to see you work. Y’know. You being The Seller and all.”

You groan. Flattery will get him nowhere.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of awkward, by the way?” Jungkook asks. You’re focusing on your
work and not the way he scrunches up his nose. “The Seller? Is that how you’d like me to address
you?”

“How about you just don’t address me.”

“That’s going to be impossible, given that we’re supposed to be working together,” he responds.
“Can’t you just use your name? Or any actual name? Y’know, honestly, it doesn’t even have to be
a name. Just something that doesn’t have ‘The’ in it.”
You take a much needed, patience-refueling breath, and Jungkook watches your shoulders rise and
fall.

“Call me whatever you want,” you say. “I really don’t give a fuck.”

“Maybe just Seller,” Jungkook tries. “Hey, Seller. You got any Ranches, Seller? Give me your gun,
Seller.” A pause. And then, “What about just Sel for short?”

“As you’ve just pointed out, we’re supposed to be working, so shouldn’t you get started?” you
snap.

And then you scoff.

“Oh. Right. You probably don’t have any work to start, seeing as you’re just the muscle.”

“Hey, now. Being the muscle takes hard work too, Sel,” Jungkook says coolly.

Against your better judgment, you turn to frown and hurl more insults at him.

But you see him stripping off his shirt, and your face and brain go blank.

Now that Jungkook’s shirtless, and, uh, stretching… well, you discover that he’s bulkier and more
fit than you realized. His flawless baby face doesn’t seem like it would be accompanied by
mountainous muscles in every part of his body, and yet, here they are, fully on display. But the
strongest muscles on display might be the ones in his lips, pulling his mouth into a devilish smile,
prompted by the way you’re staring at him.

“So that’s how to get your attention,” he muses.

You whirl back around to re-focus on your work.

But a few minutes later, you hear Jungkook grunting.

You fight the impulse to turn back around at first, but there’s nothing to drown out Jungkook’s
voice.

“Could you please---”

When you turn around this time, you see Jungkook doing push-ups. He’s going surprisingly fast.
He’s already worked up a sweat.

Your jaw opens a little.

Jungkook hoists himself up and pauses to turn and face you.

You snap your jaw shut.

“It’s OK,” Jungkook snickers. “You can watch.” He shakes his head to keep some sweat from
dripping off his hair and into his eyes. “In fact, move your chair to the other side of the table so
that you don’t have to keep turning around. You might sprain your neck.”

“I’ll just come back when you’re done,” you decide quickly.

“Oh, I’m never done,” Jungkook presses on, his voice heavy with effort. He sends you another
smirk. “This body doesn’t quit.”
Irritated, you set your things down on the table and march over to another side of the warehouse, a
part of the floor that was clearly a machinery storage space, and perfect for what Jimin needs to
begin arranging and working on the car parts that have come off the truck.

“Need help?” you ask urgently. “I can help. Please tell me you need help.”

“Don’t you also have work to do?” Jimin asks without looking up.

“I do, but…”

Jimin waits for you to say something, but you just stare at the body of the stolen car that Jimin has
just a couple of days to fill with chopped parts.

He follows your gaze, and then he looks over to where you’ve just left, seeing Jungkook doing a
million push-ups a minute.

Jimin chuckles. “Distracting?”

“Annoying,” you correct.

“Well, you’re not gonna be any happier over here.”

You frown. Why does everyone keep underestimating you? You know a lot about cars. You might
even know more than Jimin.

“And why’s that?”

Jimin flashes you a full-toothed smile.

He starts to take off his shirt, too.

You get a peek of his lean, defined frame before you roll your eyes.

“Can’t stain the Gucci,” he says, setting the luxurious button-down on a shelf that’s out of the way.
He turns back to you, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. “This gonna distract you, too?”

You walk over to the set of tools that Jimin has laid out on a nearby table.

“No, so long as you aren’t grunting like an ox the entire time.”

Perusing the items in front of you, your eyes land on the engine that Jimin is about to fix up.

“So. What good are you to me?” he asks.

“I know this is a boxer engine,” you reply. “I know that you’re probably choosing it for stability
and smoother acceleration.”

“You really are a nerd,” Jimin scoffs, joining you at the table. He picks up a wrench and gestures
to the engine’s overall configuration. “The horizontal design keeps the car’s center of gravity low.”
He gestures to pistons laying across each other. “The balanced pistons keep vibrations down.
Keeps things… smooth.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at you as he runs a hand across his chest and down the tattoo at his side.

“Whatever ,” you mutter, rolling up your sleeves. “Let’s get started already.”
Jimin laughs as he drops his hand, and, thankfully, the act. “Fine.”

You follow his instructions, and unbeknownst to you, hours go by. As you work, you wonder what
phase of the plan led to him getting these parts. Sejin ordered a four-bedroom, which meant a four-
person team. You didn’t think there would be a Si-hyuk the Truck Driver. Who else in this city is
part of the job, or the network? And where did these parts come from? What shops have funneled
these resources in?

How extensive is Sejin’s organization, exactly?

Jungkook walks over and watches the pair of you working.

“Jimin? Sel?”

You look up, having forgotten about Jungkook completely, and disappointed that he’s interrupting
you now.

“Sel?” Jimin asks, turning to you. “Is that what you go by?”

You raise your eyebrows, pleading with Jungkook to stop this in its tracks.

“That’s what I’m calling her, at least,” Jungkook says, grinning playfully at you. “Anyway,
Taehyung left his secret room to say that dinner’s here.”

“Shit,” you grumble. You can’t believe you’ve lost track of time.

Sejin’s voice booms as he rounds the corner into this area of the warehouse.

“Hey, why don’t I see---”

Sejin frowns at the sight of you, an oil-stained and shirtless Jimin, and a sweaty and shirtless
Jungkook.

He turns to Jimin.

“Look, you can’t keep shooting these weird car pornos during your downtime. It’s a huge risk.”

“I’m not,” Jimin says nonchalantly. “Besides, that gig wasn’t paying well anyway.”

Jungkook shoots a bewildered look at you, made even more incredulous when you don’t respond
in kind.

“I was just doing work on the car,” Jimin continues. He nods over to Jungkook, who straightens
and flattens his face. “That one was working out.” He nods over to you. “This one was helping
me.”

“Which brings me back to my point,” Sejin cuts in.

His shrewd eyes zero in on you quietly tightening a bolt, hoping that if you keep appearing useful
in some way, even if it’s an unexpected way, he won’t be angry with you.

“Why don’t I see your so-called masterful control room built out at the main table?” Sejin
demands.

“Wanted to help,” you mumble.

“Help by doing your share of the work,” Sejin reprimands. He says it so casually. And it’s been a
long while since you’ve thought about God. But the calm, extremely neutral way he says it
somehow puts the fear of God into your heart.

“I’ll be up and running by this evening,” you reply. “You won’t lose any time.”

“Sel did actually help,” Jimin replies. “This’ll help me free up time to---”

Sejin narrows his eyes at Jimin.

“Don’t do that.”

You know that Jimin knew that he would catch some heat for vouching for you, but you appreciate
him doing it anyway.

“OK. I’m out for the night,” Sejin continues. “Taehyung says your dinner is here. Hope you all
enjoy.” He looks back at Jimin again. “We need to chat. Walk me to my car.”

As he and Jimin leave, you try your best to bite your tongue, but by the time you get to dinner,
you’ve lost all self-control.

“Is he always like that?” you grumble, as you push your meat and potatoes around your plate.

You’ve usurped the card table to make room for your supplies, so the remaining four of you are
now gathered around a pot roast feast set on a smaller table, a couple of feet away from your so-
called control room.

“Who?” Taehyung asks.

You mutter, “Sejin.”

“What’d he say?” Taehyung asks nervously.

“He got mad at me for helping Jimin.” You huff. “It was so unnecessary.”

“Well, you weren’t doing your work,” Jungkook points out.

For some reason, you’re still so annoyed that he’s shirtless.

“You weren’t doing any work,” you snap.

“Yeah, I was. Remember? I’m the muscle,” Jungkook says simply. While he flexes.

“Anyway,” you press on, focusing on Taehyung and Jimin, “I’m just wondering how big of a stick
Sejin typically has up his ass.”

“Probably about as big as the take from the job he’s working on at the time,” Jimin says quietly but
pointedly.

You’re about to open your mouth again, but when you remember that Jimin came to your defense,
you find the wherewithal to pause.

“Well, thanks, Jimin, for… y’know. Sticking up for me.”

“Thanks for helping, Sel!” Jimin answers with a grin. But when Taehyung meets Jimin’s
expression with one of confusion, Jimin shakes the expression of gratitude and happiness off of his
face, turning the charm off and replacing it with cold, off-putting, Sejin-esque neutrality. “But you
probably should just stick to your own work from now on.”

You furrow your brow. You tire quickly of people who run hot and cold.

You set your plate down without eating, and you walk over to your workstation. You hear the guys
talking in low voices and sharing idle chatter.

Eventually, you let yourself get lost in the work that you’re doing. You’ve done it so many times
that you don’t have to think actively about each step. Connecting all the cables. Setting up your
back channels. Creating your own universe, only to navigate it in complete anonymity.

The gallery’s CCTV system is relatively easy to hack into, considering what’s at stake. You want
to tell Sejin that it makes more sense for you to save this work for off-hours anyway, under the
cloak of night. You want to point out that you’ve actually saved him a lot more than just time.

“How’s it looking?”

You turn around, and Jungkook is standing behind you, still shirtless, and still all wet.

Jungkook’s eyes crinkle as he grins at you. “I mean your screens. I don’t mean my body.”

“Ugh, fucking gross,” you groan, turning back to your monitors.

“Oh, this isn’t sweat,” Jungkook explains, thinking that’s where your disgust is coming from. “I
used the shower. It’s actually pretty nice. Good water pressure.”

You frown. You could use a shower. You still smell like motor oil and transmission fluid.

“Taehyung also got us some clean clothes,” Jungkook replies, his voice muffled. You turn and
realize that he’s putting something on. And you notice that he’s no longer wearing his black
leather, but black sweats that are two sizes too big.

Jungkook tugs down on the hem of the sweatshirt and straightens it onto his body before reaching
for one of the chairs.

“No,” you say. “Fuck off.”

“C’mon,” Jungkook whines. “You saw me hard at work. Now I wanna see you.”

You scoff. “You? What hard work did you do?”

Jungkook raises the hem of his sweatshirt to flash you his abs. “Do you not think this is hard
work?”

“Exercise?” you ask with a scowl.

Jungkook pulls up a chair and sits next to you. “Exercise is hard work. And it’s kind of a necessity
in my profession.”

You know he’s right. His profession just doesn’t appeal to you at all. It just seems so
unabashedly… brainless.

“Well, thinking is a necessity in my profession, and I can’t think when you’re around,” you state.

Jungkook beams.
“Because you’re so damn bothersome,” you clarify.

Jungkook pouts. “Y’know, I don’t think you’re bad at small talk. I think you’re just mean.”

“I am,” you agree with no issue, focusing on your code.

Jungkook stands, and at first, you’re grateful that he’s going to leave. But then all he does is spin
the chair around and manspread around it, stacking his arms on the back of the chair and resting his
head as he watches you.

After a while of him just sitting there, pouting, and watching you, you relent.

“...Do you want me to explain what I’m doing?” you ask.

Jungkook raises his head and beams at you again. His white teeth are tinged blue, and you realize
that the only light in the room is coming from your screens.

You take stills from each of the cameras but leave the bottom of the frame intact so as not to
disturb the timestamp and raise suspicion. You swap the feeds with the stills. It looks flawless, as
usual.

Jungkook agrees. “Damn. I wouldn’t have even known anything was different if I hadn’t just seen
you do it.”

You furrow your brow. “I haven’t even done anything substantial yet.”

You need the plans for the Gomez delivery, including the mapped routes, and the identities of the
driver, the guards, and the escort. You also need more information about the gallery’s telematics
software.

The plans are easy enough to locate. They’re saved on the desktop of the computer in the back
room. They’re not even password-protected.

You wonder if anybody’s even trying anymore.

As you keep an eye on the real CCTV feed, watching the screens flashing as you download the
files, you relate what you’re doing to Jungkook. But your heart starts to sink. This isn’t the thrill
you thought it would be.

You turn your attention to finding out about the telematics software, the system that the gallery
will use to ensure that they know the location of the vehicle carrying the Gomez at all times.

You can’t find any information about it on any of the computers in the gallery, which means that
the operations team must work somewhere else.

Finally, you think. A challenge.

A small, soft smile appears on your lips.

“Hmm,” Jungkook says, mirroring your expression, though you miss it in the cave of your
concentration.

You pore through employee emails, trying to get any kind of indication of which software it could
be. When you find nothing, your smile grows bigger.

When you stand, Jungkook stands.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

You startle. You’d kind of forgotten that Jungkook was watching.

“That’s it for tonight.”

“Really? You already got everything?”

“No, we start again tomorrow.”

Jungkook grins. “We?”

You blush a little. You don’t know why you said it that way. But technically, there are four of you
working together.

“I just meant that the work starts again tomorrow,” you say matter-of-factly. It’s your best attempt
at trying not to let on that Jungkook has you a bit frazzled. “Now, what were you saying about a
shower?”

Jungkook sits back down. “They’re the old employee showers, in the back. Past the break room.
Look out for an orange cone. It’s in the middle of a small corridor that leads you straight there.”

The shower stalls are exactly where Jungkook said it would be. You note the stall that has water
droplets, and you sweep the shower curtain back to start the faucet. Taehyung’s been kind enough
to get more than just the basic toiletries. A nice shampoo and conditioner set. Body wash instead
of just cheap bar soap. You also notice that there’s a small jar of fancy face cream, which you
assume is Jungkook’s preferred brand.

You strip off your clothes and hang them over the stall walls. You cringe at the sharp metal-on-
metal sting of the shower curtain rings sliding over the rod. And then you luxuriate a bit, taking
time to feel the warmth of the water on your skin, agreeing with Jungkook that the water pressure is
perfect, the showerhead producing something akin to tiny massages all over your body.

“You forgot these!”

“Aaah!!”

You nearly slip in the stall, being caught off-guard like that. Luckily, your hold on the stall walls is
solid enough to keep you from falling.

“Sorry,” Jungkook adds meekly. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

He says something else.

You turn the shower off.

“What?” you ask. You could barely hear him, save for that first surprising greeting.

“I said sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. And, um, I’ve got a towel and those sweats that
Taehyung got. Something for you to change into.”

“Oh,” you say. Jungkook’s helpfulness surprises you, too. You hadn’t thought forward to what you
were doing after the shower. You just know you needed one right away.

“Just set them down,” you say. “I’ll be out in a second.”

“I don’t know, everything’s kinda grimy in here... but I can hold them for you, or hang them on the
stall wall like I did with mine, or---”

“Ugh, just give me a second.”

You start the shower again and finish rinsing off, taking a few more seconds to enjoy the steam.
When you’re done, you turn off the shower and turn to face the curtain, and a disquieting thought,
plus the absence of hot water, sends a shock through your system.

The shower curtain is white.

And thin.

Perhaps too thin.

“Um, you can’t see me or anything, right?” you double-check.

“No,” Jungkook replies.

You figure that he’s telling you the truth. You can’t see him, either. All you see is his silhouette,
made bigger by those baggy sweats.

Your hand darts out past the curtain, waving blindly for the towel.

Terry cloth fabric touches your fingertips, and you pull the towel into the stall with you. You dry
off quickly and wrap your hair in the towel when you’re done.

Your hand darts out past the curtain again, waving blindly for the sweats.

Jungkook hands you a pair of boxers.

“What the hell are these?” you ask.

“I guess he didn’t anticipate you being a woman,” Jungkook replies.

You roll your eyes and slip them on anyway.

You reach back out.

Jungkook hands you the sweatpants next.

You start to slip them on, but you realize that they’re way too big and long for you.

“OK, these aren’t going to work. I’m going to trip everywhere I go.”

You shove your hand back outside, and Jungkook gingerly takes the pants back before giving you
the sweatshirt.

You slip that on, and you find that it falls to your knees.

“Taehyung managed to buy you your fancy face cream, but he couldn’t get me clothes that fit?”
you pout.

“Oh, I had to blow him to get that face cream.”

You freeze.
“I’m kidding, Sel,” Jungkook replies.

You smile. But you’re thankful that you’re behind the curtain when you do it.

You shake it off your face before you step out of the shower and back into your shoes. You bend
down to unwrap your hair, squeezing it dry and letting the towel hang around your shoulders as
you gather your hair to one side, combing your fingers through it.

Jungkook watches you delicately, looking so tiny in that sweater, seeing you so clearly now, and
just averting his eyes to the ceiling when you look up at him.

“Thanks,” you say.

“Don’t mention it,” he replies.

You walk back out to the main area and climb into your cots.

You realize that you’re facing each other as you settle in to sleep.

“Uh, night,” Jungkook says.

You blink at him.

“...Night.”

You turn around and pull the covers over your head, but you still feel Jungkook’s eyes on you.

You think about how Mom always told you that going to sleep with wet hair was bad luck.

**

“This is really how you do it?”

You place a finger to your lips to remind him to be quiet.

Jungkook turns pink, embarrassed that he could have ruined the call.

“Yes,” you continue on speakerphone, “I’m with Tracker Telematics and I’d just like to learn about
your telematics needs. Are you happy with your current software?”

“Let me connect you to our operations manager,” the secretary answers lazily. You watch him on
the CCTV feed. He looks young. Like this might be his first job.

Once the call is put through, someone else says, “Operations, how can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m with Tracker Telematics. Your secretary said that I’m speaking with the operations
manager?”

“That’s right.”
“Great, happy to be speaking with you today!” you say, and Jungkook stifles laughs at your peppy,
animated voice. “I’d just like to learn about your tracking needs. Are you happy with your current
telematics software?”

You playfully look up at the ceiling at how stupid you have to be on these calls, exchanging funny
glances with Jungkook.

“We’re Logistimatics customers, and yes, we’re very happy,” the operations manager says quickly.

“But are you up to speed on all our latest features?” you ask, keeping an eye on the Tracker
Telematics page that you’ve pulled up onto one of your monitors. “We’ve recently introduced a
standalone Electronic Logging Device that can integrate with third-party systems.”

You check the timer on your tracer. Just a few more seconds, and you’ll be done. You technically
don’t need the operations office’s location, especially now that you’ve identified Logistimatics as
the company you’re going to organize your bots to target for your DDoS attack, but it’ll be a nice
backup to be able to shut down the operations office if things go sideways.

“Now hang on, that actually sounds pretty interesting,” the operations manager replies. “So, you’re
saying that I could still keep my Logistimatics software but add additional ELDs as necessary?”

“That’s correct, sir,” you say, without knowing if that’s actually correct.

“Hmm. So would I just pay the price of the device, or is there a contract that I have to sign?”

“We’ve got all sorts of pricing bundles tailored to meet different needs,” you reply, as the tracer
flashes and lets you know the general area of where the call is coming from. You find it interesting
that the operations office is located so far away. That may bode well for your team.

“What if I---”

“Why don’t I schedule you for an appointment with one of our product leads?” you ask. “Would
next Wednesday work for you?”

“You called me,” the operations manager points out. “You mean to tell me you can’t stay on the
line with---”

“I’m just here to talk about the features and set up your next call,” you explain.

“See, this is exactly why we’re Logistimatics customers,” the operations manager says, irritated.
“Their customer service is---”

You hang up, having received all the information that you need, and then you turn to Jungkook and
grin.

“I can’t believe that’s really how you do it,” Jungkook laughs. “I thought you got all of your
information through hacking and snooping. Not through fake sales calls.”

You shrug. “Things are never as glamorous as they seem, Jungkook.”

When you turn back to your monitor, you miss the way Jungkook is haloed in the glow of you
using his name.

“Alright, the Seller bots are hard at work. Last thing I need are the security details.” You turn to
Jungkook. “Wanna give it a try?”
“Ooh!” Jungkook exclaims, moving his chair closer to you.

You set up the call and instruct Jungkook on what to do.

You raise the phone up, level with Jungkook’s lips.

The secretary answers on the second ring. “LM Gallery.”

“Security office, please,” Jungkook replies.

“Hold.”

The secretary pushes the call through, and someone else replies, “Security office.”

“Hi, I’m with Kim Indemnity,” Jungkook says, looking at the page you’ve pulled for the cover
story. “I’m updating your insurance records and want to make sure I’ve got the correct security
system on file. What’s your current provider?”

“Shield Systems,” the security manager replies.

“Thanks, that’s all I need,” Jungkook replies. “Have a great day!”

“You, too.”

The call ends, and you smirk at Jungkook’s happy, proud face.

“Well done. You’re a natural.”

“I mean, you literally told me what to do, so I did get expert training.”

You and Jungkook share a smile, and a nice, light moment that you weren’t expecting to enjoy.
You prefer working alone, but it’s kind of nice to show someone the ropes. Usually, you make
these calls when you’re in your pajamas, eating breakfast while on hold, the milk of your cereal
dripping down the corner of your mouth when you jump back on the phone sooner than you
anticipated. It doesn’t feel that different now, given that you’re in boxers and a sweatshirt. But you
realize that you’ve been way too lenient with your reconnaissance calls as of late. Doing a bit of
show and tell is making you feel like there’s actual effort that’s put behind even the most menial
task of the job. That things like this still matter.

“So now what?” Jungkook asks, as you type.

“Well, the bots are already doing their thing to the Logistimatics servers. We’ve got details on the
team escorting the painting, and if none of them try to play the hero, they won’t be too difficult to
manage. And you’ve just given me details on the security systems they use, so we should be able
to get into the safe in the back of the truck without any issues,” you explain. “So, now, we wait.”

You stand and stretch.

“I think I might go outside,” you say. “Get some fresh air. Maybe jog a little.”

Jungkook rises to his feet. “Can I join you?”

“Sure,” you say.

The two of you walk over to Taehyung and Jimin, who have just finished polishing off the rest of
their brunch.
“Mind if we get some fresh air out back?” you ask.

“Someone should really be outside with you,” Jimin replies. From the way he’s draped over the
couch, his eyelids heavy, it’s clear that he doesn’t want it to be him.

“Look, you have my car keys, and here’s my gun,” you say, setting it on the ground in front of you.
“I just need half an hour.”

“What about your work?” Taehyung asks.

“My bots are already running,” you say, rolling your eyes. “And I’d like to go for a run for myself.
I’m getting antsy being cooped up in here.”

“Just stay in that loading bay area, then,” Jimin replies, waving you off. He knows you won’t
really leave your gun behind, but also, the loading bay area is secured by a gate. You won’t be able
to get out at all.

You reach for the table and grab some plastic cutlery. The spoon, fork, and knife are bunched
together with a rubber band, which you take and use to tie your hair up as best as you can.

And then you and Jungkook head outside, enjoying the sun on your faces.

You both start to stretch. Ten laps should do the trick. Just enough to work up a bit of a sweat. Just
enough to remind you that your bones have joints that can swing and move.

Jungkook takes the pace quite quickly from the get-go. He rounds his second lap and meets you
halfway through your first.

“I thought we said ten laps,” he says with a grin.

“We did,” you say, annoyed. “But it isn’t a race.”

Jungkook keeps pace with you.

“You really go this slow?”

“I’m not a fast runner.”

“Then why run at all?”

You sigh, aggravated.

Jungkook edges forward teasingly and looks over his shoulder back at you. “You sure you can’t go
faster than that?”

You frown. You contemplate picking up a handful of broken concrete to throw at his stupid face.

He turns around completely, running backwards at his slightly quicker pace.

“You sure you can even do ten laps?”

Suddenly, you take off running at full-speed.

“Hey!” Jungkook cries out, running to catch you.

You really only run to make sure you get some kind of exercise during your very sedentary days.
But your body has made this decision for you. You don’t actually know why you’re now sprinting.
You try to ask, but the only question that bubbles to the surface is whether Jungkook has caught up
with you or not.

You start to tire out, and Jungkook makes his move. Soon, he’s completed all ten of his laps while
you’ve gassed after about five.

He catches up with you again. You’re now walking and frowning, sweating bullets, and the
angriest that you’ve been since you got here.

“Aw, Sel, don’t tell me you’ve given up,” Jungkook teases, bouncing as he runs.

You’re too out of breath to say anything, so you just veer off and head back inside to grab another
shower, hoping that your regular clothes that you washed in the shower with you last night are dry
enough to change into.

Jungkook jogs behind you, each tap of his feet against the floor another gloating reminder of his
superiority.

“So you’re mean, you’re bad at small talk, you’re great at being fake, and you’re a sore loser.”

“And you’re an irritating show-off.”

Jungkook chuckles, his jaw hanging open. “You really are a sore loser!”

You’re about to lay into him, but Jimin interrupts you both as you rejoin them in the warehouse.

“Car’s done,” he says. “Need to take it for a test drive.”

“Have fun,” Jungkook says absent-mindedly, turning back to you to tease you a bit more.

“You’re coming with,” Jimin says, wiping his hands on an oily rag. “We need to stash your cars
somewhere along the two routes that they’re most likely to take.”

“Can I at least shower first?” you ask, exhausted.

Jimin looks over you both.

“Ten minutes.”

You and Jungkook exchange glances.

And then you race to your cots, and then to the bathroom.

“Yes!” Jungkook exclaims, his voice echoing off the tile and announcing that he got to the stall
first.

“Hurry up,” you sigh as you catch up, getting even more frustrated with Jungkook by the minute.

Jungkook strips out of his clothes impressively quickly, and you blush crimson when you see that
he’s stepping out of his boxers, too. As he stands back up, you see that his back muscles are so
well-defined, marked by strong bold lines that roll beautifully into one another. And his ass is so
round, and strong, and---

You turn around, clutching your towel and clothes to your chest. “I’m gonna wait outside.”
“You can look if you want,” Jungkook teases. “Consider it a consolation prize for losing.”

You stomp outside and stand by the orange cone in the corridor, trying to block out Jungkook’s
triumphant laugh.

But you can’t.

Nor can you stop thinking about the slices of angles that you’ve seen of him so far throughout this
ever-so-slightly concerning hostage situation. His beautiful body, and his beautiful face. It’s all
you’ve had to look at for the past 36 hours. And if you’re being honest with yourself, it beats
staring at a beige wall of nothing.

At least he smiles back.

And that’s your favorite slice of him so far.

You feel someone tap you on the shoulder, and you whirl around, getting ready to punch whoever
it is.

But it’s only Jungkook, who deftly swerves your attack and raises his eyebrows in surprise.

“Whoa,” he says, laughing. “You’ve got a mean overhand.” He grins. “Almost as mean as you
are.”

“Are you done??” you ask stupidly, as Jungkook grabs at the knot in the towel around his waist.

“Yeah, that’s what I was coming to tell you,” Jungkook laughs. “Shower’s all yours.”

You sigh and march back to the shower stall.

Tiringly, Jungkook’s voice follows you.

“You train in boxing or something?”

“A bit,” you say cryptically.

You get in the shower fully-clothed.

“Want me to hold your clothes for you?”

“I’m fine.”

You hang your clothes over the end of the shower stall wall, where they can stay dry. You don’t
see him, but Jungkook licks his lips when he sees your bra placed on top. It’s just a basic black bra,
but it’s making him wonder about what that bra holds. He wonders about the rest of you, too.

He watches your silhouette again, smiling to himself as you reach up to adjust the showerhead, or
as you flip your hair down to shampoo and condition it thoroughly. The lines that your body makes
are driving him wild.

When you’re done with your shower, you change quickly into your clothes and step out of the stall
into your shoes to find Jungkook still undressed, staring at the curtain.

“Why are you still here?” you ask, the shower having done nothing to cool you off.

Jungkook blinks. “Just wanted to make sure you were OK.”

You roll your eyes and head back to your cot, Jungkook taking a few minutes to change before he
catches up with you in the corridor.

Jimin hands you the keys to the car that he’s been working on.

“I’m driving this car?” you ask.

Jimin ignores your question. He’s taken your and Jungkook’s car keys from wherever Taehyung’s
been stashing your things. He hands Jungkook’s keys to Taehyung. And he keeps your keys for
himself.

Taehyung and Jimin usher you to the car.

“Sit,” Jimin says.

You and Jungkook get in the front seats, and Taehyung leans over to handcuff you to each other.

“Kinky,” Jungkook jokes.

“What the fuck is this?” you ask, as Taehyung also handcuffs you to the car door.

“I’m dropping Jungkook’s car by that abandoned tunnel on Route B,” Taehyung begins to explain.
“Jimin is dropping your car off by that stretch of highway on Route A. We don’t want either of you
driving off, and we want to do this in one trip, so we thought it would be best if we kept you in our
car.”

Taehyung smirks and hands the keys to the handcuffs to Jimin.

“Oh, and just FYI: Jimin’s car is hooked up to your systems back at the warehouse, Sel. So, if you
decide to go off-course, well… let’s just say there’ll be a little shock waiting for you.”

You sigh. “This is overkill.”

“It might be, but it gets the job done,” Jimin replies. “I’m gonna follow you, and then we’re gonna
pick up Taehyung after.” He grins. “Enjoy the ride.”

Admittedly, you’re impressed with the job that Jimin has done with the car. The ride is pretty
smooth.

The only thing that makes it rough is Jungkook’s constant yapping.

“...Two bullet fragments in my side, and the head of a nail in my thigh,” Jungkook finishes
recounting. “That last one was because we were in a construction area, and the guy I was after
found a nail gun. But I think that’s it.”

You pout.

“What about you?” Jungkook prods.

“We all have injuries. It’s part of the work.”

You take the upcoming exit, and you see Jimin in your car following closely behind.

“Well, what are some of yours?” Jungkook asks.

You shake your head.

“I wanna know,” Jungkook insists.

“Why do you wanna know so badly?” you ask.

You hate talking about your injuries. You don’t like swapping war stories with others, even if they
are like you. You prefer to keep that stuff to yourself rather than burden anyone else with it. If
there’s anything you’ve learned living like this over the years, it’s that everybody has their own
shit, and no one needs to pile on.

Jungkook shrugs. “I guess I didn’t anticipate that you would have gotten injured, given the type of
work that you do. But then I saw you throw that punch.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s nothing.”

“It’s something.”

You frown. “Look, I don’t know what your whole deal is, asking all these questions me, but it’s
starting to feel a bit invasive.”

Jungkook sits back in his seat and looks at the road ahead. “Sorry. I was just curious. I just…” His
voice turns softer. “I just haven’t really met anyone like you before.”

You shake your head and glance out your side window. If someone had said something like this to
you a couple of years ago, you might have fallen for it.

“Do you know what you’re going to do with your share of the take?” Jungkook asks, trying to
move into safer territory.

You appreciate the gesture.

“I hadn’t thought about it,” you lie.

“Bullshit,” Jungkook laughs. “You took this job because of the take. I saw your eyes change when
Sejin explained the whole thing. You looked…” He smiles. “Well, let’s say that you looked
enticed.”

Jungkook’s really starting to crawl under your skin. Each question or observation feels like an
interrogation. You’re starting to regret telling him more about your process and work. And you’re
really starting to regret opening up to him about small talk, like the kind that he’s so desperately
trying to make with you now. If you had just stayed silent, you wouldn’t be overanalyzing your
situation, fearful that Jungkook is actually a federal agent, or some other kind of spy. The feeling’s
been eating away at your gut like an ulcer, only growing the more that you feed it.

“Can we just drive in silence?” you ask.

“I’m finally gonna buy my parents a house,” Jungkook says. “I tell them I work in security. They
don’t ask more questions than they need to. They just know that I make a lot of money.”

He pushes his lips forward.

“They don’t really have a lot of it.”

Your heart starts to throb. This is hitting too close to home.

“So?” Jungkook asks. “What about you?”

You bunch your lips together. “Same.”

Jungkook smirks, happy to get even just that little bit out of you.

You pull up to the empty stretch of highway on Route A, just as the sun starts to set. Jimin stashes
your car on the shoulder of the road, somewhat out of sight, by some brush. And then he jogs over
to you, parked a few feet away.

He uncuffs you from the car door, and then from each other.

“Get in the back,” Jimin instructs.

You do as he says, and then Jimin re-handcuffs you to each other, and you to the driver’s headrest.

You frown at the awkward hand placement that you’ll have to deal with for the next hour.

Jimin gets in the front seat and drives off, traveling back the way you came.

“Damn, I’m good,” Jimin sighs, as he accelerates. “This baby is smooth as silk.”

“We’re going a little fast, don’t you think?” you ask, starting to get nervous at the rate at which the
mile markers are zooming past you.

“Let’s go faster,” Jimin cackles, speeding even more.

“Sel, you OK?” Jungkook whispers urgently.

You wince. Your stomach turns with each zigzag that Jimin does.

“Hey, I think you’re freaking her out,” Jungkook protests.

“Just getting some practice in for tomorrow,” Jimin laughs. “C’mon, Sel. Enjoy the fieldwork. You
do so little of it.”

Jimin swerves dangerously on the, as of yet, still-empty highway.

“Please, Jimin, I’d really prefer it if you didn’t…”

You feel so woozy.

“Hmm?” Jimin asks playfully, starting to do tricks and stunts. “What was that?”

You’re starting to turn pale.

Memories are coming back to you.

Out of nowhere, Jungkook swiftly reaches into Jimin’s jacket and grabs one of his Berettas. He
points it at Jimin’s head.

“Stop.”

Jimin holds a hand up. He settles the car on the road, done with the shenanigans.

But he’s smirking.

“You’re not driving like that tomorrow, are you?” Jungkook demands.
“No,” Jimin laughs, smiling at you in the rearview mirror.

Jungkook puts the gun back in Jimin’s pocket, and Jimin chuckles.

“Struck a nerve there, huh, Sel?” Jimin jokes, glancing at you in the rearview mirror again. “Didn’t
know you two were so close. I really thought he was gonna shoot me for a second there.”

You sigh, trying to get fresh air.

Jungkook clasps your hand with his, interlacing your fingers.

“You OK?” he asks again.

You turn to him and nod. And then, you lean back in your seat and face the window, trying to keep
from falling apart.

The rest of the evening is a bit of a blur.

You pick up Taehyung on Route B, just outside of a tunnel that’s been abandoned since the new
highway ramps opened around it. He jumps into the passenger seat, and updates you that he’s
successfully planted some charges onto the truck delivering the Gomez. And Jimin recounts what
just happened, making Taehyung giggle at how green you and Jungkook both are.

You try your best to let it all go as Jimin uncuffs you.

But Jungkook keeps your hand in his until you feel ready.

Before you go to bed, you check your bots and see that everything is according to plan for the
attack.

And then, Taehyung instructs you to help him get his guns ready for tomorrow.

“They have a point,” Jungkook tells you, as you both sit on the edge of your cots, loading clips into
guns and organizing them according to Taehyung’s instructions.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“We are pretty green,” Jungkook replies. “And you’re kind of… not really one of us,” he adds.
“The work you do. It’s so different. You’re like---”

You frown. “A nerd?”

It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve been called that, even here, in the warehouse. But that’s not
why you’re frowning. You’re frowning because it’s so trite and boring. Of course you’re a nerd.
All valuable people are.

“You just seem… good ,” Jungkook explains. “Like a good person.”

You roll your eyes. If only he knew.

You try to focus on the sound of metal clicking into place as you work.

After a moment, though, Jungkook says, “Seriously, though,” in awe.

Your eyes meet, and though you know this is probably not the case, you swear that Jungkook is
interested in more than just your experience as The Seller.
“How’d someone like you even get into all this?” Jungkook asks.

“How did you?” you snap back, feeling provoked.

“Just… sorta… fell into it, I guess,” Jungkook replies, uncomfortable that there isn’t really much
more to his answer than that. “You?”

You have your doubts about how trustworthy anybody is, most of all Jungkook, but the ultimate
reason you decide not to go into the details is that it would take too long to explain. Your cousin
really should be the one to tell the story. He was the one who got you into this mess. First, teaching
you how to stand up for yourself. How to fight. And only to fight when provoked. Next, teaching
you about cars. How to drive them. How to tell when something’s wrong. How to fix them up.
How to steal them and break them back down again. Then, teaching you about escape. Not just out
of holds and locks, but about bottles, joints, tabs, and pills. And finally, teaching you the hardest
lesson of all. How to move on when someone you love, someone who has taught you everything
that you know, gets caught up in the cycle that all of these things can often create.

You shrug and place the clip back into the gun that you were checking.

“Just sorta fell into it.”

You look up at Jungkook and hand it to him.

“Now shut up and get some sleep.”

**

Your bots execute flawlessly.

As always.

As you watch your channels through your phone, you’re noticing more call traffic from the
operations office and from the gallery itself to their Logistimatics representative, which you’ve
identified as being located two cities away. You don’t have to listen in to the calls to know that
they’re having trouble identifying the Gomez truck on the road. To them, their systems look down.
To Logistimatics, all the systems look down.

The gallery would be better off calling you to find out that information. You know exactly where it
is. It’s still on Route A, about to take the upcoming exit that you took the day before. You know
because Jimin is driving your car right behind it, with Taehyung, Jungkook, and you in tow.

Your other hand is in your jacket pocket, hovering over your gun. You’re not usually this trigger
happy, but you just want to make sure you’re safe. You sense Jungkook feels the same, when you
see him scratching at his back.

“Looking great, guys,” Sejin says on your comms.

He’s following along on his laptop from home. His screen is mirroring your monitors back at the
warehouse, which are set up to show him exactly where the truck is, and where Jimin’s car is.
Jimin starts to brake, increasing the distance between you and the truck.

“OK,” Sejin says, “be ready to incapacitate the car in a few minutes.”

“You know,” Jungkook replies, “I don’t think I ever learned what this part of the plan meant.”

Taehyung grins devilishly and holds up a small receiver.

“Well, you’re about to find out.”

When Taehyung left his room the night before to finally show you all what he’s been working on,
you’re a bit underwhelmed at the sight of four small, rubbery, gray squares. But now, those four
gray squares are affixed to the four wheels of the truck, having been planted by Taehyung on his
way to where he stashed Jungkook’s car on Route B. And those four gray squares pack a punch of
their own.

You learn how devastating of a punch as soon as Taehyung pushes the button.

A huge fireball engulfs the truck, stopping it in its tracks, ripping the trailer from the truck, and
immediately killing everyone inside.

“Tae, what the fuck was that sound?” Sejin grumbles angrily. “I said a small explosion!”

“That was a small explosion,” Taehyung replies innocently.

He swivels around to get your and Jungkook’s opinions. Your heart stops when you see that his
eyes have gone black.

“Right?” he demands, almost droning.

You’re too scared to respond.

Jimin parks the car a ways off. “Jungkook!” hebarks.

Jungkook jumps in his seat.

“You’re up,” Jimin goes on, as he pulls up on the hand brake.

Jungkook’s jaw drops. “W-what?? I---” He looks out at the road. “All those people, they just---
The driver’s body is, like, just right there on the---”

“The safe,” Jimin continues, aiming a gun at Jungkook’s head. “You’re up.”

Jungkook scrambles in his pocket for the keycard that you’ve made, using the same parameters
that you found in the security protocol.

He shares a concerned look with you as he opens the car door.

Jungkook jumps out of the car and kicks his way into the back of the trailer. The fire is spreading
quickly, and you hope it doesn’t catch on any of the dry brush that’s lying around.

He finds the safe containing the painting, and he’s able to use the keycard to scan into it. He grabs
the small frame and runs back to the car.

“Get out,” Jimin says, pointing his gun at you.

You get out of the backseat, holding your phone in the air and keeping your other hand free. You
try not to reach for your gun too early.

“How long do we have?” he asks you.

You look back at your phone. “Five minutes or so before the attack script is set to end,” you say,
your voice shaky.

“Grab what you want,” Jimin tells Taehyung.

Taehyung smiles and takes the painting from Jungkook, as well as the keycard.

Jimin orders you and Jungkook to stand behind the car, as he sits in the driver’s seat and keeps his
gun pointed at you.

Taehyung starts grabbing other works of art. Anything that he can get his hands on and sell, really.
You watch as he piles everything into the backseat. Taehyung and Jimin are going to make a
fortune.

“What the hell is going on?” Sejin screams through your comms, right into all of your earpieces. “I
said just the Gomez! Jimin! What the absolute fuck are you doing??”

“Should’ve paid us more,” Taehyung jokes, making Jimin laugh.

Sejin bellows, “If you don’t haul your asses back to the warehouse right now, I’ll---”

The comms go out, and as you see Taehyung holding up the receiver again, you realize that it
wouldn’t be inconceivable that Taehyung has planted explosives everywhere.

You really start to panic.

“Should he have paid us more, or should we have done this years ago?” Jimin clarifies, as
Taehyung loads the car up with more stolen pieces.

He laughs and then looks up at you and Jungkook, still frozen in place, with your arms raised.

“Now, what to do with you two,” he says, bringing his other hand to his gun as he aims it at you.
“What a shame. I liked you, Sel. Hoped we might get a chance to fuck or something. Those tits.”

“Right?” Taehyung chimes in.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jungkook says, standing in front of you and distracting Jimin.

Jimin repositions his gun and trains it right between Jungkook’s eyes.

“And this one, always talking,” Jimin replies.

“Always talking,” Taehyung echoes, nodding and throwing more stolen pieces into the backseat.

“Maybe if you had kept quiet, we would’ve spared you,” Jimin replies. “We could always use
more muscle.”

“Just let us go,” Jungkook pleads. “There’s no reason for you to kill us.”

“Of course there is,” Jimin says. “Who else are we gonna frame?”
“This isn’t part of the deal,” Jungkook insists.

“It’s like I told you,” Taehyung grins creepily. “Just do what we say, and you’ll never see us
again.”

Jimin shoots at you, but Jungkook tackles you to the ground, and you pull your gun out of your
jacket to shoot back.

You hear Jimin cry out, and in the frenzy, Jungkook throws his body over you and rolls you onto
the ground, getting you as far as you can get from Jimin’s car.

Jimin sighs, and you hear Taehyung getting back in the car, scanning from the window as you and
Jungkook disappear behind the truck trailer.

“You’re a fucking terrible shot,” you hear Taehyung quip. “They’re not even that far away. You
should have let me done the gun stuff.”

You hear the gun changing hands.

“Look, do us a favor and just come back out here,” Jimin calls after you, through his open window.
“It’ll just be so much easier.”

“Fuck, if Taehyung has the gun, we’re deifinitely done for,” Jungkook whispers to you.

“Hang on,” you say, typing on your phone.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at you, hopeful about whatever solution it is that you’re cobbling together.

“Brace,” you say. “And, uh, sorry in advance if this forces more shrapnel into your side.”

Jungkook shuts his eyes and does his best to shield you from any exposure.

You press the button.

This time, Jimin’s car explodes.

Though you and Jungkook move back in the blast, his leather jacket scuffing and ripping across the
pavement, the trailer thankfully seems to protect you from debris.

After a moment, you tighten your grip on your gun and phone, and you sprint towards your car,
Jungkook right behind you, grasping your hand and looking back to make sure no one’s shooting at
you.

You pull your keys from your back pocket.

And then you peel off, the sight of fire and smoke getting smaller and smaller in the distance.

**

You and Jungkook have been driving in complete silence for hours when the first pang of hunger
hits your stomach.

“Ready to stop?” you ask.

Jungkook’s seat is all the way back. He’s lying down on his side.

“I was hungry two hours ago,” he mumbles.

“Sorry,” you say. “Just wanted to be extra careful.”

Jungkook readjusts his seat to its usual angle. He looks over to you. He watches the nonchalant
expression with which you’re driving.

“Pull over.”

You do, and you realize that it’s almost night.

Jungkook looks over at you.

“I’ve never had a job go belly up before, not like that,” he tells you. “Have you?”

Now that you’re off auto-pilot, you notice how worried Jungkook looks. There’s a bit of blood on
his cheek. He’s sweating at his brow, and his eyes are crazed with concern.

“I have,” you admit.

“OK, so what do we do?” he asks hopefully.

“We start anew,” you say simply.

Jungkook furrows his brow. “W-what?”

“We start anew,” you say. “New identities. New town. New life.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “Well, I can’t do that. I’ve gotta get back to my family. My life.”

“This is the risk that you take with this work,” you say dutifully. “You can’t go back, Jungkook.
Sejin’s network is already looking for us. I know it.”

“How do you know?” Jungkook asks. “No one knows who we are. Jimin and Taehyung are dead.
Sejin might even be dead.”

“Think about it,” you say. “Where did Sejin get all those supplies? How many phases were in this
project? There’s a whole huge team of people behind this. There were contingency plans for
contingency plans.” You put your hands on the steering wheel and put the car back in drive. “We
need to get as far away from all of that as possible.”

Jungkook stares at you. “This is what you do?”

You nod. “Every time.”

Tears well up in Jungkook’s eyes. He can’t even begin to think about how his life is about to
change.

“Let’s start by getting food. I always feel better after eating,” you say, hoping that will help him.
It’s a bit of a selfish motivation, cheering him up and taking care of him. Dealing with him will be
easier if he’s at least fed and emotionally stable.

Jungkook sniffles, but he sits back in his seat and looks out at the road, and you pull back onto the
road in search of a meal.
You sit through a silent, tasteless dinner at the next restaurant you pass, trying your best not to
notice when Jungkook starts to cry silently, staring at his corner of the booth.

To distract yourself, you focus on finding a place to crash for the night. You book a couple of
rooms at a motel nearby, trying not to think too hard about the spa month you were hoping to be
booking at this point instead.

When you get to the motel, the night manager greets you unceremoniously.

“We have two rooms,” you tell him, “under Song.”

“I have one room for Song,” the motel manager says flatly. “And I don’t have any other rooms
available. You must have made a mistake.”

Rage surges through your veins.

“That’s OK. We can share it,” Jungkook offers, before you can unleash even one insult.

You roll your eyes as the manager gets your keys ready, tamping down the impulse to show him
your screenshot confirming your order for two rooms.

Being right isn’t what matters right now.

What matters is that you go to your room, get some sleep, and prepare for tomorrow.

When you get to your room, you barely pay attention to the details. But all Jungkook can see are
the dusty bedspreads, the mismatching furniture, and the stains on the walls. And all he can think
about is how different everything is at his place. This room looks like it hasn’t been cared for at
all. But he carefully picked out each chair and table in his dining room. He spent weeks deciding
on what speaker system to get for his living room. He already misses the feel of his sheets in his
bed.

“Sel?” Jungkook whimpers.

You join him at the foot of the bed.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

Jungkook shakes his head. “What’s wrong? We just saw seven people die, Sel.”

You nod.

It concerns you that you are treating this so matter-of-factly. But then again, given the experiences
you had, it doesn’t surprise you.

“No one was supposed to die,” Jungkook says hopelessly.

“Yeah, they were,” you say pointedly. “Two people were supposed to die. We were supposed to
die.”

Jungkook meets your gaze.

“How did you…”

He takes a breath. He certainly doesn’t want to start off this phase of his life by blaming anybody.
“How did the car blow up?” he asks.

You shrug. It isn’t really him blaming you. You did it.

“They mentioned that if the car went off-course, it would blow up. I don’t know how they did it,
but I figured that if the system was still in place, I could just manipulate the GPS of the car to read
as if the car had gone off-course. That probably triggered the explosion from the warehouse.”

Jungkook clearly isn’t paying attention, and you unfairly doubt that he’d understand even if he
were. But your answer seems to comfort him. At least someone knows what they’re doing.

“You saved us,” Jungkook says.

“You did, too,” you say. You let yourself soften for a minute. “I can’t believe you jumped in front
Jimin’s gun like that.”

Jungkook grins. But then he raises his eyebrows at you. “Sel, I’ve gotta be honest with you. I’m
freaking out.”

Rather than sugar coat it, you decide to take this chance to drive your point home.

“Then it’s absolutely imperative that we lay low for a while,” you say. “No jobs. No contact with
loved ones. Not until we get our own operations up and running to see if anybody is tracking the
two of us. OK?”

Jungkook nods. “OK.”

“Promise?”

“Swear.”

“Good.”

You move to get up, but Jungkook reaches back for you.

“It’s you and me, right?” he asks.

“Right,” you say. “You and me.”

He smiles at you, and you feel secure that Jungkook will at least be OK for the next week or so.

Before you’ll have to split up.

Before, from the looks of it, you’ll have to ditch him.

You push that thought out of your mind. You’ll deal with that when you get to it.

Now, you get up and walk over to the couch.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“You take the bed,” you say. “I’m fine on the couch.”

“No, I insist---”

“You insist what?” you as in a huff, holding one of the couch pillows in your hands. “You’re gonna
do this whole, gendered, like, I’m the man so I’ll take the couch thing or---”
“No,” he says, standing. He peels off his shirt, like you’ve seen him do way too many times for the
mere hours that you’ve known each other. But without his teasing smirk, he looks… Well, he looks
different.

And it feels different.

“I was going to say that I insist that we share,” he says quietly. “No sense in either of us not getting
a good night’s sleep.”

You pout, all those thoughts about Jungkook’s body sweeping back to you.

You hate to admit it, but being that close to Jungkook’s body makes you nervous.

He holds out his hand to you.

“Uh… fine… sure… whatever.”

You walk back over to the bed, ignoring his hand, and, after kicking off your shoes, you climb in
with him.

The bed is surprisingly roomy. You face the wall and grip onto the edge closest to you, making
sure to keep in line with the mattress.

“You’re going to fall off.”

“Hmm?”

“I’ve seen how you sleep,” Jungkook laughs from beside you. “You’re going to fall off if you latch
onto the edge like that. Scootch in. There’s plenty of room.”

You feel your body locking into place, a mix of social and situational anxiety flooding over your
senses.

Jungkook hasn’t figured it out yet.

Why you’re bad at small talk.

Why you’re hugging the ledge.

You don’t like to share.

“C’mon,” Jungkook giggles.

You stay rigid, arms glued to your sides as you roll onto your back and then onto your other side,
facing Jungkook, who’s smiling softly and sticking his folded hands under his pillow.

It’s just now that you see it.

The cut on his face.

Where the blood was coming from before.

“Your cheek,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh.” Jungkook shrugs. “I’m OK.”

“It’s going to scar.” You almost want to run your hand over it. As if that would help. “What did
it?”

“I think Jimin’s bullet grazed me.”

“No shit.”

“All fine, considering.”

Jungkook smiles at you.

“Not so different from our cots, right?” he asks.

You disagree. This is much closer than your cots were.

But you find yourself saying, “Right.”

**

You thought that this would last a couple of weeks, tops.

But it’s been months.

Months of you and Jungkook moving from spot to spot, carefully identifying towns that are not too
big that you lose important vantage points on potential trails, but definitely not too small that you
stick out as people who don’t belong.

You only travel by car. You’ve ditched yours already, and you’re sad that you had to, given all the
work you had put into it. But you can rebuild another. You grab rental after rental, making sure not
to hang onto any car for longer than a couple of days.

You pay for everything online, using your phone. You explain how many fake identities you have.
You even show a couple to Jungkook, especially some of the hideous ones that you’ve distorted to
provide range in your appearance.

This is the first thing that makes Jungkook laugh.

Seeing him like that, with a glimmer in his eye, makes you think to try to show Jungkook the
upsides of the transition period. The creative parts. The interestingly fun parts.

You start accumulating things. You start with a laptop that you quickly build out with all the things
you need to keep you safe. And once you’ve established that no one seems to be on The Seller’s
trail, you start accumulating other things. New clothes. New shoes. Better hotel rooms. Nicer car
rentals.

By the second or third month, you and Jungkook have cycled through ten or so origin stories.

You show him what kind of origin stories you need to have starting the first day that you’re
officially on the run. When you’re at the store, getting toiletries and other essentials, a salesperson
at a display stops you.
“Excuse me, sir, ma’am, are you two married?” the salesperson asks.

“Oh, yes,” you say, slipping into the character seamlessly. You wrap an arm around Jungkook’s
waist, and he blushes, sucking in his lips and puffing out his cheeks a bit.

“Four years together, and he still gets so embarrassed when I touch him in public,” you giggle.
“C’mon, babe. It’s just me.”

“Alright, babe,” Jungkook says, teasingly, but warningly.

The salesperson goes through a demo of some new cleaning supplies. You ooh! and ahh! at all the
different brooms, sponges, rags, vacuums, attachments, and environmentally-friendly cleaning
solutions. Jungkook starts to play along, reminding you that you’ve been looking for something
heavy duty to lift those stains in the back room.

You roll your eyes and slap him on the chest.

You swear that he pulls you in a little tighter after that.

Eventually, you start letting Jungkook decide what origin story he wants to use.

At the diner three towns ago, Jungkook introduces you as his mute sister. He tells the waitress that
your parents sold you in exchange for drugs and left you in a box under the bridge, and that tonight
is one of the first nights that you’re reconnecting after a lifetime apart.

When you get back to your hotel room, you slap Jungkook on the arms and go on a tirade about
how bad of an idea it was to do that, especially in case of an emergency. But Jungkook is still
cackling at successfully forcing you to be completely silent for two-and-a-half hours, as he slowly
ate his meal, watching you with bright, thrilled eyes and that classic smirk.

To exact your revenge, at the wine tasting bar in the town after that, you ambush Jungkook by
introducing him as an up-and-coming sommelier that you were writing an article about, and
Jungkook had to go along with it. He was doing well until the real sommelier began their
demonstration, and Jungkook was booed out of the room.

You end the night sitting on the hotel roof, Jungkook kicking his legs off the ledge as he tells you
what was going through his mind the entire night, the two of you sharing a bottle of red that you
stole, your laughs bleeding into one another as the wine stains your teeth and gums.

And at the fancy restaurant in the last town, Jungkook fake-proposed, and you fake-accepted, all so
that you could get a huge, free dessert.

You still hear his earnest plea.

“I don’t have a ring,” he says, conjuring real tears into his eyes, saying the words over-
dramatically, “but I just know that we would be happy forever. Will you do me the honor of
marrying me?”

“Yes!” you shrieked, throwing your hands over your mouth to keep from laughing too hysterically.
“I will!”

You laid your head on his shoulder, and he held you close.

You brought the dessert home and split it while lying in your bed, watching an old movie.
Even after you were able to set up your banking systems under new names, each of your reserves
of money now flowing and freely accessible, you still always rented a place where you’d share a
bed.

You’ve gotten used to sharing with him now. You almost can’t sleep without him there. And he
tells you the same after you catch him awake, waiting up for you as you run your latest Sejin
check. When you get back to the bedroom, feeling relieved at yet another week of being in the
clear, Jungkook smiles up at you with tired eyes and pats the space on the right side of the bed.

Your side of the bed.

Tonight, you’re at a new friend’s house for dinner. You’d bumped into a woman at the grocery
store and started chatting about something or another. You thought she was funny, and you felt
pretty safe in this town. So when she invited you and Jungkook to have dinner with her and her
husband that night, and you didn’t immediately have a panic attack, you thought it might be an
indicator that you could settle here for a little while. Take it easier. Enjoy a little more of your day,
instead of constantly looking over your shoulder.

You’re certainly enjoying yourself as she, her husband, you, and Jungkook sit around their fire pit,
taking in the changing night sky with some spiked coffees.

“Where are you off to next?” her husband asks, as she sidles up next to him.

To the two of them, you and Jungkook are a couple, with different names, who work as traveling
wildlife photographers. They might have seen your work on postcards or in magazines, you say.
You even brag that once, Jungkook got a spot on a famous show about wildlife. You’re not even
sure if that show still exists.

“We haven’t decided,” you say with a sigh. “We’re kind of enjoying taking it easy at the moment.
And I really like being able to shower in a tub and not in some grimy stall.”

Jungkook laughs knowingly, and you glance at him, shooting him a wink.

“You are just so adorable!” the woman gushes. “OK, that’s it. I want to learn more.”

“Yeah, enough work talk. Tell us a story about the two of you,” her husband says.

“There are lots of stories,” Jungkook says, smiling at you fondly.

“How did you meet?” she prods, her eyes in the shape of hearts. She’s been staring at Jungkook
like this all night, and you can’t help but feel proud somehow.

Jungkook laughs. “Uh, well.” He looks at you. “I think it’s technically your turn to tell the story,
babe.”

“Oh, I always like hearing it from the guy’s point of view,” she says, grinning. “Now, c’mon!”

Her husband chuckles and rolls his eyes. “My wife’s a real romantic.” His wife giggles and tickles
his chin with her fingers. “And,” he adds, “to be honest, so am I.”

You look at Jungkook expectantly. “You heard them. They’re romantics.”

Jungkook thinks for a moment, and you giggle in anticipation of what he’s going to say.

“OK, well, uh, we met at work,” Jungkook says, suddenly, simply.

“...Oh,” she replies.

You start to laugh at her disappointment, thinking of how necessarily weakly Jungkook has
summed things up.

Her husband laughs along with you, confused about what’s funny.

“Is there more to the story?” he asks.

You laugh again, and Jungkook reaches for your hand adoringly.

He beams sleepily, and then, in a gentle voice, one so full of warmth and light, one that you’ve
only heard a handful of times, like by your cot, or in the rental car on a long stretch of road, or from
the other side of your shared bed, he says fondly, “We worked on a job together, and I just really
liked her.”

He turns to you. “I fell for her on the first day.”

The woman and her husband exchange sweet glances, touched by Jungkook’s earnest look.

You feel a little edgy.

“What did you like about her?” the woman asks.

Jungkook shrugs. “I liked the way she looked. I liked how sure of herself she was.” He bites his
lip, remembering. “And I liked how smart she was. She just always knew what to do.”

He crinkles his eyes at you. “I’ve never met anyone like her.”

Your chest tightens in a way that you haven’t really felt before.

It stays locked like that through the rest of your drinks, and on the way back to the house that
you’ve rented for the next couple of weeks that you’d decided to stay in this town.

Now, you’re starting to rethink that decision.

“What if we left tonight?” you ask, breathless, your chest still so constricted.

“Huh?” Jungkook asks. “I thought you wanted to stay. I thought you were having fun with, ah,
what’s-her-name---”

“I did want to stay, but I don’t anymore,” you say quickly, starting to pace.

“What’s going on?” Jungkook asks.

“I don’t know. Nothing.”

Jungkook looks at you skeptically.

You sigh and sit on the couch, folding your arms and throwing your leg over your other knee,
kicking in frustration.

“What’s going on?” Jungkook asks again, quieter, and sinking onto the couch, right next to you.

“It just felt too close,” you say. Your breathing slows. Your body settles. You turn to Jungkook and
add, “That story. That was too close.”
Jungkook softens. He runs his thumb over your cheek.

You let yourself do the same, running your thumb over his scar.

You realize that he hasn’t once asked about picking a jar of his stupid face cream.

“Sel,” Jungkook whispers, “I hate to break this to you but… given the circumstances, I think we’ve
gotten pretty close.”

You stare at him.

How did this pissant crawl his way inside of you?

Before you can think, you’re kissing. You had almost forgotten what the sensation felt like, it had
been so long. When Jungkook kisses you, you not only remember, but you realize that all the other
kisses that you’ve had weren’t as special as you thought they might be. The way he kisses you
makes you question even your own kisses. Are you this present? This fulfilling? This all-
encompassing?

He breaks your kiss too soon.

“Do you, uh,” Jungkook asks nervously, checking your eyes, but starting to run his hands over your
body, “d-do you want to---”

“Yes,” you say emphatically. But this is dangerous, you think, making one friend and blurring the
lines with another.

He dives into you, and he sounds like he’s been hungry for you, the way he’s reveling in your
smell and taste. He helps you out of your dress, kissing down your neck and sliding down the
couch in the same way he’s sliding the fabric down your body. He looks up at you and sighs as he
takes you in, your eyes hiding behind your heavy lids, fluttering with each of Jungkook’s touches.

“Did you ever want this?”

You look down to see what Jungkook means.

He nibbles at your inner thigh, making you spread your legs wider. He pulls your underwear down
and runs his tongue up and down your thighs before spending more and more time at your mound,
his saliva mixing with your juices as he circles your clit.

You cry out at the feeling. Not just at what Jungkook’s doing to you, but at the fact that your first
time in a while is so incredible. It’s rare to move from a period of inactivity to the best sex of your
life. You wonder what you might’ve done in a past life to deserve it.

“You like it?” Jungkook asks hopefully. “How is it---” He chuckles and adds, “babe?”

You moan in response, and he grunts happily, before tenderly focusing in on your clit with his
tongue, flattening it against you, and then making waves, then surrounding it in swirls before
starting all over again. You start to move your hips against him, and he begins to bob his head at
your pace. Soon, you’re left mewling and dripping, grabbing onto his hair, crying out his name.

He fucks you softly at first. He watches you as if he’s in study of you. He takes in every bit of
information. Which way you turn when you feel a wave of pleasure. How you squirm and wriggle
against him when he puts his weight on you. When you tend to pull him close. When you arch
back and away to feel him elsewhere.
“Tell me,” he begs you. “Tell me what you feel.”

“I feel you filling me up,” you tell him. “Fuck. I feel so warm. So good.”

You look at him. You run your hand through his hair, and he smiles at you. He looks so happy.

You beat your body against him, and pretty sighs float out of him, his neck going limp as he
strokes.

He falls to you, pinning you down on the couch, his torso laying across yours, pressing your
breasts into his chest, his arms on your shoulders and as he moves himself in and out of you, your
arms clasping to his back and holding him as close to you as you can get him, your kisses
increasingly dry with the way your mouths hang open for each other and draw breath, your
collarbones slamming into each other and threatening to bruise.

Jungkook reaches back for your legs and hooks his elbows into the backs of your knees. He pushes
you up, and your eyes alight as he repositions you both, his strokes getting even deeper and
stronger.

You prop your chest up by sliding the top of your head back and into the mattress, and Jungkook
plants rough kisses at your neck, biting the flesh just above your breast. When you clench, when
it’s so good, he half-moans and half-laughs, delirious and amazed at what you’re doing to him in
return.

He straightens and holds your legs up in the air with one hand bracing your gathered ankles.

He continues to pump into you, but he uses his free hand to rub your still throbbing clit.

You squeal, biting your lip and throwing your hands down onto the couch, clawing at the fabric
with your nails, shaking your head back and forth and moving your hips up to meet him.

You come and sob, the release feeling like the first cool breeze at the end of a long, humid,
summer thunderstorm storm, your skin drenched and your senses renewed.

And when you come, you let out a chuckle, making Jungkook slow his pace a little and feel that
familiar tingle across his skin whenever he sees your smile, or hears your laugh.

He so loves making you feel good.

If he can make you feel good, then he must be doing something right, and kind, and real.

He falls back to you kissing you deeply, your tongues dancing around each other and stirring the
deeper parts of you back into action.

“I only want this, yeah?” he tells you, kissing you, grunting to ask you if you’ve heard, grunting
until you moan back in agreement. “I only want you. I want you and this life. I want nothing else.”

You smile and mumble things back.

“You taste so good,” you sigh. “Feel so good.”

You push him off of you, making him look concerned.

“Take me in our bed,” you say, playing up the fantasy. You sit up and take his cock in your hands.
You stroke him and smile up at him. “Fuck me harder. Make me scream.”
He goes to speak, but you wrap your lips around the tip of his cock, and you slide him inside of you
until your cupid’s bow is pressed against his hip.

When you look back up at him, his chin is pointed at the ceiling, and he’s gripping your shoulder
so tightly that you’re afraid he’ll leave a handprint.

“Fuck, Sel.”

You moan at the sound of your name, and he moans at the feel of your moan against his shaft. His
ass jiggles as you start to cup his cock in your throat, and he pumps in response. Even this feels
incredible, the delectable sensation of his thick length sliding past your mouth, the sound of his
grunts and groans like sweet, cotton candy clouds hanging in the air.

He pulls out of you when he’s had enough, and he makes good on your request, picking you up and
kissing you as he leads you back to your room.

Your bed.

You collapse onto the mattress together, and he turns you around, getting you on all fours and
kissing your back.

He enters you slowly, but soon, you’re pushing back against him so fast and hard that you worry
you might break something. The bedframe. Your body. Something.

You feel his sweat dripping onto your skin, and you hiss at the feeling, imagining it dripping down.
You look back, and he growls at the sight of your eyes shining at him as he takes you. He grabs
onto your ass even tighter, and you grunt as he quickens his pace. You slide your body against the
sheets and toss your hair to one side as Jungkook moans and slaps your ass.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whines, reaching for your hand. “Fuck. So pretty.”

You give it to him, bending it behind you and letting it rest in the small of your back. He takes it in
his and locks your fingers together, squeezing your palm so tightly in his.

You feel more sweat dripping onto you. It’s turning you on so much. You rest your cheek against a
pillow and lean your front down, as you bring your hand back to collect his sweat and rub it into
your pussy.

You let his sweat mix with your juices, still flowing, and you start to mutter gibberish to yourself,
the feeling of everything happening so indescribably wonderful.

“Damn,” he sighs, watching you, getting off on the idea that you want all of him, even the parts
that escape him.

He brings his free hand to yours too, taking over so that you can ride this wave of pleasure, rubbing
your clit exactly the way you were just a second ago, his mind so perceptive and quickly able to
pick up what you like from how you show him.

“J-Jungkook,” you whine warningly. “I need it. I need you to--- Fuck, more, harder.”

He grunts again, his breaths shaking as he works, his hips twisting and pistoning so gorgeously
into your tight tunnel, his cock plunging in deeply, with abandon.

“There,” you beg. “Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

He keeps doing exactly whatever it is that he’s doing that’s making your toes lock. Your knees
rattle. Your thighs jiggle. Your back bend. Your shoulders cave. Your arms go limp. Your head fall
to the mattress. Your voice tumble out of you, all wails and sobs of pleasure.

You pant, groaning and sighing, looking back at Jungkook again, his smirk plastered across his
face, his brows set and furrowed with determination.

You pump against him, milking him, making your body as tight as you can for him.

“Shit,” he whispers. “You came so good for me. How did it feel, baby?”

“Perfect,” you sigh. “It was perfect.”

You start to swirl your hips, and Jungkook’s breath hitches in his chest.

“Now you, baby,” you moan, your walls spasming and making Jungkook shiver. “Come for me.”

Jungkook whines, burrowing into you.

“You want it?”

“I need it. I need all of you.”

He slaps your ass again, making you buck forward. He places his palms on each of your ass
cheeks, spreading them and watching his cock slam into you. He spits onto his shaft, and you moan
at the sound and feel. He closes his eyes and clutches you tightly, barrelling into you, and making
you yelp with pleasure.

When he comes, he brings you with him. You didn’t know your body had anything left.
Jungkook’s showing you just how much is buried there under the surface. And how willing he is to
go there with you to find it.

You fall apart. You fall next to each other. You fall into each other’s soft gazes, as you settle into
your sides of the bed.

Jungkook pulls you into him and holds you close as you sleep. He whispers to you like a lullaby,
telling you how good you made him feel. How good you always make him feel. How he knows
your barbs and insults and annoyed exterior are just decorations on a thin shell. How soft you
really are inside.

And then you kiss.

Based on his kiss alone, you wouldn’t have expected the snarky, braggadocious, shallow Jungkook
that you met. You’re realizing now that you hadn’t met the real Jungkook. Perhaps that’s what you
think is making him so curious about you. He tells you that you’re good, all the time. You wonder
if he’s forgotten that he started out good, too. You wonder if he’s rediscovering the untainted parts
of himself by looking at you.

As good as the sex is, it’s that quiet, intimate part of the night that makes it harder to disappear.

You aren’t completely sure what you should write in your note.

It feels so stupid to write a note in the first place. First of all, you’ve long abandoned leaving paper
trails. And, second, you’ve never extended the courtesy of letting people know when you were
leaving, mostly because extending that courtesy to them would put them at risk.
You almost don’t leave at all. At some point, weeks ago, you wondered if it was safer this way.
Four eyes looking all around you instead of just two looking ahead or behind. You decided to try it,
and you were pleasantly surprised.

But given what Jungkook has told you tonight. That he could do this forever with you.

It’s a risk.

So, you played the part. You gave him what he seemed to want. Because the reality will come up
so short.

A note is the least you could do.

But what to write?

You think about what you’ve been told about your word. That it’s all you ever really have. It’s why
you get so annoyed when people don’t take you at it.

You decide that whatever you write doesn’t have to answer any questions. It just has to be true.

You leave the note on your pillow. You write it in your neatest, prettiest cursive. As if that will
soften the blow.

You pack quickly and quietly. It looks like you were never there. You leave the rental car for him,
sensing that it would be unfair to leave him stranded as well as alone. So you order a car to take
you to the airport instead.

As you head for the front door, you know that this is going to be extremely hard to get over. You’re
going to miss Jungkook and all your stories together. You’re going to miss this life dearly.
Desperately.

And as soon as you walk outside, the early morning fresh air hits you, and you doubt yourself one
last time when you realize that you hadn’t had one nightmare the entire time you’ve been on the
run with him.

But.

Like all the other times.

The times that were arguably harder than this.

You press on.

 The Game

SIX TOWNS SINCE

It’s funny how it comes back to you.

Never all in one go.

But in slices.

As if your brain knows you wouldn’t be able to handle it all at once.

The last time you got a slice, you and Hobi were at the store, running errands and chatting about
the pros and cons of a particular brand of moisturizer. You stared at its label, trying to imagine it
sitting on a bare metal rod in an employee shower stall.

Now, Hobi is using his index finger to push the Monopoly car piece to its landing spot on the
Chance square.

“Seven, eight, nine!”

Hobi picks up a card, knocking the car piece on its side in his haste.

“Collect $200!” he happily reads from the card.

Jungkook’s face flashes to mind, with images of Taehyung and Jimin and their car full of stolen art,
and the wreckage from the explosion all around you.

There’s ringing in your ears from the blast.

The feel of Jungkook’s hand in yours.

“Collect $200,” Hobi repeats, holding his hand out to you and opening and closing his fingers
rapidly. “Banker? I’d like my $200, please!”

“Right, sorry,” you say, handing him the money.

“And I’ll take that,” Jin says, reaching into Hobi’s palm to collect on his debt from earlier. “And
I’ll use this to build a new property on…”

You miss what Jin says, but you reach for a hotel piece. You squeeze the plastic in your fingers as
you look at the group around you, their faces clear as day, but their voices starting to get drowned
out by the sound of your heart pumping in your ear drums. This group. Your neighbors. Their
significant others. Their children playing in the basement. You try to latch onto any sight or sound
that pulls you out of the wreckage from Taehyung’s explosion.

The job gets done by Hobi, your adorable husband, who is sitting next to you on the loveseat.

“Sena?” Hobi asks you, looking concerned and pressing his lips to your temple to give you a quick
kiss.

“Hmm?” you reply, blinking and shaking your head, dropping the hotel piece into Jin’s open hand.

“You OK?” he asks. “You look a little pale.”

“Yeah, you seem a little out of it,” Jin remarks, placing his new hotel on Park Place as Namjoon
nervously counts how many squares away he is.

“I’m fine,” you say, smiling reassuringly. “I was just, uh… just thinking about a work thing.”

“Want me to take over banking duties?” Yoongi asks from his position lying flat on the floor and
staring up at the ceiling. “I went bankrupt ten turns ago.”

“You can’t just switch Bankers in the middle of a game!” Namjoon exclaims.

“Yes, the economic upheaval would be disastrous,” Yoongi deadpans, speaking without moving.
“Markets will collapse. The planet will implode. The children. Think of the children.”

Everyone giggles softly.

Namjoon pouts. “If no one’s going to take the rules seriously---”

Nima, sitting on the floor in front of Namjoon’s armchair, sighs and reaches back for him, pulling
his arms around her and kissing the back of his hand. “Sweetie, the Scrabble fiasco. Your blood
pressure.”

Namjoon sulks.

“Maybe another glass of wine can get your mind off work?” Nima suggests, reaching past the
charcuterie board for the bottle.

You smile genuinely at Nima as she refills your glass. She’s the perfect wife for Namjoon.
Incredible looks. Incredible brains. Incredible mom. Everything that happens to her seems like it
was all part of some divine master plan. She handles everything with such grace. She’s a queen in
her own right.

And you’d expect nothing less for a king like Namjoon. He’s handsome, smart, caring, and
thorough. Given that he is the unofficial leader of the Sope Industries foursome, he needs to be.
Sure, Namjoon can be a little intense, but you’d have to be in order to corral best friends and co-
workers like Hobi, Jin, and Yoongi. This is probably why he’s such a great father to his and
Nima’s three children, sons Nam-il and Nam-gi, and precious daughter Na-young. Namjoon has
experience with chaos abound.

Namjoon and Nima’s home, which is where you are now, is a statement to their perfection. The
decor is so chic yet comforting, full of calming, natural patterns with lots of wood and green. And
you assume it takes a lot of green to buy a house with this kind of open, modern floor plan, but with
Namjoon’s status as a principal developer, and Nima’s thriving law practice, they never lack
money. Thankfully, they share their wealth, always sharing lavish gifts and holding catered events,
even for an informal, weekly game night with close friends.

You wish you had your shit together like they did.

“What’d I miss?” Jang-mi asks, returning to the living room after checking on the kids

“Hobi got $200, I used it to buy a new hotel, and Namjoon short-circuited about the rules,” Jin
explains, as Jang-mi curls up next to him on the couch.

“You weren’t talking about Scrabble again, were you, Joon?” Jang-mi asks, and everyone enjoys a
laugh at Namjoon’s expense.
Jang-mi and Jin are also perfect fits. He’s a classic dad, with a dad wardrobe, dad hobbies, and
particularly vile dad jokes. She’s a classic mom who is equal parts cook, cleaner, carer, and
counselor. But they’ve got modern twists. He’s a developer, which scores him techie points with
his video game-loving son, Jong-soo. And she’s a professional and particularly artistic chef,
meaning that Jong-soo and Jin never leave a table with an empty stomach or empty hearts.

“You told them?” Jin asks.

“Gave them ten minutes,” Jang-mi responds, referring to the ten-minute warning to let the kids
know that playtime will be over soon.

“Did anybody give you trouble?” Nima asks, chuckling.

“Na-young teared up, but she didn’t cry,” Jang-mi says fondly.

“Progress,” Namjoon sighs, sharing a fond smile with Nima about their sweet, if not a little
sensitive, princess.

“She’s not the only one. Jong-soo loves playing with her so much,” Jin adds. “It’s hilarious that
they throw tantrums like they’re never going to see each other again. We all literally live next to
each other.”

“It’s not about the space,” Jang-mi says knowingly.

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Nima replies, winking at Jang-mi.

“Oh, please don’t start matchmaking your kids,” Yoongi grumbles. “That’s so reductive. Do you
know how many people they’re going to meet in their lives?”

Yoongi doesn’t have a significant other, which, apparently, is kind of the perfect fit for Yoongi.

Then there’s you and Hobi.

And you are definitely the perfect fit for Hobi.

But not because of true love or astounding compatibility.

It’s because you’ve adapted yourself to be.

Hobi was a quick study. Perhaps the quickest in your entire career.

When people ask you what first drew you to him, you tell them that it was his sunny disposition.

That’s not the complete answer. The thing that really drew you to him was his Sope Industries
badge, clipped to his belt. There were three just like it, hanging at different heights and lengths on
the three other men following him inside. The tallest one wore his on a company lanyard around
his neck, his badge sitting just above his toned stomach. The next tallest one wore it clipped to his
shirt pocket, his unrealistically gorgeous photo facing out and grabbing attention. The smallest one
wore it just by his left pants pocket, the silver badge clip resting in the tiny mini-pocket of his
jeans, which you later learn is the perfect height for the edge of the security scanner to catch the
barcode without him having to lift a finger. When you find that out, you smile to yourself at that
perfect mix of laziness and cleverness, and sometimes, you think about how fun it would have been
if you had targeted him instead.

But what sells you on Hobi truly is his sunny disposition.

As soon as you saw him and his friends enter the cafe where you liked to “work”, you knew he’d
be the perfect target. It had been four towns since Jungkook (the only way you knew how to mark
time anymore), and you needed a relatively big score to replenish your funds. Now that you’ve
scoped Hobi and his troupe out for a few weeks, you think that this lovable goof will be down for a
good time, well-adjusted enough to take a slight heartbreak of the perfect one-night stand. More
well-adjusted than his friends, at least.

You guess that he claims that he likes a girl who’s cute, sweet, and bubbly. Pure and demure. Good
girls that he can protect and stand up for.

Trying to make a move on him while you’re wearing all black leather is going to be tricky.

But you also know that there are things that everyone wants, despite what they might say. That no
matter how much Hobi may claim that he wants a good girl, he wouldn’t kick you out of bed if you
ended up being a bad one.

So you unbutton the top two buttons of your blouse, just to tip things in your favor.

And then you collect your things, getting up to leave, but not before dropping your lipstick tube
right by their table on your way to the exit.

Hobi scampers after you, catching you outside and softening when he sees your face. He holds up
your lipstick tube and explains why he was calling for you.

You giggle sweetly.

And the happy look on his face lets you know that Hobi is hooked.

It’s the same face that Hobi’s making now, as you walk across the street to your house. He just
looks so peaceful. So content.

So happy.

You smile and snuggle against his body as he holds you close, realizing that you’re not far from
feeling pretty happy yourself.

He looks back at the cul-de-sac.

“Look.”

Hobi directs your attention to the first house at the bend, directly across the street from yours. It
has been for sale the entire time you’ve lived here.

But now, there’s a SOLD sign in the front lawn.

“Did you know?” Hobi asks.

He asks you not just to make conversation. He asks because he knows you’re a “realtor” who
“works from home”, save for the periodic multi-day company “conferences” that you attend.
Surely the top realtor at her company would have had a heads-up on the competition.

But, in your actual work, you’re starting to get sloppy. You’re starting to leave your laptop out in
the living room or on the bed without locking it. Hobi’s seen messages from your clients on your
trusty work phone. The cover you created as The Seller helps you keep from slipping up
disastrously, but you also recognize that you’re not just feeling pretty happy. You’re also getting
way too comfortable.

“No, I didn’t know,” you say.

“Aren’t realtors usually pretty boastful whenever they get a sale?” Hobi asks. “Y’know, like how
they plaster their faces everywhere to brag on the close? Take some pictures handing over the keys
to the new owner? The sign just says SOLD.”

That’s true.

“People work in different ways,” you say vaguely.

Hobi sighs as you cross the street. “Well, I hope the new neighbors are cool, at least.”

The antique look of the now-sold Victorian at the beginning of the cul-de-sac seems to bring little
promise of a laid-back, fun, young couple, but that doesn’t keep you from hoping the same.

Namjoon and Nima’s contemporary home is a stark contrast next to it. But so is Jin and Jang-mi’s
Spanish-style home in the middle of the cul-de-sac, right at the top of the bend. And so is Yoongi’s
quaint Craftsman. And then, so is your and Hobi’s two-story Tudor, at the other end. Your houses
are all so different, but the people who move into the first house could easily become your sixth
and seventh best friends.

You can’t believe you have so many.

“Even if they aren’t cool, though,” you say, “we’ve got everything we need. Right?”

Hobi grins and pulls you closer. “I know I do.”

You get to your door, your face scrunched with a bit of confusion as Hobi unlocks it and gestures
for you to go inside first.

“What does that mean?” you ask Hobi, who closes and locks the door behind the two of you.

Hobi hands you his keys as he holds onto the wall and wriggles his foot out of his shoe. “I don’t
know. Sometimes it seems like you’re…”

He shrugs and drops his shoe on your shoe rack.

“...Like you’re looking for something else.”

It’s weird, having an ex-target know you as a lover.

You watch as Hobi wiggles his other foot out of his other shoe.

“What else could I be looking for?” you ask, curious about Hobi’s take.

“I don’t know,” Hobi repeats, mortified at having brought it up. “Maybe it’s the wine talking. I
don’t know what I’m saying.”

But he does know. Or, he has a list of guesses, stored in the back of his mind, a list that he’s kept
since you started dating. He still doesn’t understand how his dream girl just dropped out of the sky
one day. He can’t believe after all of his searching, it was an almost-lost tube of lipstick that
brought you together. He doesn’t understand why you instantly found him sweet and charming
when everything in his life up until that point had told him that he was too much.
He feels like he doesn’t deserve you.

This list itemizes the ways he feels like he comes up short. Incidentally, the list is quite long. It has
been added to and reshuffled over and over throughout your time together. He even consulted it on
your wedding day, a simple ceremony at the courthouse that drudged up way too many doubts in
his mind. But every time he’s felt like this, you’ve always been able to steer him back to you.

You don’t want to tell him that all of his fears and insecurities don’t stem from anything having to
do with him .

They come from the fact that he shouldn’t trust you. At all.

Still, you steer him back to you.

“How could I be looking for more when I’ve got you,” you purr, stepping into his body,
awkwardly angled in the hallway as he starts to pull off his other shoe.

“Ooh,” Hobi chuckles, as you draw nearer.

You hear his shoe drop to the ground. You giggle and place kisses on his jaw line. You don’t touch
him, not yet, because you like the way he gets excited and scoops you up. No, instead, you lean
your upper body forward, kissing him, and then stepping back, kissing him again, and then
stepping back, bringing him away from the front door and leading him into the living room. And as
you move, you strip off layer after layer of your domestic costume. Your cork wedges. Your long,
pink, fuzzy, open cardigan. Your white tee, tucked into your jeans. Soon, you’re down to your
simple cotton bra and panties, though Hobi stares at you like you’re in elaborate lingerie.

“Honey, how the fuck are you so gorgeous,” Hobi whines, making you smile.

You start to dive in, letting go of the memories that unexpectedly bubbled up and the worries about
the things that you can’t control right now, and focusing on the moment.

Sex isn’t exactly rare. You’re thankful that Hobi is always so ready for you whenever you’re in the
mood, and vice versa. And you’re grateful that there’s legitimate attraction and care. It’s always
easier playing the role when there is. It’s even starting to feel less like a role and more like your
reality the longer you keep at it.

So, while they’re not rare, these moments hold great importance because they are the only
moments in your life that you feel like you are able to turn off the parts of your brain that work
without you, steadily in the background, the parts that buzz with ideas for the jobs you’re working
on, or even potential new lines of code to insert into your scripts to see if you can smoke Sejin and
his minions out of their hole.

Hobi kisses you fully, deeply, and your brain finally fully shifts.

You moan against him, as his hands run over your body, and his murmurs hum warmly through his
chest.

“You’re amazing. You know that by now, right? You’re an absolute fucking angel.”

It’s taken you a while, but you’ve finally stopped wincing at those kinds of words. You definitely
don’t deserve them, and for all the bullet points that Hobi thinks he comes up short, you fail even
worse. But now, anytime a compliment arises, you think of Hobi’s sad face, and his concerned
voice, asking you whether anyone has ever told you that before. Whether that’s the reason why
you don’t seem to accept any of his praise.
Initially, you feared that if you didn’t let him in, you’d lose your most promising target to date.

And, when things between you developed past that, you feared that if you didn’t let him in, you’d
lose the one source of light you’ve had in your life in a while.

If you lost that, you’d lose everything.

So you kick-started a series of events that, when all told, lead to Hobi now kissing your neck, and
you pinning your ear to his cheek, wanting to keep his lips on you for as long as they can stay.

“Let’s just go crazy tonight,” Hobi suggests, whispering into your collarbone. “Go wild on each
other. What do you think? How are you feeling?”

“Feeling good,” you say. “But I think what you’re suggesting will make me feel even better.”

An evil smirk spreads across Hobi’s face.

You squeal as he snatches you up like you like, wrapping his arms around you and carrying you
over his shoulder into the bedroom, making you laugh as he slaps and bites your ass.

He throws you down onto the bed and kisses you, snorting and growling as he does, making you
giggle at his animalistic way with you. He tears off his clothes and presses his body against you,
moaning at the way you sigh when he settles on top of you.

He grasps your hand in his and places it on his hardening cock, and you start to fondle him,
stroking him at the same pace he’s circling your clit with his fingers, over your underwear.

“Look at me,” Hobi whispers, following your head as you turn it from side to side.

You lay back, your head flat against the mattress, and open your eyes.

He groans at the sight of your gorgeous eyes, somehow sparkling even in the dead of night, in your
near-pitch black bedroom.

“Your pretty eyes,” Hobi whispers, using his free arm to prop himself up, his thumb resting next to
your cheek and wiping some sweat away from your hairline. “Pretty smile. Pretty face.”

You smile sweetly. Hobi knows how much encouragement you need. How difficult it had been for
you to see anything about yourself as appealing. After Jungkook, all you tend to see in the mirror is
the blur of someone who never stays long enough for anyone to form any kind of opinion.

“These pretty breasts,” Hobi whispers, taking off your bra.

He places his hand right back on your flesh.

“This pretty pussy,” Hobi whispers with more urgency, kissing down your body, rushing to get his
lips next to his fingers.

The cloth of your underwear is soaking through. Hobi’s gotten you so wet, so stained, that you’re
more used to throwing panties out than washing them.

“I think I’ve ruined these,” Hobi chuckles, knowing what you’re thinking.

You sit up momentarily and draw him into a soft, sensual kiss.
“How about you ruin me,” you whisper.

Hobi hums and snorts against you as he kneels, making you snicker as he nom nom nom! s at your
thighs. You close your eyes as he slips a finger between your underwear and your folds.

But before you get too heated by his touch, you snap your thighs shut, forcing Hobi to start to try to
pry them open as you teasingly play keepaway.

“You’re gonna make me work for it?” Hobi laughs. “Don’t toy with me now.”

He doesn’t mean it. He loves it when you toy with him.

“Mmm,” you say, rolling onto your side, letting go of his cock, “what if I want to?”

Hobi furrows his brow. “Hon. I mean it.”

He doesn’t mean it. He wants you to push on.

“Mmm,” you say noncommittally, rolling onto your other side, your thighs still clamped shut.

He holds you down on your back and nudges your knees open with his right knee.

“Keep it up,” he replies, smirking. “See what you get.”

You shrug and giggle.

You’re driving him senseless.

He kisses down your body again, and then he licks every single part of your folds. Every single
part except for your entrance and your throbbing, aching clit.

“Hobi,” you whimper. “Fuck, honey, that feels so good.”

“You want more?”

“Yes.”

“Too bad.”

You pout. But you know from experience that the momentary disappointment will be addressed
later.

You sit up again. “I’ll give you something for it,” you say, licking your lips.

“Oh, yeah?” Hobi asks, stroking his cock. “What will you give me?”

You smile and reach for his arms. He bends down to you, and you place your hands on his
shoulders, positioning him so that you can kiss him as you take his cock in both your hands,
stroking him harder, and with more pressure, as your tongue caresses his.

His hands are set palm-down on the mattress, propping him up. As you heighten the moment, you
feel his hands sliding closer and closer to your ass and thighs. And then, when he’s had enough, he
presses his thumbs between your thighs, opening you up again, and landing on your flesh, dragging
his tongue across your clit.

You jerk back in delight, throwing your hands behind you and locking your arms to keep you
upright.

“Honey,” you moan slowly.

“Lie down for me, pretty.”

You do, and he spreads your legs wider, holding you open so that he can taste every part of you,
every bit of flesh on the rind.

You start to shiver, and when he starts to suck on your clit, you almost come right away.

“Mmm, I love when you shake like that,” Hobi tells you, looking up at you and rubbing you to
help ease you back down.

You can’t speak. You can only gasp for breath as he dives back into you, sucking on your clit as he
fingers you, but stopping when you start to pump against him, and running his fingers back up to
your clit to massage it, to cool it off.

“You’re making me feel insane,” you whimper.

“I could do this all night, hon,” Hobi titters.

You whine again. You already know that you can’t handle a whole night of edging. You will
come, and it will either be a half-hearted orgasm because you’re going to go over the edge
unexpectedly, or it will be a completely disastrous orgasm that will make you lose consciousness.

“I won’t last,” you say, trying to explain.

Hobi laughs, knowing how much this is torturing you.

When he gets you close again, you reach down desperately for his hands to keep them there,
forcing his wrist to stay pressed against your entrance, his index and middle fingers fully inside of
you.

But he shakes you off and laughs.

“Is that how bad you want it?” he asks.

You nod furiously, reaching for his wrist again and trying to stick his fingers inside of you.

“What about this instead?” he asks, bringing your fingers back to his cock.

“Mmm,” you moan, sitting up and taking him into your mouth.

He hisses and lets his head fall back as you suck him off, wrapping your tongue around him in
every way you can. You trace his tip. You curl it around his shaft. You tease the seam as you
swallow more and more of him. He fucks your throat, and you lap up his balls. He cries out your
name over and over again, and when he almost comes, he has to push himself away from you to
slow things down.

“Let me fuck you,” he pleads, walking back over to you.

“How do you want me?” you ask, getting ready to reposition yourself.

“Ride me, honey,” he whines, as you sit up on your knees, and he meets you for a kiss. “Please? I
wanna watch you. Feel you grinding.”
You smile. Cowgirl. Normal or reverse, doesn’t matter. It’s Hobi’s favorite position.

You kiss him and pull him into bed with you before rolling on top of him and facing the other
direction. He moans when he sees your ass sink down, the dimples above your cheeks smiling
back at him.

He places his hands on your hips and digs his thumbs into those dimples, squeezing you, pinching
you, and slapping you as you start to buck, your hair and torso thrashing as you go, slowly
lowering yourself to his legs as you wind your hips.

His cock never yields, never rests. He stays so hard for you, dripping precum into and onto you, as
you slide yourself around him. He grabs your feet, your knees bent back, your soles facing him. He
runs his thumbs over your delicate ankles. And he lets out high-pitched groans when you lay flat
against his legs, resting your cheeks against his shin as you pump back against him.

You feel him starting to kick, so you sit up, and ride him more, until he repositions you to face
him, as you’re on all fours.

“Stay like that, hon,” he tells you, holding you close, hugging you with his upper arms and pressing
you tight against his chest, as his hips rise to meet yours.

He fucks you hard and fast, his body moving in waves. Truly. Real waves. His body is a body of
water, finding every possible way to slide against you and moisten you. Seemingly the only thing
with form is Hobi’s cock, which stays rigid as it swells.

You cry out when the pace starts to become intense, like you both like it, and Hobi growls deeply
before mashing your faces together in a sloppy kiss.

He spreads your ass cheeks as he pumps into you, and you feel his fingers playing with you.

You bite Hobi’s lip, which is all it takes to let him know to do whatever he wants to do with you.

He rubs a finger around your hole, and you sob into Hobi’s neck. Soon, he’s penetrating every one
of your orifices with his finger, his dick, or his tongue, and your wails only have Hobi’s mouth to
spill into.

“Can’t last,” you warn, your legs starting to shake and give way.

“Come for me, honey,” he whispers. “So pretty when you come.”

You whine and let go, and it feels like you’re falling through the bed, each molecule sinking into
Hobi’s lake, your brain and body and limbs and eyes and lips and heart detaching from one another
and spreading out, away from each other.

Hobi pumps into you and follows you in your state of disarray. He shuts his brain off, like you’ve
done. He intertwines your limbs. Directs his eyes into yours. Tangles your lips together. Holds
your heart in his.

It’s nice, getting taken apart like this. It’s nice that you feel safe and comfortable enough with Hobi
to let him dismantle you. It’s a nice reprieve from feeling like you always have to have it together.

His cum spills out of you, and you feel it trickling down your lips and thighs, and onto his legs, as
he pulls out and rubs his slick shaft against your wet lips.

“How was that for round 1?” Hobi chuckles, kissing you as you shiver with aftershocks.
“Fuck, that was incredible,” you admit, brushing your hair back with your fingers and kissing him
back.

You lie there with Hobi for a while, talking about what you liked. What you felt. What you feel
between you. And then things get heated again. Soon, you start round 2. Then round 3. Then round
4. The longer you go, the less you say, wordlessly doing whatever it is that you know that Hobi
likes in that moment, and vice versa. It took a while for everything to work right, which really
meant that it took you a while to integrate “Sena”’s preferences with your own, but now that you
have established your Hobi Mode, it has quickly become one of your favorites ways to be.

You think you start to see dawn breaking by the time you’re done with round 6.

“I’m so fucking glad it’s the weekend,” Hobi sighs, as you lie on top of him and run your hands
over his sweet, now somewhat-chapped lips.

“Long week,” you reflect, thinking about everything Hobi has told you about work. How busy it
has been. How draining. How it has stretched and challenged him, as well as the rest of the guys.

Hobi nods.

“Lazy Saturday, then,” you tell him.

Hobi nods again.

“Sleep, and then food?”

Hobi smiles and nestles into you, confirming this brilliant plan.

You rest in his arms and let yourself get some shut-eye.

But not too much.

When Hobi’s deep in slumber, you wiggle out of his grasp and throw on his shirt. You head to the
basement, your home office, with your laptop and work phone, eager to see what you’ve missed.

Your bots execute flawlessly, as usual. You’ve just completed your third Ranch-style job of the
year, totaling your take at about $30k. But you still haven’t fully replenished your resources from
six towns since Jungkook.

Part of why that’s the case is that you’re over-cautious now. Though there’s no indication that
Sejin or anyone else is on your trail, you don’t take as many jobs, and the jobs that you do take
must allow you to work from home. You’re done with surprises in warehouses or on highways.
You no longer take Tudor-style jobs or higher, either. You’re sticking well under the $50k range of
modern homes, lest you sound an alarm and put Hobi or your friends in danger.

You wonder if that counts as the sort of deep compromise that people make when they fall in love
and settle down with their partners. Hobi sacrificed his long-desired man cave to give you office
space in the basement. And though he doesn’t know it, you sacrificed your black market shop to
make sure no one on the cul-de-sac gets killed.

You almost gave everything up when you lost track of Jungkook. You’d stayed on his trail by
hollowing out the heel of his boot and inserting a tracker. You’d watched as he stayed in the town
you left for weeks, running in hopeless circles. And then you watched as he finally gave up waiting
for you and set out on his own. He traveled to the next town on your list, and then the next,
seemingly determined to finish out the route you had planned together.
Your fifth date with Hobi was the day that Jungkook’s tracker went dark.

You were smiling to yourself, running a finger over Jungkook’s blue circle moving along as you
did your makeup and waited for Hobi to knock on your apartment door. But just after you had
finished your eyeliner, the style thinner and lighter than you usually wear it in order to adopt your
take on Hobi’s preferences, the blue circle just… vanished. It was there, and then, it was gone.
Your heart stopped, and you threw your eyeliner to the ground, grabbing your laptop screen with
both hands. You tried to triangulate his location given his usual pattern of cell phone activity. But
that was gone, too. Columns and columns of data, columns and columns of him, just disappearing
into nothing. Just fading into the black on your screen.

What else is there to think but the worst? He was near a highway. Did Sejin’s network catch up to
him? Mysterious events involving cars is kind of his MO.

But, unlike with the truck carrying the Gomez, there were no news reports of a fireball on the road.
There were no warnings that in the coverage of the story, there would be graphic depictions of
burnt bodies. There was no story at all. No one knew Jungkook was dead.

Not even you, technically.

But all that you have to go off of is your imagination. Which isn’t exactly a good thing.

When Hobi arrived, he found you a bawling mess.

When he knocked, you met him with an, “I need to cancel,” whimpered through the door. You
were so surprised at your reaction. You didn’t anticipate being so overwhelmed with emotion.
Your brain told you that you were overreacting, but it was being drowned out by your aching heart.

“What’s wrong?” Hobi asked.

“I’m j-just not going to be very good com-company,” you sob.

“You’re always good company. C’mon. Just open the door.”

You do, slowly. And Hobi softens at the sight of you.

“Sena,” he tuts empathically. “What happened?”

“I think I just…”

You take a breath. You don’t know how to explain it. But Hobi looks so eager to listen. He looks
like he might understand. Or at least have the ability to comfort you. So, instead of dismissing it,
you decide to tell him some version of the truth.

“I got bad news about a friend of mine today. He’s… he’s gone.”

Hobi shakes his head. He stares at you, tears welling in his eyes.

“No.”

Your lips quiver, and Hobi rushes to scoop you up, something you’ve grown to love. He kicks the
door closed behind you both. He holds you as you cry silently, sniffling every now and then. He
strokes your hair. He tells you that he’s so sorry. He tells you to forget everything else. That you
two can stay there, like that, for as long as you need.

You ended up kissing him, thanking him for staying with you.
Especially because you know that you wouldn’t have stayed with him, if the tables were turned.

You have more than enough proof of that.

And that is what truly pains you. The guilt of wondering whether if you had stayed, Jungkook
would still be alive.

That kiss led to another kiss, which led to a hand being held and tugged into the bedroom.

That was when Hobi stopped being your target.

You’ve been with Hobi ever since.

But every now and then, you look for Jungkook. You know it’s pointless, but sometimes, you like
to tell yourself that he’s just been off-the-grid. Found some way to disappear. Found some way to
let you go. That this was a choice instead of an accident.

You stare at your laptop now, watching as funds get deposited into your current bank account.

There’s still no blue dot on your map. But there is a red one. One that doesn’t blink or move.

One that reminds you of everything that was, and everything that could have been.

**

You go running with Jang-mi and Nima on Saturday mornings. You would have passed on the run
today, but Hobi is still asleep when mid-morning rolls around and Jang-mi and Nima appear on
your doorstep.

Despite the bags under your eyes, you throw your hair into a top knot, slide on a sports bra,
whatever shirt is on the floor, some running shorts, and sneakers, and you join them for a light jog
through the neighborhood.

“Isn’t that the shirt Hobi was wearing last night?” Jang-mi points out as Nima chuckles.

“It was going in the laundry anyway,” you say, rolling your eyes.

“Mmhmm,” Jang-mi says in disbelief. “We all saw the way Hobi was grabbing at you as you
walked home.”

“He always gets grabby when he’s drunk.”

“Did that lead to anything?”

“Depends on what you mean by ‘anything’.”

“Did you fuck or not?” Nima says boldly.

Jang-mi clicks her tongue. “Nima!”

“What?? That’s what we want to know, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, but to say it so blatantly like that,” Jang-mi says, shuddering. “It’s kind of improper.”

You and Nima crack up. If only Jang-mi knew the things that Jin has said about sex with her when
she wasn’t around. They’re all good things. He basically gushes about her. But Jin is particularly
insistent about keeping Jang-mi relatively innocent and modest. And Jang-mi is too embarrassed
about their private life to be so open. For whatever reason, you and Nima are different. Even the
guys know that you are pretty transparent when it comes to talking about sex. You and Nima have
enjoyed many a drunken conversation with the guys about what you like and don’t like, or what
Namjoon and Hobi do to drive you wild, leading Namjoon and Hobi to fuck you both like crazy
when you get home from such a night. It becomes a bit of a game for you and Nima to see who
will be the one who sends Jin home with a boner for Jang-mi to take care of, and who will be the
one who sends Yoongi home with a boner for him to figure out what to do with. It kind of turns
you on to think about them caught up in a frenzy that you and Nima have started.

Again, you don’t really know why you’re like this. Why you so love the work that you do. Why
you turn your nose up at the proper way of doing things. Why you seek these gray, dangerous
moments out.

Why they turn you on.

Why you always have to win.

But you’re comforted by the fact that you’ve met someone who shares this teasing trait with you. It
probably stems from the fact that you and Nima both share an impatience for the expectation to be
“lady-like”.

You and Nima share a horny, unabashed, patriarchy-smashing grin.

“Fine, we fucked,” you say, unable to keep it inside.

“Sena!”

“You wanted to know!”

“Yeah, but still---”

“It was definitely improper,” you brag. “He did improper things to me, and I did improper things to
him. We went for six or seven highly improper rounds. This shirt reeks of impropriety. We
finished, covered in each other’s improperness. And he’s sleeping all the improper off right now.”

“Ooh, yes, nice and dirty,” Nima cooes, before sighing, “Ever since we had Nam-il, Namjoon and I
just haven’t had much time to get it in, and Nam-gi and Na-young followed pretty soon after the
times that we did.” She looks over at Jang-mi. “Sena and Hobi probably fuck non-stop.”

“I mean, she did just say they did it six or seven times,” Jang-mi says, rather sadly.

“Does Jin not dick you down?” you ask.

Jang-mi’s ears turn bright red. “N-no!” She huffs. “No, not as… N-not as of late,” she stammers.

You smirk. “Just tell him to fuck you. He’ll do it without thinking twice. He’ll do it because he’s
probably always thinking about fucking you.”
Jang-mi sighs. “I don’t know. My body is still all different.”

“Jin is obsessed with you,” Nima adds.

Jang-mi rolls her eyes. “But Jong-soo---”

“You’re beautiful, your body’s tight, you only have one kid, and he’s four now,” Nima says.
“Leave Jong-soo with one of us and go get a hotel room for a night or something.”

“You’d watch him?” Jang-mi asks brightly.

“So that Jin can blow your fucking back out? Hell yeah!” Nima exclaims.

Jang-mi looks at you for reassurance.

“I mean, yeah, totally,” you say, though you personally don’t really want the responsibility of
watching a four-year-old kid while hiding from an entire criminal network.

Jang-mi grins. “Hmm!” she squeaks. “I might take you up on that, ladies!”

You laugh along with them, but you’re cringing a bit inside. It’s not just the criminal network. You
also hate kids. Though, over the years, you’ve developed a fondness for Nima and Jang-mi’s four
particular critters. And you can’t help but smile at Jang-mi’s happiness and Nima’s supportive
encouragement. You usually have trouble letting people in, but there’s something about these two
and their families. They’re just so irresistibly sweet and kind in a way that you could never be.

Maybe you hope they all rub off on you.

You chat a little longer as you finish your trek around the neighborhood, soon returning to your
cul-de-sac.

“Interesting development,” Nima reflects, as you jog past the SOLD sign in front of the Victorian.

She and Jang-mi look at you.

“Yeah, Hobi pointed it out to me last night,” you say.

“Before all the fucking?” Jang-mi jokes.

You and Nima laugh, caught off-guard by Jang-mi suddenly being very game.

“Yes, before all the fucking,” you say, with a wink. “He asked if I knew that the house finally sold.
I didn’t, but sometimes people keep all that information close to the vest.” You’re glad you
practiced the lie. It sounds so much more conversational.

You slow to a walk as you approach Nima and Namjoon’s house.

“We’re gonna have to snoop the minute they move in,” Nima thinks aloud.

“Maybe we can invite them to game night!” Jang-mi says excitedly.

“I like that idea,” Nima says, breaking off from the group and jogging up to her front door.
“Anyway, good run, gals! Jang-mi, the offer to babysit stands!”

“Thanks!” Jang-mi calls back to her, before she looks at you.

You smile and walk alongside her, toward her and Jin’s house, which is coming up next.

“Six or seven times, huh?” Jang-mi asks you meekly.

“Roughly,” you say. “And when I say roughly…”

You wiggle your eyebrows, and Jang-mi giggles.

“You’re so bad.”

You smirk. Again, if only Jang-mi knew.

She breaks away and walks up to her front door, waving goodbye to you as you continue walking
and catch sight of Yoongi’s tiny, cute, round ass wiggling in his hedges.

You cup your hands around your mouth. “Yoongles!” you call, playfully barking it out.

Yoongi stops what he’s doing and crawls out of his greenery. He turns and faces you, and you
laugh at the huge gardening hat that he has on.

“What?” he asks, defensively. “I don’t wanna burn.”

“Amazing,” you say, putting your hands on your hips and watching him from the sidewalk. “What
exactly are you doing, though?”

Yoongi scowls. “Namjoon won’t stop talking about how my hedges are two centimeters too long.”

“Being too long doesn’t usually elicit complaints,” you joke.

Yoongi grins and says, “And don’t I know it.”

“Mmhmm,” you laugh as you roll your eyes.

“How was the run?”

“Good.”

“What do you even talk about on your runs?” Yoongi asks teasingly. “Fashion? Gossip?”

Deciding to have some fun, and revved up from the gal pal naughty talk, you share, “Oh, we talked
about how Hobi fucked me so many times last night that I still can’t see straight.” You wipe your
brow with the short sleeve of Hobi’s t-shirt. “Hmm. Actually, I think he was wearing this.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen, and he gulps at your words.

“He’s still passed out,” you say loftily.

“Passed out?”

“Yes.”

“Like, completely passed out?”

“Yup. He’s probably pretty dehydrated and cold, lying there all naked and spent. And I’ve got a
feeling that I’ve got some nasty bruises due to flower soon.”

Yoongi pushes out his lips.

“Be careful with him, Sena,” he says.

Warns.

“I should go check on him,” you say, teasing. “See what he wants to get up to next.”

Yoongi clears his throat and shifts his weight. “Uh, yeah, you should… you should go do that.”

You wonder what he’s imagining.

He lowers his eyes and goes back to his hedges. All you see is that huge gardening hat bobbling
back and forth as he goes.

“See you later, Yoongles!”

He waves a gardening gloved hand at you, not daring to look back at you.

You chuckle internally, and you jog back inside.

But you can’t shake the feeling that’s been looming over you since you got back to the cul-de-sac.

The feeling that someone is watching you from the Victorian in the first lot.

**

The rest of the week rolls along like any other week. You pick up another job and start planning
another DDoS attack. Based on the details, it seems like one startup is wanting to take a competitor
out at the kneecaps.

One day, when Hobi gets home from work, he decides to pop down into the basement to check in.

“Hon? You down here?” he calls, when he opens the door.

“Just finishing up,” you say, closing down your actual screens and propping up your fake ones.
Pictures of houses on the market. Spreadsheets and metrics that don’t make sense but just look
professional.

Hobi smiles and gets to the bottom stair as you pretend to pore over your figures.

He kisses you on the cheek. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you respond softly, pulling him into you again to kiss him on the mouth.

You smile at each other when you pull away. “Who drove today?”

“Jin.”

You find it so cute that Hobi, Jin, Namjoon, and Yoongi all still carpool to work, like they did
when they were fresh out of college and first got these jobs.

“Good day?”
“Yup, not too busy,” Hobi says. “Plus we all met the new neighbors today.” He puts his hands on
your shoulders and tries to follow along on your screen. “Saw them moving as we were pulling up.
We helped them with a few boxes.”

“That’s nice,” you say, closing your laptop screen completely and turning to face Hobi. “Who are
they?”

“A couple. They’re cute.”

“What are their names?”

“I forget. But they’re about our age.” Hobi laughs. “Which means that everyone on the cul-de-sac
is our age. Which also means that we must be getting old.”

You chuckle. Hobi has a point. It’s no longer age-inappropriate for Jin to be complaining about
back pain while cleaning the gutters, or Neighborhood Watch Namjoon to be chastising you for the
umpteenth time about the length of the grass in your front yard.

“Anyway, Jin Invited them to game night this week,” Hobi replies. He narrows his eyes.
“Monopoly was a setback, but maybe we can pulverize them in our continued overall game night
domination.”

“Maybe? That’s all but a certainty,” you say craftily, meeting Hobi’s smirk with one of your own.

These average normies, you think, with their abundance of trust and their healthy coping
mechanisms. They’re no match for anxiety-ridden, technologically-laden, hawk-eyed you.

You will win it all.

It’s not boastful to say so. At this point, you and Hobi have won close to 70 of the 100 or so game
nights that you’ve had as a group, starting from everybody’s tiny apartments in the city and
extending into these neighborhoods that Sope Industries partially invested in for workers and their
families.

Throughout the week, as you putter around the house and work on the next job that you take, you
wonder what game Jin and Jang-mi will choose for your game night. Scrabble has been out of
commission since Namjoon ripped the board in half out of anger at you all constantly using words
like THICC and SHOOKETH and actually beating him. You, Jin, Namjoon, and Yoongi are kind
of tired of board games and want to play more trivia games. Hobi, Jang-mi, and Nima easily get
bored with trivia games and want to play more board games.

Either way, you’re ready to swiftly take everybody out, as you admire the outfit that you’ve
prepared for game night.

“Whoa, hon,” Hobi breathes, seeing you in the black leather ensemble that you’ve dusted off.

You smirk. You’d had the idea since talking with the girls on your weekend run, and since teasing
Yoongi in his yard. You miss that element of spice and danger. And you love seeing the look on
Hobi’s face as you begin to introduce that element in your kiss.

“Fuck,” Hobi replies. “Seeing you in that, I just wanna…”

He grunts.

“We can stay home instead,” you tease.

Hobi whines. He knows he has to decide between staring at you all night and not being able to
touch you until you get back home, or acting on his desire right now.

“I promised we’d go,” Hobi whines. “Jin said that Jang-mi was super excited to have a new couple
join us, but they’re also wary that they could be total duds.”

“Guess we’ll just have to revisit this later,” you say, shrugging.

As you move to leave your bedroom, Hobi pulls you back and runs his hands over you. He notices
that in order to accommodate your skin-tight tank top, you’re not wearing a bra.

“Fuuuuuck,” Hobi sighs through gritted teeth, as you giggle. “Let’s hurry up and destroy this
game night so that I can focus on destroying you.” He sighs and kisses you. “You’re sure as hell
destroying me.”

“Good,” you tease, as you escape Hobi’s grasp, letting your hand linger in his as you lead him out
the door.

You walk over to Jin’s house, Hobi’s hand in your back pocket and rubbing your ass. He’s thrilled
with the knowledge that you are also missing underwear, this realization prompting Hobi to let out
little grunts as you walk and only stopping once you get to the door.

Knowing that the door is unlocked, you reach for it and throw it open. You hear the kids running
around and squealing as they head upstairs, and you hear your friends chattering in the living room.

You and Hobi join everyone there.

“Hey!” Jin exclaims, walking over to you. “Great, everyone’s here! You two met Hobi the other
day. This is his wife, Sena.”

“Hi, I’m Gyu-ri,” the modelesque woman walking up to you replies, extending her hand. “And this
is my husband.”

You freeze.

“Jeon Jungkook.”

He moves to high-five you, his hand just peeking out of his baggy sweatshirt. You pause at first.
It’s like seeing a ghost.

But then you smile the biggest smile you’ve ever smiled in your entire life.

He smiles back brightly.

He bites his lip as you slap him five.

You feel your chest tighten.

You’re both in absolute shock.

“What was your name?” he asks. “Sienna?”

You just stare at him. Is he real? Is that really his voice that you’re hearing? Is he really talking to
you?

“I---”
“Stella?”

What is he doing? What is he getting at?

“Uh---”

“ Sella?” Jungkook asks you, the sight of his inability to fight his grin making it all the more
harder for you to fight yours.

“That’s not even a name?” Yoongi mutters under his breath, puzzled.

Jungkook grins. “That’s what I thought too. But is that it?” He shrugs. “It’s pretty. I’ll call you Sel
for short.”

“Her name’s Sena,” Hobi laughs, correcting Jungkook, “with an N in the middle.”

“Hmm,” Jungkook replies, his gaze still fixed on you. “I see. My mistake. But I think I’ll keep
calling you Sel, anyway.” He winks. “The mix-up can be a cute little part of our origin story.”

Your heart is still beating so fast, but you’ve stopped feeling it pounding against your chest. Now,
all you can focus on is constricting your throat to keep from laughing wildly.

You could laugh, but you could also scream, or weep. You could break down and weep right here,
right now, in front of everyone.

He’s alive.

He’s OK.

But what is he doing here?

“What are you doing here?” you ask dreamily.

The moment is made a little less dazzling when Hobi stands behind you and hugs you tight.

“I mean, what brought you to the cul-de-sac?” you ask, adjusting your stance to accommodate
Hobi hanging happily onto your frame.

Jungkook’s eyes darken a little at the sight of you in Hobi’s arms. He reaches for Gyu-ri and rests
his chin on her shoulder, and you have to remind yourself that it would be pointless to get jealous,
because you kind of have Hobi, Jungkook was never really yours, Gyu-ri isn’t really his, and none
of this is real, anyway.

“Uh, Gyu-ri got a new job.”

“Aaaaaaand?” Gyu-ri teases him.

“And, uh, we want to start a family,” he says awkwardly.

Gyu-ri swoons as the rest of the group aww! s.

But the way Jungkook says it. You know something’s off.

“This one was hesitant,” Gyu-ri replies, confirming your suspicions. “But I’ve always wanted it.
Y’know, kids, dog, white picket fence, blah blah blah.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Nima says. “You saw our three rascals. This place is perfect for our
family.”

“Ours too,” Jang-mi adds. “If you want the white picket fence, you won’t find a better place to
build it.”

“That’s what I was hoping,” Gyu-ri says, looking back at Jungkook with an excited smile.

Jungkook uninterestedly bares his teeth, and it takes everything inside of you not to howl with
laughter.

“How long has it been?” Nima asks.

“Three years,” Jungkook says quickly, still looking at you.

Your heart throbs. Yes. Three tormented years.

“No, two,” Gyu-ri corrects, side-eyeing Jungkook playfully. She turns back to the group. “We’ve
been married just under a year, but we dated on and off for about a year before that.”

You aren’t totally sure if it has anything to do with you, but you like the idea of Jungkook avoiding
commitment. You like the idea of Jungkook choosing to stay alone on the run for a whole year.

“So, how are you finding it?” Jang-mi asks, thinking fondly of the newlywed period that Jungkook
and Gyu-ri are in. “Newlyweds. New house. New and improved life?”

“New and vastly improved,” Gyu-ri says, rolling her eyes. “You should have seen the state he was
in. Boxes of ramen littering his cupboards. Nothing but these black sweatsuits in his closet.” She
almost gags as she pulls at his collar. “Sometimes, I think he wishes he still lived that life.”

You dare to look for Jungkook’s reaction.

And you dare to smile when his smile tells you that he does.

“But,” Gyu-ri goes on, “I told him that if he wanted to be with me, he’d have to marry me and
agree to the white picket fence.” She smiles back at Jungkook. “That’s how I proposed.”

“Guess I should have snuck in a similar ultimatum when I proposed then, huh?” Hobi tells you
playfully. He kisses your temple, and you feel embarrassed that in all your excitement to see
Jungkook fully alive in front of you, you forgot that you were in your husband’s arms.

Jang-mi and Nima exchange pointed glances with you.

At first, you fear that they’ve figured it all out. That you’re a con. That Jungkook is too. That you
were on the run together. That you still kind of are.

But then, Nima says, “We’ve all been trying to talk Sena and Hobi into having little ones of their
own for years now.”

“Aren’t you just dying to see his sunny smile under her gorgeous eyes?” Jang-mi asks dreamily.

Jungkook flicks his eyebrows up at the mention of your gorgeous eyes, and you can’t help but
blush.

“I know I’m dying to,” Hobi defends, pulling you in tighter.

“So what’s stopping you?” Jungkook asks you.

You notice that Jungkook still hasn’t looked at anybody else in the group except you, and you want
to prompt him to start making eye contact with other people now, lest he give everything away. But
you also like the attention. You’ve missed having Jungkook’s watchful eyes on you. And you
swear he almost looks hopeful, like your answer to his question might involve him somehow.

“I guess I do things a little differently,” you say confidently, making Jungkook pull his bottom lip
through his teeth.

You turn from Jungkook to Hobi.

“You fell for me right away because you liked the way I carried myself,” you say, speaking more
to the first than the second. “That you’ve never met anyone like me.”

The words land with Jungkook. You know based on the weighty look on his face that he’s
remembering the conversation you had the last time you were together, the origin story that he had
concocted not entirely out of thin air.

“Because there is no one like you,” Hobi answers you tenderly, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

He lovingly holds your gaze, and you start to get lost in his eyes.

And then he tickles you, which catches you off-guard and pulls an adorable squeak out of you,
making him laugh, and Jungkook seethe.

“Aww,” Gyu-ri says, leaning into Jungkook’s embrace, your heart cracking at the sight of
Jungkook automatically pulling her into him in response. “The group’s been saying such nice
things about you two. That you two are the fun ones.” She turns to Jungkook. “Watching them is so
fun, isn’t it?”

“Ohmigod, so fun,” Jungkook fake-gushes, his overzealous tone barely masking his dead-eyed
annoyance.

Which you snicker at.

“Well, I’m finding this pretty boring,” Jin says. “Can we talk about game night stuff now?”

Jang-mi elbows him in the ribs.

“I’m sorry!” Jin exclaims. “But whenever you gals get like this, you start talking about how we
proposed, like how Namjoon proposed in a hot air balloon---”

Nima smiles at Namjoon and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

“And how Hobi proposed at that concert---”

You grin and think of Hobi whispering the words to you as the band played your favorite plinky
piano song.

“And then you all laugh about how I proposed by screaming it into a TV camera when I was drunk
with Yoongi at a baseball game, and then I get put on the chopping block---”

“Which is saying something, because Jang-mi is a professional chef,” Yoongi tells the new couple,
making you all chuckle.
Jin barrels on, “And Jang-mi holds it over my head for a week or so before we eventually make up
and she finally lets me fu---”

“I need some extra hands to bring the snacks in,” Jang-mi quips, her ears turning red.

You understand that in heternormative, traditional domesticity, this phrase means that the wives go
into the kitchen, and the men set up the game. You know that in a second, you will leave the others
in the comfy conversational pit in the living room, lounging on the soft, brown leather furniture
with suede pillows and blankets. You will travel through the warm, peachy orange hallways, and
you will head into the gigantic, terra cotta kitchen, commenting all the while on new decorations or
updates or ideas that Jang-mi has for the space for her Spanish villa.

Hobi gives your ass, beautifully on display in those leather pants, a little squeeze as you walk off.

But the thing that makes you blush is the feeling of Jungkook’s eyes following, too.

You had ignored the feeling before. You thought you were just being paranoid, or missing him
particularly bad that week. But the feeling of Jungkook’s eyes watching you from the Victorian felt
so much like the feeling of Jungkook’s eyes watching you from his cot in the warehouse. You
didn’t let yourself believe it. Now, you’re so glad that it’s true.

He’s here.

Jungkook’s here.

“Look at how her man turns her on,” Nima jokes, and at first you think she’s reacting to the way
you’re staring distantly at the floor and biting your lip while you think of Jungkook.

But she’s actually referring to Jang-mi’s dopey face as she reflects on Jin’s story.

“I’ve been so flustered,” Jang-mi admits. “I’ve been thinking about what you girls said, about
getting the hotel room and all that. Jin’s so stupid, but I am hot for that idiot.” She looks at you and
Nima. “I might take one of you up on that offer sooner rather than later.”

“What offer?” Gyu-ri asks curiously.

“The offer to babysit her current progeny so that she and Jin can go slink off to a hotel room and
make more,” Nima says, moving to the cupboards to start collecting plates and silverware.

Gyu-ri laughs, and Jang-mi waves Nima back.

“Don’t rush,” Jang-mi pleads, as she pours four glasses of wine. “Let’s stay here and chat awhile.
Jin may be an idiot, but he’s not wrong about me wanting to get more details.”

She turns to Gyu-ri and hands her a glass.

“Jungkook seems so kind, and he’s so handsome. How did you meet?”

You think of the neighbors you met six towns ago. The fire pit. Your origin story.

You need the memory to cushion the blow when Gyu-ri tells hers.

Nima’s beauty is fierce, her angles as strong as her muscle, and body as fast as her incredible brain.
But you learned that these were all things that she had to grow into, as they were never traits
connected with feminine tradition. Jang-mi’s beauty, on the other hand, is all tradition. She’s warm
and pleasant. But it bloomed after years of Ugly Duckling syndrome, and you and Nima (and
presumably Jin) have to show a lot of support to rid her of the kind of thinking that shallow and
cruel people can employ. Your beauty is more about your personality and swagger, and less about
your features, though you’re quite lucky as far as symmetry and proportions go.

Gyu-ri is the kind of beautiful that people are just born with. She was blessed with the right genes,
plain and simple. She’s petite, but with huge tits and a huge ass. She’s got a gorgeous face, with
exaggerated eyes and lips, and a tiny nose and chin. Whenever you look at her, her hair is falling in
exactly the right way. You very much doubt that she had to grow into her features, or wait for time
to pass, or build up a persona to stand out.

And you confirm that you’re right as she sighs happily and tells you, “It just sort of happened.”

“What did?” Nima asks, grinning.

“I was stuck on the side of the road with a flat tire, and Jungkook drove up in this horrible jeep-
thing, and…” Gyu-ri smiles. “He asked me if I was OK. Asked if I needed help.” Her eyes grow
wide. “He took off his shirt right there and then, which, I mean, you see his build.”

“Mmhmm,” Nima and Jang-mi reply in unison. You have to agree. You often think of him doing
push-ups in the warehouse, but even in that baggy, black sweatshirt, you know he’s ridiculously fit.

Gyu-ri beams. “He saved me.”

You wonder what Gyu-ri means by “saved”. A flat tire is an inconvenience. You wonder if she
knows what it’s like to see Jungkook stare down the barrel of a gun for her. What it’s like to have
Jungkook hold her as a car explodes. What it’s like to know the story behind the scar on his face.

“That’s so romantic,” Nima sighs.

“But Namjoon proposed to you in a hot air balloon!” Gyu-ri laughs.

“Yeah, but Namjoon and I met on a regular date,” Nima replies.

“Jin and I also met on a regular date,” Jang-mi says. “And it was kind of a mediocre one, if I’m
being honest.”

Suddenly, Hobi pops his head into the kitchen. “Sorry to interrupt, gals,” he says, “just wanted to
check if you needed any help.”

“And this one,” Nima gushes to Gyu-ri. “So sweet. Probably the sweetest out of all of them.”

To your surprise, Jungkook follows quickly after Hobi, and you smile at him, too.

And then you have to remind yourself not to smile too big.

“So, um, do you ladies need help?” Hobi asks. “Jin’s getting all… Well. Y’know. Huffy.”

“We’re still chatting,” Jang-mi says, furrowing her brow. “Jin can wait.” And then Jang-mi
brightens. “But this might be perfect timing for you both! We’re talking about how we all met our
significant others.” She wiggles her eyebrows at Jungkook. “Gyu-ri just told us about how you
met.”

Jungkook laughs. “Oh. Yeah.”

“I told them all about how you saved me,” Gyu-ri says, leaning into him.
Jungkook pats her stomach. “I wouldn’t say saved. Just… changed a tire,” he mumbles, looking at
you before looking shyly at the ground.

“Sena hasn’t told their story yet,” Nima points out, smiling at you and Hobi.

Jang-mi grins. “Aw, yes, they have a really great story!”

You grin, thinking about the cafe, and feeling proud of how you had orchestrated everything.

“Aw. We kinda do.”

“Tell it!” Gyu-ri exclaims, sipping her wine.

“Hobi and the guys were out to lunch at a cafe,” you begin. “I was there, working. I saw him, but I
felt like I couldn’t approach him. But, on my way out, I dropped my lipstick, and then---”

“You were so awkward!” Hobi laughs.

You frown. “I was?”

Jungkook stifles a laugh. “Did you try to make small talk or something?”

You glare at him.

“Yeah!” Hobi continues, giggling. “She did! Well, first, she dropped her lipstick, like the klutz that
she is.” He turns to you. “Then you giggle-snorted when I returned it to you. You kept asking me
about what I usually order at the cafe. You even had crumbs from your sandwich on your chest.
God, you were such a mess.”

Jungkook can’t help but let a few knowing laughs through.

This betrayal is humiliating. You thought you were doing some of your best con work. You
thought you were seducing Hobi. You fancied yourself a femme fatal. It’s disappointing to find out
you were just some nerd.

“That notwithstanding,” you press on, raising a finger to eagerly make a point, “you were hooked
right then and there.” You smile uncomfortably. “Right?”

“Now, on that, you’re absolutely right,” Hobi replies, with a bit of a growl, running his hands over
your leather, kissing you, ridding you of your frown, and unexpectedly making your toes curl.

The girls cheer you on.

But you know Jungkook sinks a little when he sees.

“Alright ladies,” Jungkook says, interrupting your kiss, “what about the snacks?”

“Ugh,” Gyu-ri chastises. “I swear, Jungkook, you don’t have a romantic bone in your body.”

You want to tell her how deeply, deeply wrong she is.

“Just trying to move things along,” Jungkook says, flashing a look at you.

He and Hobi follow Jang-mi’s instructions about the beautifully prepared dishes on the counter.
Sushi, soy sauce, and wasabi. Edamame. Sliders. Fries. Cheese bites. All homemade by Jang-mi
and Jin. Some of the plates are still hot, so be careful, Jang-mi says.
Hobi and Jungkook manage to carry everything back to the living room, so you stay with the girls
in the kitchen just a little while longer.

“No rings, though?” Gyu-ri notices, catching your empty left finger with her eyes.

When she sees you flinch slightly, she adds, “I don’t mean to overstep, if this is overstepping! I just
noticed Hobi wasn’t wearing one, either?”

You feel your face get hot, and from the way Nima and Jang-mi look, they also feel like you’re
kind of getting grilled.

Unbeknownst to all of them, it’s a bit of a sore subject for you.

“I just get worried about losing it,” you say, as you’ve rehearsed time and time again.

“Jungkook says the same thing,” Gyu-ri replies. “That’s why he doesn’t wear his.” You don’t
know it, but even though Jungkook’s mentioned that he’s known people (well, person ) who feel
similarly, Gyu-ri is very surprised that she’s actually someone cut from your cloth.

She looks down at her rings, an extravagant cushion-cut engagement diamond on a clean, white
gold band, pressed up against another white gold wedding band of smaller diamonds.

“I like wearing mine,” she says, smiling fondly. “I like showing them off to people. It’s like
showing off my Jungkookie.”

That’s funny, you think. Hobi actually says the same thing, when he tries to convince you to
change your mind about wearing your rings. But, like always, you manage to steer him back.

“Y’know, he was married, once, before me,” Gyu-ri says, looking back at your group.

“What?” Nima asks, as Jang-mi takes a sip of her wine.

WHAT?! you think.

“Yeah, to some woman he met through his old job,” Gyu-ri replies. “He’s never gone into much
detail about her, but it just didn’t work out. She left him.”

You start to feel sweat on the back of your neck.

“Aw,” Jang-mi replies lightly.

Gyu-ri feels like you aren’t understanding the gravity of the situation. “No, she, like, left him. Out
of nowhere. In the middle of the night. He woke up, and all her things were gone. She was just
gone.”

Shit, you think.

“How sad,” Nima reflects.

“Yeah,” Gyu-ri goes on, “it really tore him up.”

“But did she say anything?” you ask. “Did she, like, leave a note, or…?”

“I don’t know,” Gyu-ri replies. “But he said he didn’t think he’d ever want to be with anyone after
that.”
“He must have been so tortured by it,” Jang-mi sighs.

Shit, you think. Shit, shit, shit. You feel despicable.

“The only thing he’s ever really said about her is that he really loved her,” Gyu-ri says. “When I
proposed, which, y’know, was just a simple proposal over dinner at his place, he said that he
wanted to think about it. And then a few days later, he accepted, and he said that if he was going to
be with someone new…” Gyu-ri grins, feeling fond of Jungkook in that moment. “...He felt really
lucky to have found someone like me!”

Again, your heart is beating so fast. You aren’t sure how to feel. Sad at the thought of Jungkook
dealing with the heartbreak. Comforted by the knowledge that he almost devoted his entire heart to
you. Intrigued by the possibility that Jungkook might still burn for you, even though his current,
ridiculously wonderful, wedding ring-clad wife is standing in front of you, telling you how happy
he was to find her.

“That’s an incredible thing to say,” Jang-mi breathes.

“I’m so glad it worked out for you,” Nima says softly. But her voice hardens when she says, “But
what a shitty move on his ex’s part.”

You blink.

“I mean, to just up and leave like that,” Nima says.

“Again, do we--- Do we know that she just up and left?” you ask.

“Still,” Nima says, shaking her head sadly.

“I tear up thinking about it sometimes,” Gyu-ri admits.

“Right? What kind of monster--- No, what kind of absolute bitch would leave someone like
Jungkook hanging like that?” Jang-mi spits.

“Whoa, how many glasses have you had?” Nima asks the normally chaste Jang-mi, laughing.

“It just makes me angry when people are so heartless!” Jang-mi replies.

They all turn to you. You haven’t piled on yet.

It’s weird that you haven’t piled on yet.

“Totally,” you say stiffly. “So, uh…” It pains you to say it. You gulp. “So heartless.”

Jang-mi echoes again. “So heartless. What a heartless whore.”

Nima shakes her head disapprovingly. “Y’know, I bet she was sleeping with someone else.”

Gyu-ri takes a sip of wine. “Wouldn’t surprise me. Jungkook didn’t say as much, but he’s so
innocent.”

“I mean, I’d hate to kind of assume such things about a fellow woman when she, uh, isn’t, uh, able
to defend herself?” you point out uncomfortably.

“We get it, Sena,” Jang-mi says, rolling her eyes. “You’re the cool, calm, collected feminist. But
that’s not what we’re doing here.” She smiles at Gyu-ri and reaches for her hand. “We’re
welcoming our new friend.”

Gyu-ri giggles and clutches Jang-mi’s hand in hers. “Aw!” She gives her a squeeze. “As much as I
love Jungkook, I have to say. You ladies are a million times more romantic than he is.”

You all laugh together.

But you don’t mean it. You don’t mean any of it. You take what you said earlier back. You no
longer want to tell Gyu-ri how wrong she is about Jungkook. How romantic he actually is, when he
really cares about a person. And, perhaps even more enticing, how decidedly and amazingly not
innocent he is.

No, you want to keep that knowledge just for yourself.

You rejoin the guys in the living room, bringing bottles of beer and wine along with you.

“Great, now I have to explain the rules all over again,” Jin pouts, as Jang-mi ruffles his hair.

“Oh, whatever, Jin,” Jang-mi laughs as she sits next to him on the couch. “You were so excited
about playing it. You love going through the rules.”

“Babe,” Jin whines, embarrassed.

You and Jungkook perk up at the nickname, and you have to pinch your thigh to keep from looking
at him. But you feel his eyes on you.

“OK, Jin. What are we playing?” Gyu-ri asks.

She sits on Jungkook’s lap and hands him a beer. He wraps his arm around her waist and sets the
can of beer on his knee, popping the tab with one hand and raising the can to his lips. As he drinks,
some beer escapes the corner of his mouth, and she wipes it away with her thumb.

It kills you, seeing those movements. They’re so ingrained. So intimate.

“It’s this game called Mafia,” Jin explains, grinning.

You’re glad Jin is so thrilled. You could stew in misery, but now, you can’t help but mirror his
smile. You find Jin to be extra cute when he’s like this. He’s like a kid, always so excitable by the
littlest, purest things.

“Essentially, we each play a role, randomly assigned, except for me, because I’ll be The Narrator,”
he says.

He explains the rest of the roles. In addition to one narrator, there will be two mafia members, one
detective, one doctor, and four civilians. The mafia members need to kill all the civilians to win.
The civilians, working together with the detective and doctor, need to root out the mafia members
to win. The detective can ask the narrator if a person is a member of the mafia, and the narrator
will tell them “yes” or “no”. The doctor can save a civilian whom they think is going to be killed
by the mafia.

And then he explains the rules. There are two time periods, day and night, both of which will last
about 15 minutes, given the size of your group. During nighttime, everyone keeps their heads down
unless they’re making some sort of decision. The mafia can only kill at night. The detective can
only ask questions at night. The doctor can only save someone at night. And the entire town meets
during the day, asking questions of each other to try and figure out who’s who, and voting out
members who they suspect to be in the mafia.

The most complicated part of this is that everyone, save for maybe the narrator, is allowed to lie.

“The game ends when the mafia outnumber the civilians, or if the civilians find all the mafia,” Jin
replies. “Make sense?”

Your group, already tipsy, nods in agreement.

It’s kind of the perfect plan for this game night. It’s not another board game, but it’s also not trivia.
There’s strategy involved, but no cards or pieces or rules other than the roles you need to cling to.
You’re all just kind of hanging out and talking.

And, given the nature of the game, you know that you’re definitely going to win.

“Alright, then let’s assign the roles,” Jin says, smiling.

He holds out a small teapot.

“Hey!” Jang-mi exclaims. “That’s an antique!”

“We need it for the game!” Jin protests, as he passes it around. “Everybody pick a slip of paper out
of this teapot and keep your role to yourself. No peeking!”

When the teapot comes to you, you take a slip of paper and open it in your hands, just so that you
can see it.

You’re one of the mafia members.

Which is perfect.

You keep your face blank, but you look around at everybody, trying to deduce their roles.

Namjoon is smirking, but his eyes are happy instead of skeptical, which means he’s got some kind
of important, designated role outside of the mafia. He’s probably the doctor or detective.

Hobi looks relieved, which means two things. One, he doesn’t have an important role, so the
pressure is off. Two, he doesn’t have to lie because he’s not a mafia member, and this comforts him
because he’s a terrible liar. Given that context, you presume he’s just a civilian.

Jang-mi lets out a little, animated “ooh!”, but you know she overdoes it when she’s lying, so she’s
most likely a boring ol’ civilian as well.

Yoongi looks disinterested, but he always looks disinterested. You figure that he’s at least a
civilian, given that he would have pouted if he were required to do the extra work that it takes to be
a mafia member. You know that he’ll elect to kill himself right away if he’s a civilian, but he’ll
stay in the game if he’s the doctor or detective because he’ll want to help the group.

Gyu-ri looks confused, but she doesn’t ask any questions. You wonder if there’s more than meets
the eye with her, or if she’s a civilian and just unsure about the rules for everyone else. You’re
betting on the latter.

Nima and Jungkook are stone-faced. You appreciate their commitment to the bit. One of them has
to be in the mafia, and the other is a civilian, the doctor, or the detective. You know Nima will
give herself away first. What she has going for her in shrewdness, she balances out with
impulsivity.
Which leaves Jungkook presumably in the mafia.

With you.

“OK, it’s nighttime. Let’s all start off by closing our eyes and looking down,” Jin says.

You all do as he says.

“Mafia, wake up and see your fellow members.”

When you open your eyes, you see that Jungkook is already staring back at you with a huge,
familiar grin. He stifles his laugh, widening his eyes and wiggling his eyebrows. You know that
he’s thinking the same thing that you are.

That everything you’ve ever done has prepared you for this moment.

You both laugh as hard as you can without moving or making a sound, and Jin smiles at the two of
you, happy that you’re already enjoying the game and each other’s company.

“OK, Mafia,” he replies, “go to sleep.”

You and Jungkook bow your heads again. You feel your heart growing in your chest. You don’t
know it, but Jungkook feels the same happening to him.

“Alrighty, everyone, it’s now daytime!” Jin exclaims.

Everyone looks up and giggles sheepishly.

“Let me just say that I am a civilian,” Hobi states, happy to get it over with.

Everyone starts claiming the same, and you all crack up laughing when you realize this is getting
you nowhere.

“Does anybody want to come forward as the doctor or detective?” Gyu-ri asks.

Namjoon looks like he wants to speak.

“Probably wouldn’t be the best play,” Yoongi says quickly. “The mafia members might kill them.”

You smirk. Yoongi didn’t volunteer to die first. He and Namjoon are definitely the doctor and
detective, but you’re not totally sure which one is which.

“Trying to make the mafia’s job easy, Gyu-ri?” Nima asks.

“No,” Gyu-ri says, realizing that she’s made herself a target.

“A likely story,” Nima laughs. She turns to Jungkook. “What are her tells?”

“We shouldn’t do that,” Yoongi replies. “If we start to share that kind of information, like that Jin
and Jang-mi’s ears turn red when they get shy or embarrassed, then it’ll just throw everything into
chaos.”

You giggle. You really enjoy it when Yoongi gets playful.

Jang-mi doesn’t, evident by the way she whines, “Yoongi!” as Jin laughs at her, and the way she
adds, “Why are you laughing at me? You do the same thing, you idiot!”
“Fair,” Jungkook says to Yoongi. “So if you all promise not to continue divulging stuff like Jin and
Jang-mi’s ears, then I’ll promise not to divulge things like the way Gyu-ri’s nostrils flare when
she’s nervous.”

“They do not!” Gyu-ri complains, her nostrils flaring.

“That means she’s in the mafia,” Jungkook says, laughing, and making everyone laugh along.

“How sure are we?” Namjoon asks.

“I’m 100% positive,” Nima replies.

“You really want to get rid of Gyu-ri,” you tell Nima. “How do we know you’re not in the mafia?”

“Because if I were in the mafia, I’d make observations and ask questions but not actually make a
solid claim,” Nima says matter-of-factly.

Touche, you think. You love how smart Nima is. But you also know that her guns-blazing
approach will quickly make her a target.

“She was just asking a question,” Hobi mutters.

“Defending your fellow mafia member?” Nima asks with a smile.

“I mean, I’m defending my wife,” Hobi replies, frowning.

You smile at him and give him a kiss on the cheek. “Just a game, hon,” you whisper to him.

He pouts. He leans into you, whispering right into your ear. “Can we just go home and fuck
already? You’re killing me with this outfit.”

“Hey now, no secrets,” Jin calls out to you and Hobi.

“They’re making an alliance!” Jang-mi points at the two of you frantically. “They’ve gotta be in
the mafia.”

“I’m not,” Hobi whines, “and I don’t know about Sena, but honestly, if you just kill us both so that
we can go home, that’d actually be helping your boy out.”

“You wanna go home?” Jin asks, disappointed. “Is it the game? Are you not having fun? We just
started, give it a second to warm up and---”

“Hobi’s probably just saying that to mess with us,” Jungkook attacks.

“Hobi doesn’t mess with anybody,” Yoongi defends.

“So he’s just that nice, huh?” Jungkook asks, a note of sarcasm. The edge to his voice. He sounds
like his old self. You try not to linger on it too much. If you do, you might jump on top of him right
then and there.

“Yes,” Yoongi says seriously, eyeing Jungkook skeptically, “but also, he’s just a shitty liar.”

“It’s true, I am,” Hobi replies, oblivious and uncaring. “So believe me when I say that I’m a
civilian, and I don’t care if you kill me or not.” He looks over at Jin with a smile. “I’m having a
lovely time, Jin, really.”
Jin grins.

And so does Hobi. “But there is also a reason that I would like to go home early.”

“Ohh,” Jang-mi replies, snickering and exchanging looks with Nima and you. “We get it.”

You blush fiercely.

“Wait, what’s the reason?” Gyu-ri asks excitedly, perking up at your crimson cheeks, and the
smiles that Jang-mi and Nima have on their faces.

“OK, it’s been fifteen minutes,” Jin interrupts. “Nighttime!”

“Nighttime indeed,” Nima jokes, as you all close your eyes and bow your heads.

Jin guides you all through the decisions that need to be made.

“Mafia. Who would you like to kill?”

You and Jungkook lock eyes, and he raises his eyebrows. You look over at Namjoon, and
Jungkook smiles. He mouths the word, “Doctor?” And as you nod, you grin at how quickly he’s
read the room. With Namjoon gone, no one can be saved. And even if Namjoon suspects that he
will be attacked, he can’t even save himself.

Jin does his best to hold his laugh at your cleverness. “OK, go back to sleep, Mafia.”

You close your eyes and bow your heads.

“Detective. Who would you like to ask about?”

Silence.

“Doctor. Who would you like to save?”

More silence, followed by some anticipatory giggles.

“Alright, everyone, it’s morning!” Jin cheers. But then he frowns playfully. “I have some very sad
news to tell you, though. Namjoon was killed by the mafia last night.”

“What?!” Namjoon erupts.

You’re all collectively glad that there’s no board for this game. It would have been torn to confetti
by now.

“I hadn’t even really played yet!” Namjoon exclaims.

“Why are you so mad?” Jungkook asks.

“I’m not mad!” Namjoon shrieks, as Nima reaches for his hand.

“No talking, Namjoon, you’re dead,” Jin replies, making Namjoon even more furious.

“Let’s think through this,” Nima replies, stroking Namjoon’s arm. “What reason would there have
been for the mafia to go after Namjoon?”

“They probably figured out something about him. Like, he probably has some kind of role,” Jang-
mi proposes. “Detective or doctor, right?”
Namjoon raises his eyebrows hopefully.

“No clues, Namjoon, you’re dead,” Jin replies.

“Ugh, whatever, I’m checking on the kids,” Namjoon complains. He turns to Nima as he gets up
and walks to the stairs. “Avenge my death, sweetie. Remember me as I was, not as I am in my
pitiful defeat.”

Nima sighs and rolls her eyes, smiling at the rest of the group. “He takes these things so seriously.”
She looks over at Gyu-ri and Jungkook. “Remind us to tell you about Scrabble.”

Gyu-ri shoots a tight-lipped smile over at Jungkook, who just laughs and shrugs.

“Which do we think Namjoon was, then?” Hobi asks, starting to get back into the gameplay.
“Detective or doctor?”

“Oh, so you want to play now?” Jang-mi asks him.

“Sure,” Hobi says, grinning.

“A second ago you wanted to go home. Does Namjoon’s death comfort you for some reason?”
Nima asks.

“I’m not in the mafia,” Hobi sighs.

“I don’t know,” Nima says, clicking her teeth. “I think you are. We may have to kill you.”

“But what about all of that stuff from before?” Hobi pleads. “The fact that I’m a terrible liar, and
nice, and all that?”

Nima and Jang-mi cackle, and you shake your head at your adorable husband. You lean into him,
smiling softly as you fix his hair. “They’re trying to help you out, hon.”

“Huh?” Hobi asks.

“They’re proposing that they kill you, and then they’re going to kill me,” you explain.

“That strategy works with me,” Yoongi says, glancing at you.

“I feel like we’re losing focus on the actual game,” Jin mutters.

“Agreed,” Jungkook replies, flashing a determined look at you. “We should honor the rules. Play
all the rounds fairly. And for the full, designated time. Longer, even. Extend the time, if we need
to. None of us go home until we figure this out.”

You bite your lip. You want to laugh so hard.

“Aw, Cookie, that’s so cute,” Gyu-ri chuckles, nestling into him, “I knew you were competitive,
but I didn’t know you liked these kinds of games so much!”

“Can we at least speed through the next two rounds of voting so that Hobi can go home and jump
Sena’s bones?” Yoongi asks flatly.

The resulting smile on Hobi’s lips indicates that he’s just now understood what was happening.

“Yeah, that way you can get through your six or seven orgasms with enough time to spare that
Sena doesn’t have bags under her eyes during our run tomorrow,” Jang-mi jokes.

Jin chokes on his drink. “Six or seven?” He looks over at Hobi. “Bro.”

Hobi beams.

“So, in honor of orgasms, let’s vote to kill Hobi, then Sena in the next round,” Nima laughs. “All in
favor of killing Hobi now?”

Aside from Jin, you all raise your hands. Though he’s slow, you’re glad that Jungkook raises his
hand, too. It’s important for you to keep up appearances.

And not just for this game.

“Alright, Hobi, looks like you’re dead,” Jin announces.

“Not yet, but about to be,” Hobi says, giving you an excited peck and jumping up. “I’m gonna say
goodbye to Namjoon the kids.”

He scampers up the stairs, and as you watch him, you see Jungkook in your periphery.

Pouting.

“Nighttime,” Jin announces, half-heartedly.

You all close your eyes and bow your heads.

“Mafia. Who would you like to kill?”

Jungkook softens when he looks at you. You tilt your head to the side and smile comfortingly. You
make a funny face. Jungkook scrunches up his nose, unable to be mad at you for longer than a few
seconds.

He refocuses on the task at hand. Jungkook juts his chin out in Yoongi’s direction, and you nod.
“Detective,” you mouth, making Jungkook smirk. You both could deduce this by the way Yoongi
has been thinking through the game. Also, you suspect that he confirmed with Jin that you were in
the mafia, given the way that he wanted to speed up the rounds of voting and included your name.

“Daytime,” Jin replies. Between your precision, the group’s lightheartedness, and the alcohol
hitting, Jin’s barely paying attention anymore.

“Wait,” Nima says, frowning. “You didn’t ask the doctor or the detective their questions.”

“Hate to break it to you, but they’re both dead,” Jin says.

You all exchange surprised glances, yours and Jungkook’s fake expressions looking so earnest.

“Who died?” Gyu-ri asks.

“Yoongi,” Jin says, listless.

Yoongi shrugs. “It was a painless death.”

“Wait,” Jungkook says. He takes his earlier jealousy at Hobi and you leaving early and transforms
it into playing the competitive stickler that Gyu-ri unwittingly set him up as. “No doctor? No
detective? So now we don’t have a way to save members or gather info about the mafia?”
Nima looks around the room. “OK, it’s crunch time, then. I have a feeling Sena is in the mafia.”

“You’re just saying that because I questioned you earlier for going so hard on Gyu-ri, and now you
wanna backpedal,” you reply simply, expertly taking the heat off of yourself and placing it back on
Nima.

“You have been on the attack since the beginning,” Jang-mi agrees.

“No, Sena’s trying to turn it around,” Nima replies. She’s not wrong. “She’s in the mafia,” Nima
doubles-down.

“I mean, I’m not in the mafia, but you’ve all already established a plan to help me go get my seven
orgasms, so I kind of don’t care anymore,” you joke.

You catch Yoongi shaking his head at you and smirking. Now, you definitely know that he knows
that you’re in the mafia. It’s why he was fine with cutting Hobi loose. Cutting Hobi loose meant
that you were going to go next, and then there’d be just one mafia member left.

That, and it also meant that his boy Hobi was going to get it in.

“Are we voting between Sena and Nima, then?” Jungkook asks.

“That makes sense,” Gyu-ri replies. “And I kind of already have my vote.”

Everyone’s looking at Nima, and she starts to get antsy.

“Oh no. No, no. Why is everyone staring at me? No. I’m innocent!”

“Everyone in favor of booting Nima?” Gyu-ri asks.

Everyone except Jin and Yoongi raise their hands.

“Unbelievable!” Nima laughs.

“And now, nighttime,” Jin says, tapping his fingertips together devilishly, happy at the intriguing
turn of events.

Nima, Yoongi, and Jin watch as you and Jungkook decide who to kill next. Nima is squirming,
feeling so playfully frustrated that she was onto you and that you got away with it. And Yoongi
watches with his tongue in the corner of his mouth. They’re both so annoyed and yet so impressed
at how you and Jungkook have taken the group apart with surgical precision. You just have to get
rid of one more person, and the mafia will outnumber the civilians, forcing the win.

Without hesitation, Jungkook looks at Gyu-ri.

He smiles meaningfully at you.

And though the others think you’re smiling because you’re about to win the game, you know
Jungkook is trying to tell you something real.

He’s trying to tell you that he can get rid of her. He doesn’t mind.

Because you’re here. You’re together again.

Jungkook dares to do something else. He holds up his hand, his thumb, ring, and pinky fingers
curled, but his index and middle fingers in a crooked V, like Taehyung did when he was pointing
out your cots in the warehouse.

Jungkook turns his wrist so that his fingers switch positions.

With all the talk of orgasms, you instantly think about what his fingers feel like inside of you.

But what he’s trying to convey to you now is the notion of a switch.

He’s asking if he should play devil’s advocate to ensure the kill and the win.

Even though you feel Nima and Yoongi twist their features into baffled expressions, you smirk and
give a quick nod for confirmation.

“Daytime,” Jin announces.

“Well, shit. I guess we were wrong about Nima,” you set up.

“Or you were purposefully throwing us off,” Jungkook points out, narrowing his eyes at you.

“Ugh, good call, Cookie,” Gyu-ri says, also narrowing her eyes at you.

Jungkook shakes his head at her. “Nope. No. Don’t Cookie me. Your nostrils flared earlier.”

Gyu-ri frowns. “But Cookie---”

“Hey!” Jang-mi interrupts, pointing at Gyu-ri, her eyes lighting up. “If we were wrong about
Nima, then Gyu-ri is probably in the mafia!” Jang-mi looks at you and Jungkook. “Remember?
Nima was so adamant that Gyu-ri was a mafia member, and now Nima’s dead! And Gyu-ri’s
nostrils did flare!”

“Damn,” you say, feigning awe. “You’re right.”

“Let’s vote to kill Gyu-ri,” Jang-mi suggests.

“What?” Gyu-ri asks. “Wait!”

“I mean, I saw her nostrils flare, so I’m convinced,” Jungkook replies.

“Incredible,” Yoongi says, looking at you and Jungkook.

“All in favor?” Jang-mi asks.

You, Jang-mi, and Jungkook all raise your hands.

“No!” Gyu-ri cries out, as Namjoon and Hobi rejoin your group.

Jin guffaws. “Wow. That was dramatic as fuck.”

“What happened??” Namjoon asks.

“Mafia won,” Jin says, staring at you and Jungkook.

“Wait, what?!” Jang-mi demands.

“These two,” Yoongi says, pointing at you and Jungkook. “I mean. That was just masterful.”

“Truly,” Nima adds. “It was like you knew all the answers before we even started.”
You want to brag to Nima that you actually did.

“What was that hand motion?” Yoongi asks, mimicking Jungkook’s wrist move.

“I dunno,” Jungkook replies. “It’s like a switcheroo.” He looks at you. “I was trying to tell Sel that
I was going for the double agent play.”

“And you knew Sel here was going to get that because…?” Yoongi asks, his voice trailing off.

Your heart falls into your stomach, which falls into your guts. The questions. The emphasis on the
name that Jungkook insists on calling you. Yoongi isn’t playing Mafia detective anymore. He’s
playing real detective.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you ask, shrugging, trying to tone things down. “It just looks kind of like a
flip.”

You do the motion.

Everyone else follows along.

“Yeah, I see it,” Hobi agrees, watching his fingers flip back and forth

Everyone else starts to agree.

You have to actively stop yourself from looking at Jungkook, but you desperately want to share
this bit of secret fun with him.

But Yoongi’s cool eyes worry you.

You now have this nagging, irritating feeling. You don’t want to call full attention to it yet. You
don’t even know how to describe it. But you think that Yoongi’s maybe trying to identify and
douse whatever seems to be drawing Jungkook to you. Killing you in the game gets rid of one
threat. Sending you home to fuck your husband gets rid of another.

“So then, we win?” Hobi asks, still switching his fingers. “We lose? Which is it?”

“You and I are going home now,” you say, chuckling.

“Ooh, so then I win!” Hobi says, smiling and making the group laugh.

“Enjoy, lovebirds,” Nima sings, waving a cute little goodbye to you.

When you get back to your house, Hobi wastes no time. He can’t even wait until you get to the
bedroom. He pushes you down onto the couch in the living room, and he turns on the lamp in the
corner.

“You don’t want to keep that off?” you laugh.

“Wanna see you,” Hobi mutters, and he starts undressing you, slowly. “Where the hell did you get
all this leather?”

“Had it in storage,” you say, your voice cutesy, like he likes.

“Like the day I met you,” Hobi mutters. “God. You look so fucking good.” He revels in the
sensation of peeling it off of you and seeing nothing but your naked body waiting for him.
Finally, you kiss.

But when you do, you can’t help but imagine that it’s Jungkook kissing you instead.

It’s Jungkook peeling off your clothes.

It’s Jungkook moaning into your throat.

It’s Jungkook sucking bruises into your neck.

It’s Jungkook’s index and middle fingers sliding into you, in the crooked V that he showed you
earlier.

And it’s Jungkook’s cock that fills you up, pounding orgasm after orgasm into you, and forcing sob
after sob out of you, round after impeccable round.

You lie exhausted on the couch with Hobi snuggling you. You’re smiling blissfully at what you’ve
just shared, plus the added thrill of the scene that your imagination played out for you. But then
you start to feel the afterglow fade when you remember that Jungkook is just across the street. That
you could actually have him, if you wanted.

Probably.

Maybe.

Or maybe not.

Maybe you misread things. Maybe he was just happy to know you were alive. To see you again.
Maybe those lustful looks were just, well, looks.

Maybe that chapter is truly over.

Your work phone buzzes on the coffee table, and you roll your eyes at yourself for having left it
there instead of bringing it back to your basement.

Client 152 (12:24 AM): Hello.

You (12:24 AM): Hello.

You furrow your brow and wait for the rest. When you don’t get it, you send a prompt.

You (12:26 AM): So, what kind of house are you in the market for?

Client 152 (12:26 AM): Well, I just bought a Victorian.

You startle.

Client 152 (12:26 AM): But I’m thinking about a two-story Tudor. In fact, I’m looking at one
right now.

Your heart feels like it’s pumping oceans of blood throughout your body.

You (12:26 AM): Literally?

Client 152 (12:27 AM): Yeah. It’s across the street from mine. And someone’s silhouette looked
gorgeous in there.
You blush. You look around, and you realize that the lamp that you and Hobi had turned on must
have provided just enough light for the show that you and Hobi inadvertently put on.

You (12:27 AM): This line is for work.

Client 152 (12:27 AM): You certainly put in some work just now.

You scoff, but you’re flattered.

Client 152 (12:27 AM): Are you still with him?

You know the ins and outs of The Seller’s new operation. You know that you’ve beefed up your
encryption. You know that Jungkook knows how to secure a line. You know for certain that
nobody else can see this conversation. You know that you have plenty of time to delete all
evidence of this conversation before anybody gets a clue.

And you’ve missed Jungkook so, so much.

So you indulge.

You (12:28 AM): He’s asleep.

Client 152 (12:28 AM): Drunk and fucked out?

You grin.

You (12:28 AM): More one than the other.

Client 152 (12:29 AM): Mmm.

Even seeing his moan in text form makes you wet.

Client 152 (12:29 AM): How was the celebration?

You laugh to yourself, and Hobi stirs in his sleep.

You (12:30 AM): I came five times.

Client 152 (12:30 AM): That’s all?

You laugh again.

Client 152 (12:30 AM): Not fair that he got the prize when you and I technically won.

Client 152 (12:30 AM): You still wet?

You start to feel a little faint. What is he playing at?

You (12:30 AM): What if I said I was?

Client 152 (12:31 AM): I’d say that you should touch yourself and pretend it was me.

You bite your lip and smile.

You (12:31 AM): What if I said I pretended he was you the whole time?
Client 152 (12:31 AM): Fuck. Then I think I’ll have to touch myself and pretend it’s you.

Client 152 (12:32 AM): But I was going to do that anyway.

“Work?” Hobi asks lazily, seeing you typing on your old, pink phone. “At this hour?”

You smile and shut your phone quickly. “Just checking on something.”

Hobi hums happily. He yawns and then pulls himself up.

“Put it away. Let’s go to bed.”

“OK.”

You follow him to your room, and you climb into bed together, nestling into one another again.

And though it feels incredibly good to lie against Hobi’s beautiful body, his kisses so sweet and
cheerful, you stare at the ceiling with the comforting, sweet knowledge that the Jungkook chapter
is, in fact, far from over.

**

Jang-mi’s tongue hangs out of her mouth as you jog past Gyu-ri and Jungkook’s house.

“Jungkook is… hot, isn’t he?”

“Oh, fuck yeah,” Nima replies. “Don’t get me wrong. Namjoon is…” Her eyes glaze over, and she
smiles secretively, the way you all do when you think about the things that your husbands have
given only to you. “But Jungkook. He’s textbook.”

“That scar,” Jang-mi sighs.

Nima lets out a breath. “Oof. That scar.”

Oof is right, you think, feeling a bullet graze your cheek.

“And he has tattoos,” Jang-mi replies.

You laugh. “He doesn’t have tattoos,” you dismiss. You would know best out of the three of you.
You’ve seen his arms many times. You think of them wrapping you up. Holding you next to him.
Choking you in bed.

“He does,” Jang-mi smirks. “A whole sleeve of them. Jin saw them when the guys helped them
with their boxes.”

“Ugh, was he shirtless?” Nima asks.

Jang-mi shrugs. “I don’t know. Jin just mentioned the tattoos.”

“Well then, in my mind, he’s shirtless,” Nima says. “In fact, he’s naked. Except for a little pair of
shorts. No! Briefs. A pair of black Calvin Klein boxer-briefs.”

“That’s what Jinnie wears!” Jang-mi exclaims happily.

“I think that might be what they all wear,” you realize, as you look over to Jang-mi with similar
familiarity.

“Those boys,” Nima chuckles. “They’re inseparable.”

The three of you jog in silence for a little while, thinking of all your boys in their Calvin Klein
briefs.

“What do we think of Gyu-ri?” Nima asks.

“I like her!” Jang-mi says immediately. “She seems nice.”

“Yeah, nice,” you say, somewhat despondently. She does seem nice. Which makes it that much
harder for you to see her with Jungkook.

“She’s a bit cloying, but I guess you have to be if you’re a kindergarten teacher,” Nima replies.

Are they kidding? She’s a kindergarten teacher to boot? This woman is perfect, you sulk.

“It’s nice to have another girl to hang with,” Jang-mi says. “She said that she’ll be free to join us
for runs starting next week.”

“Oh cool, you invited her?” you ask, trying to sound like you really are cool with this development.

“Yep!” Jang-mi replies. “After you and Hobi left for that insane fuckfest that the entire cul-de-sac
saw---”

Your eyes grow wide, your cheeks drain of color, and you make a mental note not to leave the light
on if you have sex in the living room ever again.

“---we played another couple of rounds of Mafia that ended with drunk chatter and some plans.”

“What plans?” you ask.

“The guys wanna take Jungkook fishing at some point. But we were thinking of adding brunch to
our usual jog,” Nima tells you.

“And they’re getting in on game night,” Jang-mi says. “Yoongi’s next in the rotation, as usual,
then you and Hobi, and then we start over at the other end of the cul-de-sac with Jungkook and
Gyu-ri.”

“I can’t wait that long to see the inside of their house,” Nima pouts. “I’ve been so curious about
that property.”

“Don’t be so nosy,” Jang-mi chides.

“I guess I’m just used to neighbors who are willing to put it all out there,” Nima says pointedly,
shooting you another glance.

“OK, OK, jeez, I get it,” you say, starting to get annoyed. You say it in your normal voice. Your
always-annoyed voice. Your… what had Jungkook called it? Your mean voice. You’re not Sena in
that moment. You accidentally slipped into The Seller.
“Sorry,” Nima says, backing off. “I just… I was just---”

“No, I’m sorry,” you say. “I just didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Jang-mi scoffs. “Yeah. We know. We’re trying to ask you about it.”

“Who knew you were such a little horn dog, Jang-mi?” you tease, successfully breaking the tension
that you had let slip into the air.

You paint on a smile and tell the raunchy version of last night’s events, the version that Hobi still
has in his mind as well, evident by the sultry kiss he gave you on your way out the door to meet the
girls.

What no one knows is that your bliss faded into paranoia as you stared at your bedroom ceiling.

When you left Jungkook, you got eight hours of sleep every night, but you were riddled with
nightmares. In addition to scenes from your past, you started dreaming of scenes of the Sejin job.
Jungkook getting discovered. Jungkook being killed. You woke up each morning with tears in your
eyes, and you heard Jungkook’s words echoing in your mind. How after just one night, he had
noticed that you cried in your sleep.

As you grew closer to Hobi, you had these usual nightmares on and off. You definitely couldn’t
sleep soundly when you thought Jungkook was gone forever. And every now and again, when
stress was getting to you, or when Hobi felt distant, you’d sleep the full night but see all of those
nightmares play out in front of you, over and over again, your eyes staining your pillow without
you realizing.

Last night, however, something felt different.

You felt like you couldn’t even close your eyes.

You had been so caught up in seeing and celebrating Jungkook that you hadn’t, and still haven’t,
done your due diligence.

How did he get here? Who knows he’s here? Is someone on his trail? What was with all that
double agent talk? Is he a plant? Was he always?

Is he out to get you?

“Damn, girl, talking about you and Hobi always gets me going,” Nima says, as you make your way
back to the cul-de-sac. “Namjoon really needs to thank you for what I’m about to do to him.”

“Same,” Jang-mi says, staring determinedly at her and Jin’s house. “...Soon. Very, very soon.”

“I wonder if Gyu-ri’s open to this kind of talk,” Nima posits. “I’d love to hear about what
Jungkook’s like.”

Nima and Jang-mi fall silent as they wonder what Jungkook could be like.

You stay silent because you already know.

Jungkook keeps quiet, too. He doesn’t reach out through your direct messages. He doesn’t visit,
even when Gyu-ri swings by with a plate of cookies to thank you for inviting them to game night.

Luckily, you realize that Jungkook is merely taking calculated risks, when you open the door
midday on Monday and find him standing there, grinning at you.
“Hi stranger,” he says.

“Hi,” you say, smiling softly.

You realize that Jungkook has played it kind of perfectly. The guys are all at work at Sope
Industries. The kids are all in school. Gyu-ri is too, teaching. Nima is lawyering. Jang-mi is
cooking.

And the cul-de-sac is completely empty.

You welcome Jungkook inside, and though you’ve had the impulse to jump him nearly every time
you saw him during game night, you feel the need to maintain a good bit of distance from him
now. He seems to feel the same way, and you muddle through this dance with each other.

Jungkook looks around the room as you close the door.

“Uh, remember this?” you ask awkwardly, pointing at a small bunny figurine on your entryway
table.

Jungkook grins. “Second town, right? That cute little yard sale?” The way his grin spreads across
his face, his nose scrunched up and his teeth peeking out. He looks like the bunny that you’re
pointing to.

You smile back at him. You wonder if he knows that’s why you kept it.

“Or this one?” you ask, pointing to a golden treasure chest next to it.

“No,” Jungkook admits, but still smiling all the same.

“Hmm,” you say sadly, poking the figurine. “That might’ve been the town after I---”

You fall silent, and Jungkook watches you thoughtfully.

You give it a few moments. Let the air clear.

“This is a beautiful house,” Jungkook says, trying again.

“Thanks,” you reply. You smile and think of Nima and Jang-mi. “Everyone’s curious about
yours.”

“Spoiler alert: it’s ugly,” Jungkook says, rolling his eyes.

You both laugh.

“Why do you say that?”

“Gyu-ri just doesn’t have an eye for…”

Jungkook shakes his head, and you get the impression that he really didn’t want to bring her up.
Not when he finally gets to be alone with you.

“Um, water? Tea, coffee?” you ask, trying to reset again.

“Something stronger?” he laughs sheepishly, showing you a flask in his pocket.

You smile.
You look around your home, feeling like every spot is wrong. And then you turn to him. “Would
the basement be too weird?” you ask him.

Jungkook sighs warmly. “Are you kidding? Wainscotting and floor plans, paint and wallpaper? All
that shit is weird.” He grins at you. “The basement makes sense.”

You know what he means. You like hidden spaces. The basement might as well be the warehouse.

You show him to your “office”, and he gets a kick out of all the realtor crap that you’ve decorated
it with. Fake awards and certificates. Photoshopped pictures of you with couples holding keys.
Your laptop, nearly identical to the one you kept on the run. And your trusty work phone.

Jungkook runs a finger over that work phone, sighing. Remembering.

He turns to you, and you bring another chair over to your desk. You sit in your chairs like you did
at the warehouse, you watching over your bots at work, and Jungkook watching you as he rests his
chin on the back of the chair.

“How have you been?” you ask, the words feeling so brittle.

Jungkook scoffs. “Really, Sel? Small talk?”

You chuckle. “But I’ve gotten better at it!”

“I know,” Jungkook says. “You’ve mellowed.”

You dare to scoot closer and poke at his huge bicep. “You’ve swollen.”

He links his finger with yours and wiggles it a bit.

“Is that really the only way to get your attention?” he laughs, nearly bringing your finger to his
lips.

You grin and revel in his touch.

Jungkook lets you go and pulls the flask out of his pocket again, starting to unscrew the cap. He
takes a swig and hands it to you.

Whiskey, you realize, as you take a drink.

“What does Gyu-ri think you do?” you ask, dabbing the back of your mouth with your wrist and
handing the flask back to Jungkook.

“Cybersecurity,” he says.

You can’t help but laugh.

“Come on!” Jungkook exclaims, smiling. “I did so much research!”

“I don’t doubt that you did.”

“Well, I didn’t want to do the realtor thing, because that’s your thing, and because it’s so…”

He waves his hands around.

“Complicated.”
You laugh again. “And cybersecurity isn’t?”

Jungkook smirks. “I ran with my security thing to start. But then Gyu-ri started noticing some…
work-related injuries.”

Your heart thuds in your chest. What kind of injuries? More shrapnel and nail heads?

More scars?

“Anyway, when things really started getting serious with Gyu-ri, I realized that I needed something
that would allow me to work from home to explain the lack of an office and co-workers. That was
something my family never questioned. I also needed something that had night hours, so I usually
make up something about having to check the servers when I take on a job. And when I’m really
pressed for details, I just tell people that it’s a government job, and that I can’t really talk about it.”

You smile, impressed. “That helped keep the guys off your back, didn’t it?” you observe. “They
work in IT.”

Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, they wouldn’t stop trying to learn more. They asked so many
questions at game night. They kept telling me that they wish Sope Industries would do something
to defend against new rootkits, whatever the hell that means.”

You nod knowingly, and when he sees you react like that, he sinks.

“Jin said I was so cool and mysterious with my government job. I wanted to tell them that I’m just
dumb.”

Your face grows serious. “You’re not dumb.”

He shrugs. “I’m the muscle.”

You can’t help but run your thumb over his scar.

“You’re not dumb, and you’re not just the muscle,” you say soothingly.

He presses your hand against his cheek. He closes his eyes and nestles into your touch.

You sit like that for a while. It feels good. Healing.

It might even feel better than five to seven orgasms.

You think of Hobi, and you pull away.

“Just like I’m not a heartless ex-wife who up and left with no trace,” you say with a grin.

“I never, ever said heartless,” Jungkook says gravely. But then he matches your playful expression.
“Though you kind of did leave without a trace.”

“I left something.”

“You left a note.”

“That’s a trace.”

Jungkook shakes his head and smiles sadly. “I keep forgetting to adjust to your standards,” he
replies. “I keep forgetting that for you, leaving anything says a lot.”
You watch him stretch and look at more things on your desk. Some notebooks. A pack of pens.

“Seems like you’ve been doing well with Hobi, though,” he says.

He’s now looking at a framed photo of you and Hobi on vacation at the beach. It’s sunset, and
Hobi is holding you close as he takes a selfie of the two of you. You’re smiling sweetly, and Hobi
looks super, super excited. Hobi put it on your desk so that you could think of him during the day.
He has the same one at his desk at work.

It’s cheesy, but it always makes you smile.

“Where’d you meet him?”

“I already told you,” you say, grinning at Hobi’s incredible face.

“The cafe story is real?” Jungkook asks, drawing your attention back to him. “You’re anything but
a klutz. You’d never drop---”

His eyes widen.

“Wait. Sope Industries. They all work at Sope Industries.”

His smile grows into an open-mouth grin stretching from ear to ear.

“Hobi’s a target??”

You smirk.

Jungkook cackles. “That makes so much more sense! Of course he’s a target!”

“Ex- target,” you say, raising your eyebrows, “for your ex- wife.”

You don’t want Jungkook to get the wrong idea. You’re not following through with the Sope
Industries idea. It’s too risky, especially now that you’ve come to care for Hobi, even if your
feelings for him are different from the ones you had for Jungkook. Perhaps the ones that you still
have for Jungkook.

Jungkook settles and looks back at you. “So you fell for a target?” he asks disappointedly.

You look at Jungkook.

“Like you fell for Gyu-ri.”

“I didn’t fall for---”

Jungkook looks back at you. He understands now.

You and Jungkook have way too many origin stories at this point. It’s sometimes hard to keep track
of what’s real and what’s fake, so all of it is kind of real. All of it is kind of fake.

Jungkook reaches for your hands again. He holds them in his, interlacing your fingers.

“I only fell for you,” Jungkook tells you.

You take a deep breath at the feel of his skin on your skin.

Jungkook watches you, like he always watches you. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out
the scrap of paper that contains your simple note.

Remember me. This was real. We were real. - S

“I thought about you every single day, Sel. I still do,” Jungkook tells you, looking at you
hopefully.

You want to tell him…

You want to tell him something.

But you’re not sure what that something is.

You know that your trusty Sig Sauer is in your top, left drawer. You’ve picked up a couple of
Glocks as well, and you’ve hidden them in other parts of the house. Maybe in Jungkook’s honor.
Maybe because it would be some kind of poetic justice if you had to put him down with a copy of
his own gun.

“How did you get here, Jungkook?” you ask warily, pulling away. “Really. How did you find me?”
You frown. “Are you here because of the Sejin job?”

It’s a stupid question to ask. If he were here because of the Sejin job, he would have killed you
already. He could have sniped you from his perch in his new Victorian home.

Jungkook’s eyes widen at your concern. Your mistrust. This doesn’t sound like you. Or, well, it
sounds like the part of you that still doesn’t make sense to him.

He stuffs the note back into his pocket.

“C’mon, Sel,” he mumbles. “This isn’t cute.”

“I’m not cute. I’m mean. Answer me.”

He stares at you.

“I’ve been on the run, just like you,” Jungkook says, frustrated. “Sejin is dead. Taehyung and Jimin
are dead. We can let it go.” He lowers his eyes. “I know it’s easier said than done, but… But
maybe if you had stayed… Maybe we wouldn’t have had to take on so much by ourselves.”

You shake your head. You know all that already. As far as you’re concerned, that’s a part of the
job.

“But how is it that two years after you went dark, you just pop up, in my neighborhood, at the end
of my street, hanging out with my friends at game night?” you ask.

Jungkook stares at you. He can’t believe what you’ve just said. It makes all the difference to him.

“You were tracking me?” he asks, his eyes deepening. “How? With what? Did you---” He grabs
onto you frantically. “Did you try to find me, and I just missed you or---”

You shake him off of you and stand.

“This is a bad idea,” you say. “This is too close. I know you just bought that house, but you’ve
gotta move. You’ve gotta leave.”

“Leave? How??”
His sharp tone highlights how ridiculous you’re being.

“Figure it out.”

“How about you leave? You’re so good at it,” Jungkook spits.

Your heart lurches forward, and you feel like you’re going to lose it.

Jungkook scoffs as he stands. You walk him back upstairs and usher him out your front door.

You slam the door and lean back against it.

And your life with Hobi greets you.

Sure, the entryway table may have some knick-knacks that teased at your story with Jungkook,
little reminders that help you get through the really rough days.

But the narrative that plays out in the living room in front of you now belongs to Hobi.

The warm, light yellow walls that reflect how inviting Hobi is. The TV stand that stressed you out
during the hours you spent building together, and then laughed in front of as you watched Hobi’s
favorite comedy later that night to cheer yourselves up. The rug that your sister-in-law bought as a
housewarming gift because she said that it reminded her of your style. The curtains on which your
silhouettes danced, and the couch that held your completely spent bodies, just under 48 hours
before that very moment.

It’s time to say goodbye to all of it.

The first Glock is well-hidden in the kitchen, as Hobi never cooks. The second Glock is well-kept
under your side of the mattress, as Hobi never changes the sheets. The Sig Sauer is in the
basement, and your go bag sits in the space underneath its drawer. You could probably keep your
laptop and work phone, given your beefed up encryptions.

That’s really all you need.

You scramble for your things. You change into black leggings and a black sweatshirt. You order a
rideshare under the name Song to get to the nearest rental car place.

And then you throw open your front door.

When he hears the door open, Jungkook jumps up from his seat on your stoop and whirls around to
face you.

“Don’t run,” he says softly. “At least… not yet.”

Your heart sinks. It keeps sinking, as Jungkook carefully steps forward and joins you in the
doorway, as he stands in the entryway and closes the door behind you, as he takes your go bag
from your hands and drops it on the floor, and as he presses his body up against you, turning you to
press you up against the wall.

You squirm under him, but he stands firm.

“Sel,” he says meaningfully, “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You stare at him. “You have to.”

“I don’t want to.”

You reach up and hold his beautiful face in your hands.

You sigh. Happy. Pained.

He presses his cheek, the one with the scar, against yours.

You let yourself cry.

“I thought you were dead,” you whisper weakly. “I thought you were gone for good.”

He kisses you, and it’s somehow simultaneously surprising yet everything you remember it to be.

You feel his hands drift down past your waist, and you buck toward him automatically in response.
He grunts, and he pushes back against you, pushing you into the drywall.

“Wait, no,” you murmur, putting your hand between your sets of lips. “Not so fast. I’m sorry, I just,
I---”

“It’s OK,” Jungkook says. He smiles and takes a step back. “I know. It’s not a race.”

You smile. Maybe it isn’t. Maybe it doesn’t have to be.

You take a deep breath, and then you laugh with each other, the tension seeping out of your bones.

He opens his arms to you, and you step forward to him, resting your head on his chest as he holds
you and rocks you slowly from side to side.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

“I missed you, too.” He looks up at the ceiling. “You have no idea how badly.”

You stay in that moment of bliss even after Jungkook presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, heads
home a couple of hours before everyone’s due to return, and Hobi greets you with a sour Yoongi in
the kitchen.

“Weren’t you wearing something different this morning?”

Your eyes bug out as you freeze, mid-stir of your stir fry.

“Uhh…”

You look down. You’re still in your black leggings and sweatshirt.

“Yeah,” you say. “I felt like going for another run today.”

Yoongi and Hobi look at you from their spots by the fridge

“Oh,” Hobi says, smiling.

You look over your shoulder to grin at them.

“How was work?” you ask.

“Stupid, as always,” Yoongi says, taking a sip of his beer.

“What made today stupid?” you ask.

“Someone ate Yoongi’s sandwich at lunch,” Hobi replies. “They mixed up his lunch bag with
theirs.” He turns to Yoongi. “It was an honest mistake.”

“Whatever, Suk-chin’s been out for me since I beat him at the hackathon,” Yoongi grumbles.
“Besides, Hobi missed lunch, too. He had to work through it. Some idiot forgot their password to
something, and it turned out that they were just typing it in wrong.”

“Then you guys must be hungry!” you reply empathically, plating the last of the food and setting
your wok down on the stove.

“I should’ve gotten a work-from-home gig like yours,” Yoongi sighs, taking his plate and walking
over to your kitchen island.

You crowd around and eat together. Everyone thinks you’re weird for it, but you and Hobi
genuinely like to eat like this. Your table is really just for show.

“She’s not just sitting here and hanging out all day, y’know,” Hobi says, furrowing his brow, “if
that’s what you’re implying.”

“It’s not,” Yoongi says, checking with you to make sure that you know that he wasn’t. When you
grin, he goes on to say, “I just mean that nobody would have eaten my sandwich because nobody
else would have been there.” And then he looks back at you. “But out of curiosity, what do you do
all day?”

“I work,” you say. “But I guess I also had a visitor.”

“Cool, who?” Hobi asks. “A client?”

Sort of, you think, remembering your naughty messages.

“Jungkook,” you say.

“Heard about that,” Yoongi replies, keeping his eyes low. “Jungkook mentioned it to Gyu-ri who
mentioned it to Nima who mentioned it to Jang-mi who mentioned it to me when I walked over to
get my lawnmower back from Jin.”

You frown. Is Yoongi actually one of the girls?

“Apparently,” he goes on, “Jungkook liked having someone to chat with while working for a
change. Apparently, you two are planning to work together every day in your office. Which is a
basement with no windows. Which means no one can see you.” He looks at Hobi. “Every day.”

You can’t believe what Yoongi is implying. And you can’t believe Jungkook said that, you’re so
annoyed.

But you’re also quite thrilled.

“Aw, that’s really nice, hon,” Hobi says, smiling, completely oblivious to Yoongi’s inferences.
“You must have made him feel so welcome.”

Your skin feels like it’s covered in acid, especially as you watch Yoongi’s eyes pour over you.

“Yeah. Super welcome,” Yoongi tells you, and his words are no better.
“I’m glad he felt welcome,” you say, doing your best to ignore Yoongi’s game. “To be honest, it
was nice to have someone to talk to. I didn’t realize how much I had missed that.”

“Hmm,” Yoongi says, and you feel him backing off.

At least, for now.

**

The rest of the week goes like this. You’re with Jungkook when the sun is out. Hobi, the moon.
And weekends, though their time will overlap on game nights.

When you “work” at your house, you stay in the basement.

When you “work” at his house, which is decidedly not as ugly as Jungkook made it out to be, you
sit on the roof.

That’s where you are now, sitting on Jungkook and Gyu-ri’s roof, sharing the tiny balcony, your
heads only just visible against the railing if people knew where to look for you. You feel like
you’re sharing your corners of the world. And you know Jungkook likes sharing his corner of the
world while also looking out at the rest of it.

He gazes out at the cul-de-sac, and the entire neighborhood, admiring the breeze flowing through
the greenery and trees.

But a ping from his laptop calls his attention away.

He lowers his eyes from the sky and looks down at the message. He’s implemented what you
taught him about setting up his own shop. He’s even adopted your system of numbering clients. He
doesn’t care as much about the secret code, though.

“This guy wants me to help him transport a tiger to some buyer!” Jungkook says, his eyes wide.

“No,” you say, with a small grin.

You always enjoyed doing this with him. Vetting projects. Laughing about the crazy ideas people
have.

Though, your enjoyment is a bit stifled. You keep staring at your code. Something’s not working
like it should be, and you’ve begun the eye-straining process of trying to find the break.

“But it’s a tiger!” Jungkook exclaims.

“Too risky,” you say. “The animal trade is an open secret. Eccentric buyers like that are too easy to
trace. Also, you’re talking about a fucking tiger.”

“Tigers are so cool.”

“Have you ever actually handled one??”

“No, and now I’m never gonna get to,” Jungkook mumbles disappointedly, deleting the message.

He sorts through more of his work. You try to help him find the right job. He needs a small but
solid project with a respectable take. And soon. Gyu-ri’s car’s engine and cylinders need fixing.

“I guess I’ll take one of these club security jobs again.”

“You sound disappointed?”

“I’ve just done it all already.”

Jungkook sits up suddenly.

“Maybe… maybe we do one of yours.”

The sentence is enough to pull your eyes from your screen and lock onto Jungkook. “Excuse me?
We?”

“C’mon, let’s work a job together!” Jungkook exclaims. “Your jobs always have such great stories
to them.”

You do love a story.

“Say we did work a job,” you say. “What do we tell Hobi and Gyu-ri?”

“I already have my excuse,” Jungkook replies, and you kick yourself at how clever that whole on-
call servers thing actually is.

But it wouldn’t work with Hobi anyway, given his expertise.

“What do you usually tell him?” Jungkook asks, reading your mind.

“So far, I’ve only worked from home. I usually do smaller jobs spaced apart. I can’t do a bunch of
jobs quickly because it’ll hike up traffic, and the Sope Industries Geek Squad might pick up on it,”
you say, making Jungkook chuckle. “Whenever I want to take a bigger job, I tell Hobi that I’m
going to a company conference. But I try to reserve that for multi-day jobs.”

“Do you ever do networking events?” Jungkook asks.

You shake your head. Those sound horrible. Even if you did work in a field where that was not
only a necessary but also an enjoyable thing to do, you would have run the other way.

“Pretend you’re going to a realtor networking event,” Jungkook says. “It doesn’t have to be a
multi-day job. It can be just for a couple of hours. And it’s not a social event that significant others
would necessarily attend.”

You sigh at how rusty you are.

“That’s pretty good,” you admit.

Jungkook grins proudly.

“I learned from the best.”

You roll your eyes. Flattery will get him nowhere.

“Alright, rookie,” you say. “I’ll forward you my inbox. Pick a low-profile job that we can do in a
night that has a take of about $10k.”

“But I’ll need $10k at least for those repairs,” Jungkook says, weary.

“I know,” you say. “I’m not taking any of the take.”

Jungkook grins.

“Are you saying that you’re doing this to help me?”

“Sure.”

“Because you care about me?”

You bunch your lips up and pout at him.

Jungkook’s jaw hangs open, in the shape of his smile.

“I care about Gyu-ri driving in a safe car,” you say, turning back to your screen.

But your heart is doing cartwheels.

Jungkook’s still staring at you, smirking.

He really is out to get you.

He pores over your requests for the next few days. There are moments when Jungkook gets too
close, and you think you’re going to give yourselves away. Those moments get even more
dangerous when you’re alone, during the day. You haven’t so much as held hands since
Jungkook’s first visit. But you feel the want pulsing in every capillary in your body.

You know that it’s only a matter of time when, one day, while you’re working in your basement, he
finds a viable option.

“It’s some poker game,” Jungkook says. “We’re being asked to steal… well, their vault.”

“What?” you laugh.

Jungkook smirks. “Hear me out.”

“OK, Danny Ocean. Tell me.”

Jungkook basks in the shine of being called Danny Ocean, even if jokingly, before he says, “The
client says we’re guaranteed $15k. I’ve worked security at an underground poker game before, and
this game seems smaller, just a $200 buy-in.” He chuckles. “The job itself’s gotta be thirty
minutes, tops. They even sent a mock-up of the steel briefcase it’ll be in. We’d just have to stash it
somewhere for someone.”

You weigh Jungkook’s analysis against one of your own. You could knock CCTV footage out
pretty easily. Doesn’t have to be a super tidy job. Judging by Jungkook’s description, you just need
a blackout for a couple of minutes. You’d presumably need some sort of key or card. That’d be
easy enough to get after casing the place. And you trust that Jungkook could get you out of a hairy
situation should one arise.

And he’s right about something else. There’s probably no Svengali crime boss here. Not for a
poker game this small. Your gut tells you that whoever is in this group could probably afford to cut
their losses.

You smile.

“Where’s the game being held?”

**

“The Buxton,” Jang-mi sighs. “Jin and I check in tomorrow, and then we come home Sunday
night.”

She smiles and turns to Nima. “Thanks for watching Jong-soo this weekend.”

“Na-young is thrilled,” Nima giggles. “She keeps asking if her oppa can share her room with her.”

Nima, Jang-mi, and Gyu-ri giggle together, and Hobi, Namjoon, and Jin exchange knowing
glances.

But Yoongi frowns. “Again, please stop matchmaking your kids. It sounds like you’re pimping
them out.”

You’re all lounging in Yoongi’s living room, lined up on the two long, deep, customized and
comfy sofas that face each other across a beautifully varnished coffee table. Yoongi refurbished or
built all of his furniture himself, and from the looks of his setup on his backyard patio, he’s starting
another project.

A bookcase, you think he says, when someone asks.

You aren’t sure because you almost miss the comment completely.

The rest of game night feels hazy. Yoongi’s video game nights are usually your favorite. You like
the variety. Everyone always comes away with a fun chunk of the night that feels like all their own.
You love how brightly and vividly the colors shine onto the screen from the overhead 4K
projector. You like how much everyone laughs with each other.

But this time, you barely participate because you and Jungkook are too busy looking for pockets in
the evening to lock eyes and frown at each other.

The poker game is tomorrow night.

And it’s also at The Buxton.

It’s quite a fancy hotel, actually. Jin scores major points for choosing it. The Buxton boasts all
sorts of fancy services, from spa packages to downtown tours. Jang-mi sighs about the kitchen,
their head chef being a huge name in the field. Nima and Namjoon ask about other services.
Yoongi comments on the impressive architecture of the building. Hobi wonders about the design
aesthetics. Gyu-ri somewhat tactlessly asks about the overnight rates.

None of these are things you can speak to or answer.

But what you can talk about are the fact that there are anywhere from 5 to 10 bullet cameras on
each of the hotel’s 20 floors. That means that there are plenty of consistent blind spots that you use
to do the job. You and Jungkook have already memorized them after you both took a trip to check
things out the previous day, while everyone else was gone.

At one point, Jungkook made a joke about renting a room and spending the night there.

You just rolled your eyes and said, “C’mon. Let’s go get something to eat.”

You realize that you’re kind of starving now, having forgotten to eat before getting ready for the
poker game job.

Or, as Hobi knows it, your realtor networking event.

“You look beautiful,” Hobi says excitedly, pulling you onto the couch with him and running his
hands through the fabric of your dress.

You had bought it when you had some time to yourself earlier in the day. It’s a satin, slinky, slim-
lined, spaghetti-strapped gown, in a midnight navy blue.

When you tried it on and looked at yourself in the mirror, you wondered what it might look like
against Hobi’s wedding tux.

You also wondered what it might look like crumpled up against Jungkook’s leather jacket.

“I didn’t know tonight was a fancy night,” Hobi replies, as he runs his hands over you.

You smile at him. “I guess I just want to make a good impression,” you giggle.

“You always make a good impression,” Hobi tells you as he kisses you, “sandwich crumbs and
all.”

You feel a pang of want for Hobi. When you pull away and look at each other, you almost want to
come clean about everything.

But all you do is fix his hair, around his eyes, smoothing hairs that had drifted out of place as he
was lounging on the couch.

“I might be out quite late,” you remind him. “Don’t wait up.”

“OK, hon,” Hobi says cheerfully.

You stare at him a little while longer.

He laughs at you. “Everything OK?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, get going, then,” he says. “Being late might make a bad impression.”

You kiss him again.

You break away, and you’re glad you do, because Hobi’s hands have almost run down to the
handgun strapped to your inner thigh.

“Love you,” he says.

“Love you, too,” you say quickly, blushing slightly as you stand.

You notice that the living room lamp is on.

“Oh, and, uh, hon?”

“Yeah?”

“If you’re planning on jacking off in here, I’d suggest you turn the lamp off,” you reply.
“Everyone could, uh, see us… that night… on the curtains.”

Hobi smiles playfully. “How do you know that’s not exactly what I want?”

You shake your head. “My god, man.”

Hobi laughs and reaches over to smack you on the ass. “Now go, so you can come back,” he says,
biting his lip at you.

You shimmy your hips, finding the fun in the night again.

And then, you’re off.

You’re set to meet Jungkook in The Buxton’s back alley. You’re both pleasantly surprised when
you see each other. He’s never seen you in a gown before, and you’ve never seen him in a suit. He
looks incredible, laughingly clean-cut compared to the scruffy scamp you’ve come to know.

You tell him so.

“And you look…” Jungkook says.

He falls silent and just smiles.

Your target is due to arrive soon.

Your client must be someone on the organizing team for this game. They happen to know all the
ins and outs of the game and have sent you a detailed agenda for every support operation.

They tell you that your point of contact, a frazzled man with diamond cufflinks, will be expecting
you. Jungkook is playing his usual security role, and you’re playing the role of extra staff.

“Just stand there and look pretty until someone needs a refill,” Cufflinks explains to you, as he
carries the steel briefcase containing that night’s funds for the game.

You want to punch him, but Jungkook gives you a glance.

The three of you get onto the elevator, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Jang-mi and Jin
checking into the hotel.

You turn to Jungkook, and you see that he’s seeing the same thing.

The doors will close any second, but just in case, he moves to the front of the elevator and faces the
interior, standing right in front of you, his back blocking you from view.

“What are you doing?” Cufflinks asks Jungkook.

“Security protocol, sir,” he says.

“Oh,” Cufflinks answers, as you bite your lip to keep from laughing. He looks at Jungkook. “I like
you. You’re thorough.” Cufflinks sighs and looks at the ground. “My business partner. He usually
organizes the extra staff and everything. But he’s been out sick.” He scrunches his face up. “It’s the
first time I’m running the game by myself, so I really hope I don’t fuck this up.”

“Doubt you will, sir,” Jungkook says.

You’re proud of Jungkook, but you make a note to tell him about this moment later. He shouldn’t
be so memorable. It must be really hard when you’re literally made of charm.

Cufflinks leads you to the top floor, and you visually mark all the blindspots that you can use to
your advantage if needed.

He leads you into a suite, and you watch as other people work to get the entire room set up.

“Honestly, you might only be working half-an-hour or so,” Cufflinks tells you. “I don’t know if my
partner mentioned that?”

You and Jungkook shake your heads no.

“This is really just a small game with some friends,” he says. “My partner’s better at explaining all
this.” He looks back at you. “Anyway, once we’ve kind of settled in for the night, we don’t need
much more. I’ll give you a cue when you can go.”

You know this is code for something else. Other stuff must go down at these poker games. You’re
fine with not sticking around to find out.

“Whatever you say, sir,” Jungkook says.

Cufflinks looks Jungkook up and down. And then he hands him the steel case.

“Obviously, you are to guard this with your life.”

Jungkook nods.

“Bottles are over there,” Cufflinks says, gesturing to the bar cart.

You nod.

“Help yourself to snacks and drinks as well, should the mood strike you,” Cufflinks says, as he
heads over to another corner of the room.

You look at Jungkook.

Surely it can’t be this easy.

“Bathroom?” Jungkook asks.

“By the front door,” Cufflinks calls back, turning his attention to the table being set up.

You exchange confirmatory glances, and then you pull out your phone.

Jungkook carries the steel case into the bathroom with him. You wait a couple of minutes, and
then you run your script.

The lights flicker, and then dim. Then, everything goes black, and you know for sure that all
power, and therefore, all cameras, are offline. You confirm by pulling up a blacked out CCTV
video feed.

“Ah, shit!” Cufflinks exclaims.

He keeps grumbling about how big of a setback it would be to lose power tonight of all nights,. But
a few minutes later, the lights come back on, and Cufflinks allows himself a sigh of relief before
continuing with instructions for the rest of his staff.

Jungkook quietly steps out of the bathroom, still carrying a steel case with him.

If someone were watching CCTV footage of that bathroom, Jungkook would look like he was
using the toilet before being cloaked in darkness, and then looking around nervously when the
power came back on, hurriedly finishing and washing his hands before picking up the suitcase that
has been on the ground next to him the entire time.

But you know that as soon as the power was cut, Jungkook stood on the tub and reached into a
hidden panel in the ceiling, stashing the case containing the money there and switching it out for a
case of counterfeit bills left by the client.

The client’s next step is to pick up the case at a later time, but your and Jungkook’s job is already
technically over.

You get through the night only having to deal with minor catcalls and ass pinches, but you try to
treat them like they’re nothing, lest Jungkook get upset and blow your cover.

The game starts without a hitch. No one can tell that the bills they’re dealing with are counterfeits.
And sooner than you anticipate, Cufflinks gives his staff manager the cue to let you all leave.

You and Jungkook get on the elevator.

You press the button for the lobby.

But Jungkook presses the button for the tenth floor.

He smiles at you.

And he pulls out a hotel key card from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

“Jungkook,” you chide. “I thought you were kidding about that!”

“Come on,” he says, smiling. “We got done so early.” He nods his head at the door. “Just for a
couple of hours.”

“You can’t rent one of these rooms just for a couple of hours,” you point out.

“Well, if you insist, then we can stay for the night,” Jungkook says, hooking your arm into his.

You laugh and wriggle out of his hold. “Jungkook,” you say, kind of hoping he’ll let it go.

“Dinner, then,” he tries. “The room’s already paid for. Let’s just order some dinner and enjoy each
other’s company for a little while.” He smiles, but his eyes look sad. “Pretend like we’re Jin and
Jang-mi. A couple stealing away to reconnect.”

You can’t help it. Your deranged heart melts.

And you melt against him.

The elevators open on the tenth floor.

“Lead the way,” you whisper hopelessly.

You scan the floor, and when you’re absolutely sure you’re alone, you sneak along the blindspots.

Jungkook wraps his arm around your waist, running his hand across your ass and palming your
cheeks as it travels to the other side of your hip, latching onto the top of your thigh. You rest
against him, sighing into him, and closing your eyes, following him to the room and letting
yourself get drunk off of him and the slight buzz of this entire night.

It feels sort of like before.

You get incredibly nervous when you reach your room and Jungkook places the key card envelope
between his teeth, sliding the plastic key card out with his thumb and forefinger. As you watch
him, you swear he’s moving in slow motion.

You’re finding it hard to breathe.

He presses the key card against the lock, and it glows green.

He feels you hang back when he moves to open the door.

“How badly would it have ruined the vibe if that hadn’t worked on the first go,” Jungkook says,
making you laugh, knowing you need something to cut the tension.

You smile up at him, and then you push through the door yourself, letting him know that you
appreciate how well he can read your mind. How, that if he continues to help you move forward,
there’s a good chance that you’ll give him everything that you didn’t get to give him before.

The door closes behind you with a soft click.

And you finally feel safe.

There’s a fancy bottle of water. Some enticing mini-bra drinks and snacks. Gentle box lights on the
night stands.

A very inviting, turned-down king-sized bed.

Jungkook takes off his suit jacket and tosses it onto a chair. You take a moment to ogle his build in
the tailored button-down that he’s wearing underneath.

He reaches for the menu on the dresser next to the TV. He tries to look at the list, but he’s
distracted by something. He reaches into his waistband, at his back, and pulls out his Glock, setting
it next to the table.

You walk up next to him and pull your skirt up to your thigh. He watches as you pull your gun
from your garter and set it next to his. You love that he licks his lips as he watches you do it. You
wonder if any other couple at The Buxton is doing this right now.

“What’s the menu looking like?” you ask, walking over to the mattress and sitting down.

“Well…” Jungkook says, scanning the book.

You smile to yourself, watching Jungkook get lost in the menu. You think about eating with him at
the warehouse. How cute he was when he was stuffing his face.

“Any pasta dishes?” you ask.

“There’s a pesto dish,” Jungkook says. “Penne pasta. Comes with chicken.”

“That sounds good.”

“And I’ll get a steak,” Jungkook decides.

He looks at you and grins.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You smile.

He turns, picks up the phone, and calls for the order, smiling at you when he adds, “And a bottle of
wine. Whichever you think pairs best. Thanks.”

He hangs up the phone as you take off your heels and set them on the ground, rubbing your ankles
as you roll your foot in a circle. As he watches you, he leans back against the dresser and folds his
arms. When you take a deep breath, close your eyes, and groan as you rub your neck, he runs his
tongue over his lips, and he wonders if you know what you’re doing to him.

What you do to him.

“It really felt like old times, didn’t it?” Jungkook asks.

You smile before you open your eyes, straighten, and look at him, bringing your hand down from
your neck. “I had the same exact thought.”

“I thought it when you were doing all that scanning and typing on your phone.” He narrows his
eyes and mimics you starting the script that knocked out the power and cameras.

You laugh. “Is that what I look like?”

“Yeah.”

“Like Mr. Magoo?”

“A cuter Mr. Magoo.”

“I don’t know. Mr. Magoo is pretty cute,” you say, lying back on the bed and smiling at the
ceiling.

Jungkook jumps into bed next to you, both of you laughing. He lies back and looks up at the
ceiling, too.

You want to talk about more. Reminisce more.

A couple, once separated, now stealing away to reconnect.

“How often do you think about the warehouse?” you ask.

Jungkook scoffs. “Always.”

You smile.

“But I think it’s more about what I think about,” Jungkook goes on, and you’re surprised that
there’s more to his answer.

“What do you mean?”

“Like, well… what are the things that stand out to you about that time?”

You consider it.

“I don’t know. I always just picture you busy. Talking, or eating. Fixing things.” You smile. “Your
eyes. Always watching me.”

You turn to him to find his eyes trained on you now, sparkling as brightly as his grin.

“You know what I think about?” Jungkook asks you, breathing heavily.

“What?” you ask softly, watching his pupils dilate.

He smirks. “You. In that shower stall.”

You furrow your brow. “I thought you said you couldn’t see me.”

“I couldn’t. But I saw your silhouette. Like the night you were in the living room. Your silhouette
against the curtain.”

Jungkook’s eyes get hazy.

“And I think about you in our bed. And I think about our last night together.”

“Jungkook…”

You’re starting to get heated now.

“Fuck, Sel. Look at you.”

His tongue hangs out of the side of his mouth as his eyes drink you in. His hands clench and then
relax. His arms twitch, wanting to reach out for you. He licks his lips and forces his tongue back
inside, his jaw tightening.

Your chest tightens, like it so often does when he’s around. You think about the other times your
chest tightens. When something’s good, like you’re anticipating something. When something’s
bad, like when you’re allergic.

Either way, it’s a warning.

But then he moves his eyes away. “Sorry.”

You reach for him. “No,” you say, meaningfully. “I’m sorry.” You press your hand to his heart,
rubbing his chest softly. “I’m sorry.”

Jungkook can’t help it anymore. He kisses you. And you let go of everything.

He slips you out of your dress, nearly ripping the straps in his haste.

You dig him out of his shirt, and you sigh at the sight of his tattoo sleeve, biting your lip and
looking eagerly at him.

“The girls are real curious about this,” you say, running your hand up and down his ink and
muscle. “I didn’t even believe Jang-mi when she said you had one.”

“A right arm?”

“A tattoo sleeve,” you laugh.

Jungkook smirks.

“When did you get them?” you ask. “All at once? Over time?”

Jungkook watches you as you stare at them with awe.

“Over the past three years,” he says, smiling softly at you. “I got them to remember.”

“To remember what?”

“Things that I wanted to tell you, if I ever saw you again,” Jungkook says.

You look up at him.

Jungkook shows you his tattoo of a flower. “One town after you left, I met an old woman who
owned a flower shop. I wanted to get something nice to look at. So, I thought about flowers, and I
tried to introduce myself to this old lady, and she interrupted my introduction to tell me to just spit
out what I wanted because she didn’t have time for small talk. Can’t put my finger on it, but for
some reason she reminded me of you.”

You laugh, tracing the petals.

“I started hanging out there all the time. At some point, I asked her what her favorite flower was,
and she said tiger flowers,” he finishes. “That’s what this is. That’s why I got it.”

God, you love this story. You wish you could have been there. Met her.

You kiss the flower, and you stroke your thumb over it caringly.

Jungkook bites his lip and smiles.

“That flower shop,” you say. “Were the cross streets something like, 7th Avenue and Orchard?”

“7th Ave and Grove,” Jungkook says. “How did you…”

You look at him. “I did track you,” you say meekly. “Just for a little while. With a small
transmitter. Hidden inside the heel of your boot.” You chuckle. “You went there every day. For a
while. I thought it might be a restaurant or something.”

“I know what happened the day my tracker went offline, then,” Jungkook says.

Your heart swells, aching just at the thought of seeing that blue dot disappear so suddenly.

He brushes your hair behind your ear, trying to soothe you. “I broke the heel of my boot when I
was working an office security gig. I had to run after someone doing graffiti. We were near a
construction site. Lots of uneven ground.”
You can’t believe you didn’t think of Jungkook’s boot breaking. You can’t believe you jumped to
the worst case scenario before employing Occam’s Razor.

“Tell me more,” you say. “I wanna know more.”

He points to another tattoo, a skeleton hand giving a “rock on” sign. “Two towns after that, I went
to a concert. I noticed that one of the opening acts was one of the bands on that CD you played in
your car before we ditched it. That one track, with the plinky piano.”

You hear a bit of it now, stretching out from the back of your mind.

“That’s one of my favorites.”

You think of Hobi proposing to you to it.

“The pianist had a shirt with this symbol on it,” Jungkook says. “So I got it tattooed that night, after
the show.”

You grip his arm a little tighter when you kiss this tattoo, pressing your cheek against it.

He tells you about a couple more. An eye with a red pupil represents how poorly he sleeps with
you gone. A single crown represents his first job without you. The numbers 0613 are the date of
the beautiful summer day that you left.

He thinks you’re just as beautiful now, wrapped up in him, both of you pulling the rest of your
clothes off and pressing kisses all over each other’s bodies.

“It was all so good,” Jungkook whines, and you notice that he’s tearing up.

You straddle him, and he admires your body. You crawl down his front, leaving a trail of kisses.
You take his cock into your mouth and flash your eyes at him. You want to make him feel even
better. You want to start making up for all the ways you made him feel anything other than perfect.

He whines and places his palm on the back of your head as you swallow him, bobbing your head
faster and faster as your body gets used to the feel of him again. It doesn’t take long. Your body
still remembers how much he fills you up.

“It’s still so, so good. God, why did you leave, Sel?”

You pull him out of you, breathing in deeply, gulping hard and licking your lips. “Don’t think
about that now,” you say. “We’re that couple that you said we were. We’re reconnecting.”

But you know Jungkook needs to know. He wants and needs to root you firmly in reality. To do
that, he needs an explanation, and he’s going to get it out of you one way or another.

“Why?” Jungkook repeats, sitting up and looking down at you.

You peer up at him from between his legs, and he runs his hand through your hair.

“C’mon,” you say. “Let’s just, y’know, have a good time and---”

He picks you up and tosses you onto the bed. He gets on top of you, and he takes your breasts in
his mouth, sucking on your nipples as if they contain some kind of serum that will help him
understand.

“Don’t bury it down,” he tells you. “I want to know what you were thinking.”
You moan, Jungkook’s lips and tongue driving you crazy.

His tattooed arm slides between your legs, and he drives you even crazier as he starts to rub your
clit, the sound of your wet kissing lips and the sound of his fingers in your folds harmonizing.

You grunt, and moan, and soon, you come, wrapping your arms around Jungkook’s neck as he lifts
you off the mattress and pushes you higher to begin eating you out.

“Fuck,” you breathe, your orgasm making you start to feel dangerous.

Guilty.

Jungkook grunts.

“Y-you still feel good?” you ask hopefully. “Is this what you wanted tonight?”

“Don’t pretend this was just for me,” Jungkook tells you, as his lips graze your folds, his pretty
voice nailing you over and over again.

You lean into the guilt. If you’re going to feel this guilty just for wanting this, you might as well do
something that actually warrants it.

You feel him taking you to the edge again, and you grab onto his sweaty hair. You brush the
tendrils back, and you see his scar, just on top of his cheek. Your cry out, running your thumb over
it, the pain of that moment, that injury being due to you, mixing with the pain that Jungkook’s
tongue is inflicting on your clit with his tongue and teeth. And then, all of the pain overflowing
into joy. Joy at how good Jungkook is making you feel. Joy at how much Jungkook must have
cared for you to put himself in the line of fire for you.

You come, but you try to stay still, not wanting to lose yourself completely.

He dives back into you, licking you again, and you have to cross your legs at the ankle to keep
from kicking.

“S-so intense,” you whine.

“How do you think I felt, Sel?” Jungkook asks. “How do you think it felt to have you, and then
lose you?”

You come again, shuddering and locking into place, things getting darker and hazier.

You might’ve heard a knock at the door.

“Jungkook---”

“Ignore it.”

He flips you onto your front and helps you get on all fours.

“You said you needed me,” Jungkook rasps, as he pumps into you. “You said you needed all of
me.”

You whine. You did. At least, you wanted to.

But needing things. Needing people . It doesn’t come easily to you.

“Did you care after that?” he asks, wrapping his hand around the fist you’re making in the
bedsheets. He tightens his hold, your knuckles too close together and threatening to grind into dust.
“Or did you forget about me as soon as you left?”

You bite your lip as he growls and licks up your back, moving slowly and sensually as he covers
your body with his tongue, and then, suddenly, he moves quickly, barrelling into you like he’s
angry with you. Like he can fuck the rage out.

“Jungkook,” you sigh, your neck going limp, your lips grazing the pillow. “B-babe--- Baby, please-
--”

“Don’t ‘baby’ me.”

He pushes you down and grabs onto your ass, pounding into you even deeper, forgetting the rest of
your body and only seeing your entrance, digging and scraping to uncover the truth.

“Tell me. Tell me you need me.”

“I do,” you whine. “I need you.”

Jungkook moans in ecstasy, and when you hear his scathing tone finally break, you shiver and
come, groaning and sweaty and teary-eyed. You gasp for breath, the air rattling in your tightened
chest. You feel pure exhaustion, and then pure pleasure. You’re disoriented beyond measure. You
aren’t sure what to do with your body.

Thankfully, or maybe not, Jungkook rolls you over, onto your back, and starts sucking on your
nipples, made hard and raw from the way that your torso was moving against those sheets.

He bites down on one, and you let out a yelp, clutching a tuft of his hair and threatening to pull it
out of his scalp.

“Why the fuck would you leave,” he complains, unfazed. “Why the fuck, Sel?”

“I had to,” you pant, as you feel Jungkook’s chin sliding down your body again, his lips following,
separated by his tongue. “To protect you,” you moan helplessly. “To keep you safe.”

“That was my job,” Jungkook says, spreading your legs open and kneeling at the foot of the bed. “I
would have kept us safe.”

“I didn’t mean---”

Jungkook buries his head between your thighs and swipes his tongue against your outer folds,
making your hips dance a little. He snickers, stepping out of the moment for a second. “Mmm.
God. I only saw you do that once before. I’m glad I get to see it again now.”

“Baby,” you pant, your pussy still dripping from your first release.

“Don’t. ‘Baby’. Me.”

He slaps your pussy once, and your hips do more than dance.

Jungkook narrows his eyes at you.

“Why did you leave?” he asks. “Tell me the truth, Sel. Why.”

“I was afraid!” you finally, whiningly admit.

Your eyes are about to open, and Jungkook knows it’ll all be over once they do. It’ll all be over
once awake, sober, and Hobi-wedded you get a glimpse of this hotel, too similar to the ones you
and Jungkook lived in for that brief chunk of heaven.

He smashes his face into your mound and starts to take you apart again, licking you cell by cell,
follicle by follicle, tissue by tissue. You feel his tongue at your entrance. You feel it inside of you.
You feel it switch between working there, and working on your clit. He licks and sucks it past its
hood, coaxing it out like he coaxed you out tonight.

With the promise of danger.

Sounds are coming out of you. They’re not words. Not in any established language. Not in any
slang that you know. Just sounds. Nonsensical, monosyllabic sounds that let Jungkook know that
sober you is still so far away.

Your entire bottom half is on fire, evident by the way even your ankles are sweating, the heat that
Jungkook’s tongue is producing merely the tip of the flame. His hands are working, too, one
fingering your pussy, and the other holding your lips open. His nose presses deep into your pelvis,
his entire face stimulating your clit from all sides and levels. His throat puts in some work, drinking
from your goblet, and moaning against you to let you know how delicious you taste. He takes huge
gasps of air between swigs of you, his gorgeous sighs and moans and pants and grunts tantalizing
your eardrums and giving you as much of an eargasm as he is giving you an orgasm.

You come so violently that, out of fear of hurting him, you lock your knees to the mattress.

“Let go for me,” he says, slapping your thighs. “Stop holding back. Stop trying to protect me.”

He buries himself into you again, eating you out so good, sending you somewhere else entirely,
and you come again, this time, letting go completely.

You spasm and shake, and Jungkook wraps you up in his arms, pinning you against the bed, and
covering your mouth as you wail.

“See?” he hisses, kissing you, his lips next to your ear. “I could have kept us safe, even if you
couldn’t. Even if you lost control.”

You whimper, getting whiplash from the pain turning into pleasure, and now, heartache.

“I hated every second I was away from you,” you gasp, tears flowing from your eyes, both from the
intensity of the high that he’s given you, and the painful remembrance of how low you sank when
you left him.

Jungkook softens when he sees you. How your heart ached for him, too. Badly.

“I kept looking,” you go on, sobbing quietly, your arms wrapping around his waist and holding him
close to you. “Couldn’t think--- Couldn’t bear to think that---”

It all plays again. Every time you closed your eyes, even just to blink, you saw him dying in
different ways. In “accidents”. By strangers. At Sejin’s hands.

You want to tell Jungkook how you mourned him, sitting on the roof of your house late one night
and drinking an entire bottle of wine by yourself. How you threw everything into Hobi to deal with
your grief. How hard it was to move on from Jungkook for the second time. How hard it’s going to
be to have to do again.
Especially with what he’s doing to you now.

“Everything’s OK, baby,” Jungkook whispers again. “I’m here. I’m here now.”

He slides the tip of his cock against you, and you whimper.

“I need you,” you echo.

He massages your breast with his hand as he props himself up with the other.

“I need you, too.”

Jungkook slides more of himself into you, and you moan, crazed and starved, when he pulls out
again.

“I mean it, Jungkook,” you whine. “I need you.”

You open your eyes, and Jungkook startles. He’s sure that you’re about to push him off and run for
the door. But instead, you lock eyes with him, telling him that you’re here, too.

You move so that his cock plunges into you, and you both moan together, finding in each other the
only other person who could know how good this felt. How insanely right.

It spurs him on. The thought that you would choose him. Now. Like this. After everything.

He pumps harder into you, and you brace for another round at his relentless pace. You need
something in your mouth, something to occupy a bit more of your mind. A buoy to keep your head
above water.

You pull his hand off of your breasts and shove his fingers into your mouth, sucking on them and
biting them, letting him rest his weight on his palm as it sits on your cheek, taking huge breaths and
letting your saliva roll down your neck.

“Fuck, Sel, fucking goddamn.”

You slide his fingers down your chest, feeling the air cool against your spit.

You raise your thighs and wrap them around Jungkook’s waist, pulling him closer.

Deeper.

His warm, steel rod hammers into you, twisting here and there to get you at different angles, his
only goal to keep going until you’ve both finally had enough.

You hear something snap. You feel more fabric around you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jungkook pants, as he towers over you, drilling down into you.

You whine “yes”s and “baby”s, guiding him, a siren song for him to follow to make sure he’s
giving you what you need.

You come again, and you forget everything. You sigh and splay out against the mattress, nearly
passing out. You feel Jungkook pound into you, and then, he slams against you, hard, emptying
himself into you, that beautiful voice singing your praises, your pussy bringing him to his knees,
shaky as he crawls back onto the mattress and on top of you.
He rests on top of you, grasping each of your hands in each of his, intertwining your fingers and
kissing your breasts.

“Thank you,” he sighs, licking and kissing your breastbone. “Thank you for telling me. I had to
know. I needed to know that it wasn’t me. That you weren’t running away from me.”

“Never,” you sigh, running your hands through his hair.

You lie there for a while. Just reconnecting.

“Jungkook?”

“Hm?”

You giggle to yourself at how sleepy he sounds now, and you press a kiss to the back of his hand.
You notice that the snap that you heard earlier was the sound of the fitted sheet slingshotting off
all four corners of the bed. You and Jungkook are lying in the middle of a fitted sheet lily pad in
the pond of the hotel mattress. You laugh again, and you bring your and Jungkook’s hand, fingers
still interlaced, to the bunched-up, gathered fabric. You dip both your index fingers into the corner
and raise it to show Jungkook’s one awake eye, proof in some sense of how hard you both went,
and he chuckles at the sight.

“Jungkook, we have to go.”

Jungkook only has enough energy to lift his head to face you to ask you, “Do we?”, before he
collapses into slumber.
 The Sting
Chapter Notes

Work has picked up like crazy and slowed down my pace on fics, but I hope you enjoy
this update! As always, thanks for reading along with me!

If you had figured out some other path, some way to get to college or make an honest living, some
way to try grasping the kinds of dreams that you and people like you only ever get a glimpse of,
you think you might have liked being an etymologist.

You’d learned about etymology after watching an interesting number and word puzzle game show
that featured a particularly renowned etymologist who was well-published and a leader in the field.
She was incredible, her mind an endless ocean of captivating stories about words. Their origins.
Their meanings. Their evolving uses over time.

The way that many words are born through definition, grow through hyperbole, and end at
antipode.

The word “literally” is probably the most common example of this. “Literally” means “exact”, but
because people have used it to emphasize how concrete-feeling an abstract thing is, “literally” now
also means “figuratively”. Stuffy people who need to bring order to chaos chastise others for
contributing to this transformation over time. They see the change as being propelled by ignorance.
But there’s a specific sophistication in it, you think. It takes a certain kind of open-mindedness to
be able to reconcile how something that started out as one thing has happily transformed into its
opposite.

A person like you, for instance. You know what it’s like to shed one skin for another that will fit
over time, and in this process, you’ve certainly traveled from one end of a spectrum to the other.

So, even though you aren’t an etymologist, you know that you are a lifelong traveler in these
double-meanings.

In fact, you’re in one right now.

You’re searching for something, anything , flipping through page after page.

Your eyes run over the word “benedict”, and you know from some book that you had read a long
time ago that “benedict” means a newly married man, especially such a man who initially harbored
the behaviors of a life-long bachelor. A man found.

But due to its association with Benedict Arnold, a man who switched sides in the United States’
Revolutionary War, “benedict” has also become synonymous with “betrayal”. A man lost.

So, when you are forced to smile at Gyu-ri and answer her question with, “I think I’ll get the eggs
benedict,” the words fall out of your mouth with wrenching existential weight. Once the final, soft
puff of air at the end of the “T” escapes into the atmosphere, you think of your night with
Jungkook. How the two of you betrayed two innocents. How you turned Jungkook into a Benedict
Arnold of a benedict by succumbing to a night of passion.
“That sounds delicious!” Gyu-ri gushes. “I’ll have the same.”

Your skin crawls at her words. The sickening sweetness. Her obliviousness to what she’s just said.
Her ignorance of what she doesn’t know you truly share.

“So that’s one Thai-style omelette, one shakshuka with fries, and two eggs benedict,” the waiter
sums up, jotting your orders down.

Nima looks like she’s about to add something, when the waiter smirks.

“Plus endless mimosas for the table,” he remembers.

Nima grins and nods. “Atta boy.”

The waiter grins politely at all of you, seemingly unoffended by the film of dried sweat covering
all of your pores as you lounge around in your booth at the new brunch spot that Nima’s been
trying to get you and Jang-mi to try for weeks.

Jang-mi studies the waiter as he heads back to the kitchen. “He certainly seems like the kind of guy
that Chef Bon-hwa might hire,” she says. “And did you see that binder of a menu? It listed almost
every single one of the dishes that Bon-hwa has ever learned. The menu is totally uncurated.” She
narrows her eyes. “She’s lying in wait. Expanding her territory. Preparing for domination of the
suburban masses.” She drums her fingernails on the table anxiously. “I’ve gotta get a move-on if I
have any chance at keeping up.”

“Oh, forget work for two seconds, would you?” Nima says, rolling her eyes and sitting back.
“Let’s talk about other stuff. I missed you gals this week.”

“I’m glad Nam-gi’s feeling better,” Jang-mi replies.

“He’s fine,” Nima replies. She turns to Gyu-ri. “I’m more worried about your mom. Is she OK?”

“Yes, she’s OK. I just needed to spend the week with her,” Gyu-ri replies. “I asked Jungkook to
come with me. I know she’s basically just across town now, but I hate driving that far.”

Now you know the reason that you haven’t seen Jungkook all week. You desperately want Nima to
probe for more, but from the way Nima’s reaching for her water glass, that’s all the information
that you’re going to get for the time being.

“You didn’t have to cancel game night just for me,” Gyu-ri adds, though she smiles appreciatively.

“That’s the rule,” Jang-mi replies dutifully. “It’s not fun if we’re not all there.” She turns to you
and smirks. “Probably gave Sena more time to plan, anyway.”

“Not that you seem to need it,” Gyu-ri replies, grinning at you. “Jungkook says you’ve been a great
host and fun workweek buddy. I’m excited for your game night!”

Your grin doesn’t fully erase how your stomach’s been churning at the thought of what it’ll be like
to have everyone in your home.

Nima smiles at all of you, the Saturday mid-morning sun haloing her. “That’s the spirit!” She leans
forward with purpose. “Look, we’ve all had long weeks, and this morning’s run was exhausting.
And we only get a teensy weensy bit of time away from our husbands and kids to recharge. So let’s
check in with each other. Really enjoy this. Enjoy each others’ company.”
You don’t know how to tell Nima that you can’t fully enjoy everybody’s company at the table, but
she’s already turning to Gyu-ri.

“So, you were saying? Before the waiter came by?”

“Right,” Gyu-ri says. “Well, Jungkook can’t really go into specifics with it being a government job
and all…”

You see a hint of a smile. Gyu-ri polishes the factoid like a trophy, and yet, to Jungkook, it’s
nothing more than a simple escape.

“...but there was some kind of huge work problem last Saturday night. It kept him out so late. He
didn’t get home until maybe 3 or 4 AM.”

Her lips are bunched together, but instead of a smile, they form a knot.

Her forehead is creased with worry.

A new sheen of sweat threatens to glisten, mirroring the one that’s starting at the back of your
neck.

“Was he OK?” Jang-mi asks, confused about why Gyu-ri’s so worried, but already trying to be
supportive nonetheless.

“I mean, when he finally came home that night, he was totally fine,” Gyu-ri squeaks, and you get
the sense that she’s tried to rationalize the oddity of events by just being glad that he came home at
all. “He seemed tired, but then he said something about how he had to put in a lot of work. I had
fallen asleep by then, but I woke up when he came to bed. He startled me because he was all wet.”

You think about the work he did. You think about Jungkook’s hands parting your folds and his
knees making contact with the marble shower floor in the hotel room at The Buxton. You imagine
it so vividly that you almost feel Jungkook’s tongue swiping your clit and forcing you to bowl
over, which makes you cough into your water glass, spitting some of your gulp back into it.

As you set the glass down, you notice everyone looking at you.

“Swallow,” you say, also internally cringing at your own phrasing, given the circumstances. “I
mean, weird. My water. I swallowed my water weird.”

Gyu-ri’s eyebrows are raised, but Nima and Jang-mi are smirking at yet another one of your nerdy
spasms.

“Sorry,” you mutter. “Go on.”

You don’t actually need Gyu-ri to go on. Sure, she explains more about why she was worried. How
she’d seen him come home late from previous private “security” jobs, for things like clubs and
events. How he’d sometimes come home with stitches from a wound, a cut lip, or a swollen eye
that turns putridly black. And how it’d be weeks again until he’d get a decent night’s sleep. How
she thought this “cybersecurity” gig would help change that.

But you already know the truth.

You know how Jungkook’s night unfolded.

You hadn’t left The Buxton right away, when your gut told you to. It’s hard for someone as
impulsive as you to do, but you were able to slow things down after your first, explosive round with
him. You slowed your passion. Your heart rate. Your always-rushing mind. Of course, you kind of
had to, given that Jungkook zonked out for a bit. But you’re also thankful. It gave you the
opportunity to watch him sleeping for a change, holding him against you and softly combing his
hair with your fingers, or gently running your hand up and down the ripples of his back. How he’d
mumble your name dreamily every now and then and reach out for you, checking to see if you
were there.

When Jungkook finally stirred and woke, around about midnight, he bolted upright and pressed his
back against you. You’d never seen him move so frantically, kicking his feet into the mattress and
bunching you up against the headboard. He folded you into yourself as he threw his arms out and
back around you to protect you while quickly scanning the room.

Luckily, you were so relaxed that you were able to slow someone as fast as him down, too.

Spending more time with him. Even showering with him. And especially watching him sleep
peacefully -- truly peacefully -- had brought a solace to you that you had been missing.

Yes, watching Hobi sleep, his mouth slightly open, his eyebrows crinkling every now and then and
making you giggle, was always an instant comfort.

But that was because you always knew Hobi would wake up.

By this point, you had imagined so many scenes where Jungkook lay lifeless. Hearing his chest
rising and falling with breath was one of the sweetest things you’ve ever, ever heard. And though
the wild look and panic that Jungkook had upon abruptly waking would be of concern to literally
anyone else, you’re just so glad that he woke up.

The things that had haunted you for so long just didn’t spook you anymore. Jungkook falling
asleep on you forced you to sit with it. Wanting to see him like this forced you to wait. And as you
waited, you were able to talk yourself down from the ledge. The knock at the door was just room
service, you kept telling yourself, and you found that it really was. And though you ended up
having to eat your food cold, you felt so wonderfully warm when Jungkook’s eyes stared deep into
yours, threads of steak getting stuck between his teeth as he smiled and said he was pretending that
no time had passed between you. That this was just another stop on the route that you had planned
together.

It’s only when Jang-mi pours you a fourth refill of water that you realize that you’ve been staring
down at your plate and drinking water as Gyu-ri’s been talking.

“I wouldn’t worry,” Nima replies. “This is a pretty safe place. Namjoon did so much research on
crime in the neighborhood.” Laughing, she adds, “I was like, c’mon, Joon. We’re out in the middle
of the suburbs on a private development. There aren’t any criminals around or anything!”

As they laugh, you paint on a charmed smile but immediately fly into an internal rage, your ego
bruised. It’s not like things would be good for you if they knew who you really were. Plus, even
with the job you scored last week, you’re still rusty, and you kind of have to agree.

There aren’t any criminals around.

“Not really worried about safety, necessarily,” Gyu-ri says, heartened. But she still looks
uncomfortable. “I just don’t like going to bed without him. He has a hard time sleeping sometimes.
If he doesn’t fall asleep with me, I worry that he won’t be able to rest. And then I’m unable to rest.”
“Did he?” Nima asks, already downing her second mimosa. “After he got home, I mean? Sleep?”

“He seemed to,” Gyu-ri says. Her eyes widen with a memory. “Actually, he said that was the best
sleep he’d had in a while…”

Given everything that Gyu-ri has said, the rest of you would expect a more convincing smile on her
face. You can tell that there’s something tugging at her. Probably something annoyingly
schmaltzy, like what’s really bothering her is the idea of not falling asleep in her husbands’ arms
every night.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Nima offers. “Moving in, settling into a new job. It’s stressful.”

“That’s true,” Gyu-ri admits, brightening a little.

“Did the week away help?” Jang-mi asks. “Maybe it gave you and Jungkook a bit of a break?”

Gyu-ri smiles. “It did. The school luckily let me request a sub on short notice, even with it being
the start of the school year, and with me just starting. It really helped to see my mom.” She
brightens even more. “And Jungkook even took some time off. He did a bit of cooking and
painting, which he rarely does now that work’s picked up.”

She looks over to you for some kind of confirmation of this.

“Did he seem stressed last week?”

You nod slowly, quickly thinking of something to say. “Yeah. Very busy.” You feign a smile. “He
was always checking the time.” You can’t help it, but the corners of your smile sharpen just a little.
“Always checking to see if you were on your way home.”

It’s not technically a lie. And though it doesn’t mean what she might think it means, it makes Gyu-
ri smile with such earnest recognition.

“You’ve been such great company for him during the day. Thanks, Sena.”

If you weren’t going to rot in hell before, you chide yourself. “Sure.”

“Speaking of, how are things with you?” Jang-mi asks you.

Here it comes , you steel.

“How was the realtor thing?”

“Fine,” you say, trying to keep it light so as not to arouse any kind of suspicion. “Just the usual
nonsense. Drinks, food, some music.”

You think happily of you and Jungkook checking and confirming the $15k deposit in your account,
and celebrating the win by downing that bottle of wine, playing some music on the radio, and
dancing off your heavy meals, your bodies sometimes moving in silliness, and your bodies
sometimes moving with sex.

Smiling warmly and excitedly at Jang-mi, just as you rehearsed for this exact moment, you say,
“But why are we still talking about work stuff? I thought we’d surely be dissecting your night with
Jin? I’m surprised we didn’t talk about it during our run.”

You give Jang-mi a little wink, and she blushes.

“Well, in trying to keep up with Gyu-ri here’s pace, I couldn’t really talk much,” Jang-mi replies,
sharing a sheepish grin.

You hate that Gyu-ri’s so fast, and you hate that you hate that she’s so fast because you know you
only hate that she’s so fast because you’re so slow. You get a flash of Gyu-ri and Jungkook
running together, both of them glistening and laughing in the sun, going at their stupid, easily
matched turbo speed.

You wonder if going on runs was one of their couple things.

You wonder why you thought that sentence in the past tense.

“Well, Jang-mi, why don’t you update us now?” you say, shaking these thoughts out of your head
and smiling again.

As if on cue, the waiter returns with what will presumably be only your first gigantic pitcher of
mimosas and four champagne glasses.

“Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” Nima says, clapping her hands between each chant, “I like! Where this! Is
going!”

Everyone seems to breathe a sigh of delight as the waiter serves you, and you gratefully gulp down
the rest of your water to reach for your champagne glass. That champagne glass will be the only
thing that will get you through the rest of this damn brunch.

“Set the stage for us,” Gyu-ri says admiringly, all of you grinning at Jang-mi.

Jang-mi always looks so adorable in these moments, excited to have something of note to share in
this department.

“Well, after our run last week, I went to go take a shower, right?” she laughs, blushing.

“Oooh, we’re starting here? Must be good!” Nima teases, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Jin surprised me by jumping in, and he had bought some kind of fancy body wash or something
that smelled like strawberries and cream,” Jang-mi says, turning a shade that you guess isn’t too far
off from that body wash label. “He totally caught me off-guard. He said he wanted to wash me.
And we ended up making out.”

“Just making out?” Gyu-ri asks knowingly.

Jang-mi takes a sip of her mimosa and shrugs.

“Oh, don’t hold out on details!” Nima exclaims, Gyu-ri giggling along.

“Alright, alright,” Jang-mi whispers, leaning forward, which prompts you all to scoot your chairs
in. “Fine… he… he ate me out, and then he fingered me,” Jang-mi shares, smiling, but still
nervously glancing to make sure no one else can hear her. “He made me come each time. And after
that, obviously, all I wanted to do was fuck, but then he got out of the shower and said that would
have to wait until later.”

“He left you wanting?” Nima gasps. “What a fucking tease!”

“That’s so hot, though,” Gyu-ri sighs. “I bet you were going crazy all afternoon.”

“I was,” Jang-mi confirms. “I used Jong-soo’s fruit snacks instead of the bowl of dried currants I
needed for this bread that I was making, and I didn’t realize it until I was tasting the test batch, and
it really tasted god-awful. I almost sprayed butane for my blow torch into my oven because I got it
mixed up with my oven cleaner. Ladies, I mixed up salt and sugar. Can you imagine?”

You smirk at Jang-mi’s self-awareness. Something’s definitely wrong with Jang-mi if she’s
making such ridiculous mistakes in the kitchen.

“Did you finally get to, y’know, do something about it?” Gyu-ri asks.

“Well, we checked in around 5 so that we could get ready there and have dinner at the restaurant,”
Jang-mi explains.

A naughty smile grows across her face.

“But we… um… we never went to dinner…”

“Oh hell yes,” Nima says, squirming in her seat.

Jang-mi proceeds to describe in utterly great detail how the giggles stop as soon as they get to the
room. The ferocity with which Jin slams the hotel room door behind them. How he pins her against
the wall just to their right, and how he presses himself against her, placing her hands on his
stiffening cock.

How he whispers, right in her ear, buzzing in her eardrum, “I’ve been thinking about this, and only
this, all fucking day.”

How he nibbles on her ear and neck with those plump lips. Shows her how he wants her to hold
him, grasping the base of his cock and dragging her fingers upwards to the tip. And, when she puts
a little more pressure, grunts and latches his hips to hers like they’re magnets.

How he draws her into a kiss that feels more like the ones they shared in the beginning. When they
didn’t know when they would see each other again. When they just couldn’t help themselves.

How velvety the moan is that seeps out of her when he picks her up and wraps her legs around his
waist, supporting her ass with his forearms and pushing her into him so that she can ride against his
strong torso, moistening her pants and his shirt. How his cock grows for her, so swollen and
throbbing that she can feel his tip pulsing at her ass.

How he throws her down onto the bed and savagely tears away anything and everything that is
keeping him from her. How funny it was that she thought it mattered what she looked like this
evening. How exquisite it feels to know that Jin doesn’t need the trappings. How he really only
wants her.

How he sighs when he sinks into her, like he still doesn’t know how good it’s actually going to be
until it’s happening.

How strange and flattering it feels when he tells her about how much he loved that shower in the
morning, reminding her that she is the most delicious taste he’s ever had. That she is the only thing
he ever truly craves.

How rapturous it felt to come, and come again, from Jin’s cock, his fingers, his mouth.

The way he stares into her eyes when they lie together to rest. How he tells her that in this light, her
dark eyes almost look navy blue. How he’s so amazed that she can still surprise him like that. How
he’s going to try to do better to surprise her back.
How happy she feels that the surprises are really just sprinkles on top of the sundae. How
everything in her life is already perfect, and that it’s not just on nights of passion like these that she
believes that.

How lucky she is.

“Fuck, I didn’t think I’d cry at the end of this chat,” Gyu-ri whines, dabbing her tears with a
napkin.

“Oh, I’m crying, just not out of my eyes,” Nima says bluntly, finishing her fourth mimosa and
nearly making Jang-mi and you snort out yours.

Gyu-ri smiles sadly. “It’s just so sweet and romantic. My Cookie never does anything like that.”

You stare down at the table. The used and slightly torn paper napkins. Your now-empty plates.
The food-stained cutlery. All of it, tasty collateral, done and used and lying on the table to rest.

Your gut folds into itself, gurgling and cramping. Yes he does, you want to tell Gyu-ri. Her little
“Kookie” does things exactly like that.

“Well, gals,” you say, hoping you don’t get too dizzy before you get to the bathroom, “that was
incredible. Jang-mi, excellent detail.”

“Uh-oh, what are we sending home to Hobi?” Jang-mi jokes, as the table titters at you.

You flash a smile. “I guess we’ll have to see. I’m gonna run to the bathroom and then head out.”

“But we still have so much mimosa left,” Nima whines, pretending to struggle with the pitcher to
get you to stay.

Laughing, you say, “Wish I could, but I also have some work to do.”

“C’mon! It’s the weekend!” Jang-mi tries.

“Kookie said he’s working over the weekend also,” Gyu-ri laments, glancing over at you.

Thinking quickly, you say, “Perils of working from home. Bad work-life boundaries.”

The ladies nod, thinking they understand. But you know they don’t.

You leave some cash for your share, say goodbye, and grab your purse. And then you promptly go
to the bathroom, which is thankfully empty, and immediately throw up.

Watching your meal and drinks swirl down the toilet, you try not to think too hard about what
responsibility you bear for “Kookie”’s disinterest. He wasn’t the one who proposed. In fact, he
was never planning on it. So can you really feel guilty?

Yes.

Yes, you can.

And you should.

You dig into your purse.

You (1:13 PM): No more jobs.

 Client 152 (1:13 PM): ???

Client 152 (1:14 PM): But we were just getting started?

You (1:14 PM): I’m out.

Client 152 (1:14 PM): Wait! Where is this coming from?

You silence your work phone, rinse out your mouth and wash your hands at the sink, and head
back home.

Back to Hobi.

**

Yoongi, Namjoon, and Hobi’s asses greet you from Yoongi’s hedges.

“Why are you always digging in that same spot?” you ask, placing your hands on your hips.

The three of them wiggle out of the greenery to greet you.

Namjoon frowns. “Yoongi can’t take care of his lawn.”

“I’m telling you, this part just grows faster than the others,” Yoongi protests.

“I think it all looks wonderful!” Hobi exclaims, smiling.

“These rules don’t even mean anything,” you point out to Namjoon dryly. “They’re just
suggestions. Who cares if the hedges are two inches too long? I mean, yeah, it’s their development,
but it’s not like Sope Industries is going to kick you out of the cul-de-sac because of it.”

“Property value, Sena,” Namjoon says, dusting off his hands on his cargo shorts to wipe his
glasses on the collar of his shirt. “Every little thing matters. The business developments around
you. The performance of your neighborhood’s schools. And yes, even Yoongi’s hedges. Believe it
or not, I’m looking out for all of your investments. I’m looking out for you.”

You hate when he talks to you like you’re one of his children.

“How generous,” you reply sarcastically, making Hobi roll his eyes, and Yoongi stifle a laugh.

“Anyway, how was brunch, hon?” Hobi asks.

Namjoon looks around at the empty street. “Yeah, and where’s Nima?”

“I left early,” you say.

“Where’d you go for brunch?” Yoongi asks, wiping his forehead with his upper arm.

You shrug. “Tried that one place Nima talks about all the time. They have bottomless mimosas.”
“Good food?” Yoongi asks.

You honestly don’t remember. “Sure.”

Heavy footsteps come at you swiftly, and you turn to see Jungkook making a hurried beeline
straight for you. Fuck, you think. It doesn’t help that you can see the eight shapely mounds of his
abs through his white tee, just above the band of his untied sweatpants, which are riding low and
threaten to ride lower.

You have to get out of there.

“Honey, can we go inside for a sec?” you ask, softening and sweetening your voice a bit.

Hobi grins and holds his arms out. “But it’s so nice today. Sunny and---”

“Yeah, but, I, uh…”

Jungkook’s footsteps are so loud.

“I want to spend some time with you,” you say to Hobi, cryptically.

“Wanna sit on the porch?” Hobi asks. “Take in some sun and fresh air?”

Yoongi laughs derisively. “God, Hobi, you really are so stupid sometimes.”

Immediately offended, Hobi starts with, “What the hell was that fo---”

“Hey everyone,” Jungkook says as lightly as he can, though you don’t miss the note of frustration
in his breathy voice.

Namjoon and Hobi greet him gladly, while Yoongi just glowers. “You ran over here pretty fast,”
he observes.

“I’m a fast runner, and I saw you all talking, so,” Jungkook says, interlacing his fingers and resting
them on top of his head as he catches his breath. He glances at you. “What are you all up to?”

His short sleeves show off his tattoos, each of their meanings echoing in your mind, in his voice.

“We were just going inside,” you say, tugging on Hobi’s sleeve.

“Wait, Sena, did you say you had bottomless mimosas?” Namjoon asks worriedly.

“Yeah, why?” you ask, annoyed.

Namjoon sighs and pats all of his cargo short pockets before finding and pulling out his phone.
“Goddammit,” he mutters. “I knew it. Nima’s already drunk texting me.” He frowns. “She wants
me to pick her up.” He looks back at you. “What did you do?”

“We got the scoop on Jin and Jang-mi’s romantic night out, for one,” you say, knowing the
promise of a tipsy, horny Nima will get Namjoon off of your back. Maybe off of everyone’s backs.

Namjoon’s eyebrows shoot up. He exchanges glances with the guys. “Oh… y-you did, did’ja?”

You grin, hoping that whatever Nima and Namjoon have in store will be what happens between
you and Hobi momentarily.
Namjoon turns to Yoongi. “Can you let Jin know that I’ll go pick up the girls if he can keep
watching the kids for a few hours?”

Yoongi salutes lazily.

“Thanks,” Namjoon says, running off with a devilish grin.

“So,” Jungkook says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Any fun weekend plans or---”

“I think Sena mentioned that these two were just on their way inside,” Yoongi responds quickly.

Hobi turns to you. “But hon,” he pouts, “do you really want to waste this gorgeous day?”

This is infuriating. You have to bring out the big guns. So, you smile, pulling off your hoodie to
reveal your sports bra, and add, “I think you’ll want to, too.”

You hate it, but you still enjoy the feeling of Jungkook’s eyes on you, watching the fabric of your
clothes slide over your skin.

Finally getting the message, Hobi raises his eyebrows and giggles. “Ohhh! Ho-ho-ho, ho-boy.
Yeah, let’s go inside!”

He strides over to you and grabs your hand, pulling you toward your front door.

“Uh, wait!” Jungkook cries out. “Hobi’s right! It’s so nice out?”

Yoongi scoffs and reaches down for his gardening tools.

“Or maybe I could join you for a chat?” Jungkook tries. “Hobi? Sel??”

“Gonna be a bit preoccupied!” Hobi calls, as you reach your porch.

You look over and watch as a defeated Jungkook turns to Yoongi, who is cradling all of his tools
and smirking.

“For what they’re about to do, seems like three would be a crowd,” Yoongi says pointedly, and
with such satisfaction.

Jungkook sends him a look chock-full of snark. “Three isn’t a crowd at all.” He jogs backwards,
toward his house, calling back, “But you’re right. I prefer one-on-one kinds of things anyway.”

Hobi unlocks and pushes your door open. You follow him inside and try to shake Jungkook out of
your head yet again. You really wish he hadn’t said anything, especially to someone as shrewd as
Yoongi. And you hate that you’re feeling so flattered and turned on at Jungkook’s tenacity, as
Jungkook shoots you a look before turning away.

Thankfully, your heart starts to melt as Hobi rids your mind of everything except the sensation of
him twirling you into the living room and kissing you fully.

He grimaces, making you laugh sheepishly.

“What is that taste?”

“Sorry, let me go wash up and brush my teeth.”

Hobi grins. “Let me watch.”

You laugh. “A second ago, you wanted to take in this beautiful day.”

“And now I want to watch you shower.”

“You’re almost as bad as Namjoon. Did you somehow get the Jin and Jang-mi scoop between
Yoongi’s yard and our living room?”

“You girls are so cute,” Hobi replies. “As if we don’t all have Jin’s texts circulating in the group
chat right now. We get brunch when we wanna eat. We don’t need an excuse to share. ”

Hobi has a point. You smirk at the differences in your rituals.

“Give me five minutes.”

“Let me watch!”

You giggle. “You’re so bad!”

“And who sped home?” Hobi reminds you, his tone growing harsher as he steps into you. “That
little joke of a striptease? Which is obviously where I’ll start in the group chat as soon as we’re
done.”

He grabs at you, and you shiver at the sight of Hobi’s darkening eyes.

“You talk about me in the group chat??” you ask.

“Oh, we talk about you a lot.”

Hobi wraps his arms around you, dancing and swaying with you around the living room,
positioning himself so that you straddle his thigh just a little.

“And what exactly do you say?” you demand, hands exploring his body.

“Mmm, I talk about how naughty you are, and how you’re always down,” Hobi says. “I told them
about the time we fucked in the back row of that movie theater, and the only other people in the
theater were those two old grandmas. I told them about the time we went down on each other in the
restaurant bathroom at Nam-gi’s third birthday, which Namjoon admittedly wasn’t pleased about.
Ooh, I told them about the time we tried latex!”

“Shouldn’t all of that stay between you and me?” you ask coyly.

“You’re the ones talking about us on your runs and at brunch,” Hobi says, tickling you. “Besides.
We need to keep each other informed. We need to know what we did that got you going. We wanna
keep you going. The system seems to be working really, really well.”

“Wow,” you chuckle. With his knowledge of how to feed the machine-learning algorithm that is
the Sope Industries Geek Squad brains, Hobi might actually make a pretty good con. If only it
weren’t for his sparkling, gold-star morality.

“You should hear how jealous they get sometimes,” Hobi whispers, giving you more and more of a
glimpse of his shadowy side. A side only for you. A side that intrigues you. “They’re so pitifully
hungry for it. But you keep me so well-fed.”

He slides his hands into your waistband, digging for you, fingers getting you nice and ready.

You run your bottom lip through your teeth, chewing slightly.
“Listening to their stories. Rushing home to get to me. Fuck, honey. I’m getting so hard.”

You gasp, and you grab onto Hobi’s working wrist so hard that you almost choke off its
circulation.

He nuzzles into you, sniffing you. You grimace and prepare for your workout stench to kill the
mood, but then he smiles. “Is it weird that I like it when you haven’t showered?” he asks, his voice
low. “Is it weird that sometimes, I even like you better this way?”

Your heart clings to his. This is what you need to know. Could Hobi want you, love you, when
you’re so covered in filth?

He sticks a finger into your entrance, and you moan, starting to feel yourself moistening around
him.

“Still want that five minutes?” Hobi asks.

You pull him into a kiss, and he grunts as you take his hands and show him where you want him to
hold you. Grab your tits. Grab your ass. Smack you.

When you pull away for air, Hobi’s eyes gleam at you.

“Rough, huh?” he growls.

You kiss him, gnawing on his lip as you pull away.

You sigh. “Mmm. Punish me.”

You want so badly to be punished. You don’t know how you keep getting away with things.

He chomps on your shoulder, and your skin tingles at the funny sensation of your skin being
gathered by his teeth, and his tongue running over their indentations. He leans you back, supports
your neck with his forearm, and scoops his other arm behind the bends of your knees. He picks you
up, and walks toward the bedroom.

“Which one do you want?” he asks.

“The cane,” you say decisively, wrapping your arms around his neck and placing kiss after kiss on
his cheek.

Hobi grunts. “You knew which one you wanted right away?” he asks. “Fuck. Did you think about
it in the car?”

“The entire drive home,” you purr.

He sets you down on the mattress, and you smile and watch as Hobi reaches under your bed to pull
out a small box of toys that you playfully call The Arsenal.

Grinning, Hobi holds up a red spatula. “Remember this little fella? From the apartment?”

You grin.

The red spatula.

It’s a fond memory. One of the few that isn’t attached to something painful or nerve-wracking. It
was just a random morning after a particularly fun and steamy night with Hobi. The two of you
were making breakfast together, and some of that steam carried over. You playfully smacked Hobi
on the shoulder with your clean, red spatula, and instead of grimacing or crying out in annoyance,
he purred like an engine revving. You nearly burnt your apartment down, forgetting the food on
the stove as Hobi fucked you on all fours in the kitchen, giving you your own turn with the spatula.
You came so hard, and so fully, that you didn’t care if the apartment burned down. You’d be
moving to the cul-de-sac soon anyway.

In fact, you bought red spatulas for everybody as fun housewarming gifts.

The Arsenal has been outfitted with even more toys since then. Hobi rummages around a little
before finding and taking the handle of a thin impact cane, one of your favorites. You don’t just
love the stinging whip of the cane against your flesh. You think that the red lines that mark up your
ass and back and thighs can look so pretty. How could evidence of your love for one another look
nothing but?

You start to undress, getting on all fours, heart beating faster in anticipation.

When you’re kneeling, slightly crouched, grinning at Hobi standing at the side of the bed next to
you, he asks with fond familiarity, “What’s our safe word, honey?”

“Bumblebee,” you say, eyes softening at your in-joke of a code.

Hobi presses a kiss to your lips, and as he disappears behind you, you start to clench and bounce in
anticipation.

“Stay still.”

You feel a jolt of energy at Hobi being so quick to set the tone. This is exactly what you need. A
bit of pain to empty your mind. A bit of pleasure to fill it back up again, keeping out the unwanted
things. The faraway things. The things at the other end of the cul-de-sac.

Hobi primes your ass with a few soft hits. “Little cocktease,” he spits. “Taking off your hoodie like
that in front of my friends.” He thwaps! you once, softly, just to get you acclimated before the real
fun begins.

You moan.

“Did I say you could talk?” Hobi demands.

You shake your head.

Another thwap!

“Did I say you could move?”

You try to get yourself to stay still, but your juices are really starting to thicken, dripping so slowly
down your thighs.

You smile at the sensation. You can’t help but let out a little, happy hum.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, you little slut?”

Another thwap! Harder this time. Closer to where you want to be.

You inch forward on impact, and when you do, you squeeze your eyes shut, basking in the mix of
feelings.
“You’re gonna count to 10,” Hobi says, as you hear him strip. “And if you can be a good girl, who
doesn’t move, or talk, or even smile unless I say so, then maybe I’ll take care of you.”

You wait for Hobi’s command.

“Hmm. Maybe you’re getting the idea after all,” he muses. “Start counting.”

“One,” you say.

And then you brace.

Hobi hits you with the cane, and you have to bite your lip not to whimper or sob. The sting
penetrates the first layer of your increasingly raw skin.

It feels exquisite.

“Pathetic,” Hobi spits at you. “Only one hit in, and you’re staining the sheets?”

Before he says it, you’ve already felt your juices making contact with those sheets that you bought
on sale two years ago during Cyber Monday using that leftover gift card and taking advantage of a
pretty great deal.

Not now, your more primal brain demands, as you instinctively shake the thought out of your head.

“What did I tell you?” Hobi threatens, hitting you again. “No moving. Get back to counting.”

You shiver, and you force out, “Two.”

Hobi hits you right away, right on the same line, and you let out a small whimper.

“What the fuck are you thinking?” he asks. “It better be me. Your head better be full of thoughts of
only me.”

Your heart sinks a little bit. You wish that were the case.

“And what if it isn’t?” you ask, letting yourself dare to push him.

Hobi grabs your head and forces you to look forward, at your headboard. “Then I may have to get
the spatula. Or better yet, the paddle, or the whip,” he growls, narrowing his eyes at you. “I’ll
brand you with my fucking initials if I have to.”

You wish that could fix it.

“Count!” Hobi instructs.

“Three.”

Hobi smirks. He runs his hand over your smooth ass, tracing the raised, red lines that are forming.
And then he hits you again, the cane marking new territory.

Fuck, why does that feel so good? you wonder, tears pricking at your eyes.

Hobi sees your throat constricting. He knows you’re choking down your words. He smiles to
himself and wraps a hand around your throat, teasing you, letting you know how easy it would be
to let those words out, but only giving off the impression that he is the one who has control over
whether you do or not.
You are still in control. You could say what you want to. What you’re really feeling and thinking.
But you’re still choosing to stay silent, preferring the slight ache of the wood against your flesh.
Preferring to take on the pain yourself. It’s strange, how fantasy eclipses reality so closely.

You crane your neck, and Hobi takes it as a sign that you want to be choked a little more. He digs
his fingers in, and you clench your pussy tight, licking your lips slightly at the feeling.

“Did I say stop counting?” Hobi asks, hissing into your ear.

“Four.”

You’re starting to see stars in your eyes after each hit. You swear it won’t be long until it starts to
feel like the cane is tearing through your skin.

You can’t wait.

“Five.”

“Trying to rush? Trying to get out of this? You’ll count at my pace, brat.”

You lunge forward at the impact, and Hobi grabs onto your strained fists on the mattress. He looks
at your face and studies it a little. You nod to tell him that everything’s alright, eyes still squeezed
tight, but your teeth loosening their hold on your lips, color quickly returning to them.

Hobi runs his hand up your arm, along your body, and onto your ass. He moves it in a circle on a
spot that hasn’t been touched yet, patting it gently.

“So much of you to cover,” he says dejectedly. “Such a thin snap of a rod. Where are we?”

“Six.”

He hits you even harder, and you silently thank him for inexplicably understanding this side of
you, even if he doesn’t know the extent of his knowledge. He really was the perfect target. The
perfect person to meet next.

“These lines,” Hobi sighs, tracing the red marks that he’s making on your backside, watching as
they criss-cross into the lines up your hips and back, left there by your binding workout clothes.
“Wish they went deeper.”

You hear Hobi rustling and grunting behind you, realizing that he’s running his hand over his fully
erect cock, precum oozing out of his hole and covering his hand. The sound of his lathered organ
makes you wetter. Hotter.

“Count.”

“Seven.”

You need him inside of you soon. Everything that is within you is threatening to pour out of you,
joining the sticky pools that are forming at your knees.

“Fuck, f-fucking gorgeous,” Hobi sighs, staring at you trying to keep it together. How badly he
wants you to fall apart for him. He edges himself, trying to squeeze as tightly as you seem to be,
and delighting in the sight of your juices still leaking out, and his own juices still escaping. He
gathers his wits about him.

He thwap! s you with the cane, out of nowhere.

You can’t help but moan at the surprise, pussy twitching.

“W-what was that for?” you beg. “I was following orders!”

Another thwap!

“No talking unless I say,” Hobi huffs. “And that other one was for looking so fucking gorgeous
without having any right to.”

How is it that Hobi finds something cute to say even in this scenario?

Trembling, you plead for Hobi to hurry it up. You need him. You came home for him.

And you’re quickly deciding that you’re staying home for him.

“I don’t hear you counting,” Hobi reminds you, tapping the tip of the cane against your cheek.

Your mouth falls open automatically, so hungry for stimulation.

Hobi watches you try to take the cane in your mouth, and he scoffs at the sight. “Desperate doesn’t
become you,” he observes. He grabs your cheeks in his hand, still wet from stroking his cock. “I’ll
have to fuck that mouth later. Show you that if you don’t close it, I’ll fill it.”

You try to lick some of him from his fingers, but he denies you the pleasure.

“Count.”

“Eight,” you say weakly.

Hobi strikes you again, and he gets so close to your entrance that the buzz edges you close to
orgasm. “Oh fuck,” you cry out, panting, moaning, bucking, every syllable coming out of you
dripping with desire and lust. “Honey. Fuck. So good. So, so goo---”

“Bumblebee,” Hobi says quickly, throwing down the cane and leaning up against you.

“Wha--- Huh--- You’re the dom right now!” you exclaim, sputtering, still shivering, and laughing,
a little in shock. “And I’m o-only at nine!”

He shoves two fingers inside of you, and before you can think about it, you grind against his hand,
moving your hips forward and back, rolling your ass, delighting in the blissful taste of what you
want, but still needing more.

“I know, but look at you,” he says. “You need me to fuck you.” His sentences shorten into grunts
shot out from his diaphragm. “And I need to fuck you. Right now. Please. Let me.”

You’re elated. Hobi knows you so well.

You reach back for him, and he draws a quick, loud breath.

He grunts again and pushes into you. You cry out from relief more than anything, reveling in how
his cock bottoms out in one go, thankful that you can now fall to the mattress and just feel. Just let
go.

Your arms spread out around you as he fucks you relentlessly, kicking your sticky thighs apart and
forcing you to adjust around his thick girth. He rams into you over and over, grabbing for your
shoulders, scratching troughs down your back when his erratic pumps make him miss.
You come, and Hobi’s sunshine spreads into you.

Every bone in your body feels lighter.

Clarity.

Should’ve left, you think, tears coating your lashes. You should have left that day that Jungkook
came over to see you. Or even before that. This is selfish. Wrong. The protocol is always right,
tested over years, tried and true. Even your gut told you to go. And none of this guilt would be
sitting heavy in it if you had.

Hobi is so perfect, so understanding, somehow simultaneously his own person while also giving all
of himself to others. Generous, but within healthy boundaries. Open to exploration, but knows what
he wants. And so patient. So, so patient. Patient in ways that he doesn’t even realize.

Your body starts to climb back down from the peak of your orgasm, and you focus on Hobi
hammering into you quickly before groaning and slowing to an easy ride, his hot, thick cream
coating you inside, sealing you back up and making you whole again.

“I had to,” Hobi pants, his voice whining as he rests against you. “You needed it. You should see
yourself like that. So pretty. So fucking sexy.”

He eases out of you, and you roll onto your back, reaching up for him and pulling him to you.

He kisses you deeply, and you’re brought close to another orgasm with the way that he lets you
grind on his thigh, knee bent on the mattress, moving his pelvis so that the spot just above his knee
rubs against your lips and nub, letting you trade the cane for his body as a tool to get you there.

And in that added glimpse of heaven, the real sting hits you.

This is why you stayed. This is a sacred space.

You can’t carve out this space with your self-centered and tenacious want of Jungkook, and his
want of you.

Hobi is the only other person in your life who understands what it means to act out of love and
want for someone else.

You come, and when you open your mouth to sob, Hobi is already against your lips to swallow it
down for you.

**

The thing you hate most about your nightmares is when you’re a little bit self-aware in them.
You’ve read of people trying different things to evoke lucid dreams. Setting the atmosphere.
Sleeping with intention. They seem to fancy it a superpower. You would trade anything to give this
curse to them.

You look around the car and see it all again. The oncoming collision. Crunched, scraping metal.
Desperate eyes. A voice telling you that it’s going to be OK. That he’s got you.

The feel of gravel on your cheek. Broken glass in your hair.

The whole scene plays in slow motion, and you rebuke your brain for being so trite. This isn’t a
movie. Then again, maybe it’s just that the movies have learned how to get it so sickeningly right.

You know that time couldn’t have stretched on like this. All of it happened within seconds. A flash
of headlights not quite meeting in their usual neighborly passing way, but head-on and ugly and
accompanied by gunshots.

And then, it was over.

That was the most tragic part of the whole thing, you realized, as you sat in the hospital waiting
room and tried to figure out how to call home. How could someone so close to you just be gone?
And how were you supposed to acknowledge this loss? Would you try explaining everything?
How would the family react?

You look down at your hands and see your phone, its pink plastic somehow too new.

And when you look back up, you realize someone is sitting next to you in the waiting room.

It’s Hobi, who’s holding his own phone, and looking over at you with a warm smile.

**

You rustle awake, and you look up to see Hobi indeed grinning at his phone.

When did you fall asleep?

Feeling your eyes on him, he grins and turns to you to say something, but his forehead crinkles
with concern at the sight of you.

“You OK?” he whispers, reaching out for you.

You nestle into him, and he turns off his phone screen, plunging you into darkness. He holds you
close and breathes in deeply.

“How long was I out?” you ask.

“Maybe an hour,” Hobi answers gently.

You realize that you’re in darkness because Hobi has generously closed your blackout curtains.

“Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t. Not yet.”

Hobi tuts. “Bad dream?” His voice is so soft and gentle as he checks in with you, going the extra
mile to make this as easy as possible, knowing how sharp things can be right after you wake up
from one.

Your silence prompts him to ask the usual questions.

“Was it one about your friend?”

Your heart drops. Should’ve left, you think again to yourself. Should’ve left. Should’ve left.

“No.”

Even though it’s pitch black in your room, you can sense Hobi bracing.

Carefully, he asks, “Was it about the crash?”

You reach for him again, spreading your body over him and hooking a leg around his torso as he
wraps you up in his arms. Hobi feels your heartbreaking confirmation as you nod your cheek
against his collarbone.

He softly, soothingly runs his hand up and down your spine.

“Discuss or distract?”

Hobi’s so good at the shorthand, prompting an appreciative, fond smile to appear on your face.
You can always count on him to understand you, and even punish you when you need him to, but
tonight isn’t one of the nights that you feel the urge to rehash the vague version of the story that
you’ve told him in an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to feel absolved of sin.

“Distract. Please.”

Knowing the turmoil you’re in, Hobi holds you closer, nudging you to roll a little more onto your
side so that you can see when he turns his phone screen back on.

You squint and recoil, and he quickly lowers the brightness as he chuckles to himself, kissing the
top of your head to apologize.

At first, you aren’t sure what you’re looking at, but once you blink away the haze of being abruptly
blinded, you see what made Hobi grin at you when you woke up.

Tiny, funny pictures of Hobi, Jin, Yoongi, and Namjoon pop up on the screen, and you catch the
latest in a series of ongoing texts in the group chat, years running.

Hobi (4:26 PM): The whole Arsenal was used by the end. She’s sleeping now. Been
asleep for a little while.

“Oh god,” you laugh, enjoying the second-hand attention.

Jin (4:26 PM): She passed out?

Hobi (4:26 PM): She needs her rest.

Namjoon (4:26 PM): Daaaaamn. Teach me your ways, bro. When Nima and I were
done, she still had enough energy to get up and do some chores.

Hobi (4:27 PM): Maybe that’s less about stamina and more about you having three
kids to take care of?
 Hobi (4:27 PM): Also, maybe you could HELP her?

You kiss Hobi’s chest as you watch him type his thoughtful response.

Namjoon (4:27 PM): To be fair, I’M usually the one who sleeps when we’re done.
She really wears me out.

“She does,” you tell Hobi. “She’s talked about him passing out before coming. Still hard.”

Hobi raises his eyebrows.

Yoongi (4:27 PM): Look, I know my attempts to do so are always futile, but can we
please change the subject?

Jin (4:27 PM): Agreed. And I have the perfect question.

Jin (4:27 PM): What all is in The Arsenal? And why do you think she likes the cane
so much?

Yoongi (4:27 PM): Ugh.

“Care to share an answer?” Hobi teases you, shaking you with his shoulders and pushing his lips
into your hair.

You snuggle into him and smile. “Tell them that I like the way it feels. And the lines they make.”

Hobi (4:28 PM): She woke up a couple minutes ago, so I asked her: “I like the way it
feels and the lines they make.”

Jin (4:28 PM): She said that?? Well, fuck me.

You laugh when Namjoon adds a hot, sweating emoji reaction to Jin’s text.

Namjoon (4:28 PM): How did you guys get into this stuff? I wanna try, but I’m a
little nervous about asking Nima. Did you start with the canes? I’m curious about the
plugs.

Yoongi (4:28 PM): OK, I’m gonna try again. Can we please, PLEASE change the
subject?

Hobi cackles, making your head bob up and down with his chest.

Jungkook (4:28 PM): Seconded.

You blink quickly at the sight of his name. He doesn’t have a picture yet, so it appears next to a
blue dot.

A blue dot just like the one that was on your map.

You take in more of the screen. Now, you notice that the “Sope Industries Geek Squad” title has
been replaced with CUL-DE-SACKS at the top. If Hobi scrolled up a little bit to an earlier
conversation, you’d see Jin celebrating his pun obnoxiously with a deluge of out-of-date gifs.

“Jungkook’s in the group chat now?” you ask.

“Yeah, but he’s been annoyingly quiet about our little escapade,” Hobi says, furrowing his brow at
the screen. When he turns to you, he grins evilly and adds, “I told them a lot of detail because I was
trying to show off.” And then, he raises his eyebrows and shares the realization that, “Maybe I
made him uncomfortable.”

You definitely did, you think to yourself. Should’ve left. Should’ve left.

Jin (4:29 PM): Jungkook lives!

Namjoon (4:29 PM): You’ve been so silent. Almost forgot you were here.

Yoongi (4:29 PM): Interesting that you choose now to pop up.

Jungkook (4:29 PM): Just echoing your point that the chat is making me
uncomfortable.

You think of him reading what Hobi wrote. You imagine Jungkook wade from intrigue to jealousy
as he reads. Maybe you weren’t the only one in a living nightmare.

Yoongi (4:30 PM): Kind of weird to be hearing about SEL like this?

Jungkook (4:30 PM): Weird to be hearing about all of your wives like this.

Jungkook (4:30 PM): Well, except you, Yoongi.

Nice cover, you think, and you imagine Yoongi seething.

“Is it weird?” Hobi asks, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Does it make you uncomfortable that
we do this? Talk so openly?”

“People talk about sex,” you say, shrugging. “You said it yourself. We did the same thing at
brunch. I don’t know about the others, but it doesn’t bother me.” You think of Jungkook and add,
“I mean, it’s never bothered me… before…”

Jin (4:30 PM): Wet blankets. All of you.

Namjoon (4:31 PM): Sorry Jungkook, didn’t know you were as bashful as Yoongi is!

Yoongi (4:31 PM): Or maybe Jungkook here is a little jealous.

Shit, you think. That Yoongi’s too fucking clever.

Namjoon (4:31 PM): Hell, I think it’s safe to say we all are. You should scroll up and
see the other shit Hobi’s texted.

“Ooh!” Hobi exclaims. “Maybe now I can show off!”

Hobi (4:31 PM):

Jungkook (4:31 PM): Pass.

Namjoon (4:31 PM): Aw, c’mon. Don’t you have some fun stories about you and
Gyu-ri?

The thought balloons, filled not with air but panic.

Should’ve left.

Jin (4:32 PM):

Hobi laughs naughtily as he and Namjoon respond with peeping eye emoji of their own. “Wonder
what he’ll share with us.”

A lump rises in your throat.

Should’ve left. Should’ve left. Should’ve---

Jungkook is typing...

“I think I’ll leave you boys to it, then.”

“Huh?”

Joints knock against each other as you roll off of Hobi and make your way toward the drapes.

Hobi’s eyes follow you. “You said you wanted to stay in?”

The curtain rings slide loudly against the metal rod, and even though you leave the blinds shut,
sunlight pours through where it can.

“I’m sorry. This is distracting, isn’t it? I can put my phone away now.”

You hear the soft thud of his phone on the nightstand.

This sweet man. Should’ve left. Should’ve let him be.

You turn to him with a soft, admiring look. “Oh, honey. You’re perfect. No need to apologize.
Really.”

“We could cycle through The Arsenal again,” Hobi continues eagerly. “Ramp back up from
whatever hot story Jungkook was about to tell us.”

He starts to grow a smile, but when he sees you collecting your clothes from the ground and
tossing them into the hamper, he knows you’ve changed your mind.

After reaching for fresh clothes in your dresser, you turn for the bathroom, but you see his eyes
lowering to the pause by the bed on your way to the bathroom, looking

“I just remembered something for work,” you say vaguely. “Just wanna swing by an old property.
Check on things.” You smile reassuringly. “But I’ll be back in a few hours.”

Hobi still looks disappointed, but he smiles fully. “OK.”

Your fingers itch for your go bag.

The itch persists as your fingers scrub your scalp with shampoo and lather your hair with
conditioner. As they grip your toothbrush handle. As you slip on clean clothes. As you collect your
keys, wallet, and both of your phones -- the personal one you left on the kitchen counter, and the
work phone that you left in your basement office.

The itch in your fingers catches fire as you stare at your go bag for a good three or four minutes.
But you still don’t choose it.

Instead, you reach for the soft leather of your crossbody purse to house your Sig Sauer inside.

**

The gun range is about forty minutes away. It’s tucked into a part of town that no one from the cul-
de-sac would ever have a reason to visit. Iron and cement twist and break to give way to gnarled
roots hidden in the overgrowth. But surprisingly, it’s the place you feel most at home.

“Well, hey there, Miss Song,” a voice calls out to you.

“Hi, Mr. Hak,” you say, as the owner looks up from his magazine.

You join him at the front desk, pulling out your fake driver’s license and filling out the usual
forms.

Mr. Hak smiles as he takes your ID for processing. You watch his thumb clasp at the edge of your
photo. You look so young. Were you ever really that young?

“Things going well?”

You nod and smile as you sign at the bottom of the informed consent page with the loopy, swirly
scribble you’d crafted for this persona before flipping to the liability release form.

The bullets clink against each other as Mr. Hak reaches into his stores and sets two boxes down for
you. He works at the register to ring you up.

“What brought you in today? Boring weekend?”

If only.

“Just feeling out of practice.”

“Been a couple weeks since I saw you last,” Mr. Hak smirks. “How’s that firing pin?”

“Exquisite,” you say with a smile, feeling a wave of appreciation. You don’t know how many
times Mr. Hak has helped you with gun repairs, making recommendations and even taking care of
some of those repairs himself. In fact, your trusty Sig Sauer has gone through a couple of
makeovers, and you’re glad that his work has kept you from having to part with it completely.

“You sure I can’t pay you for it?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Mr. Hak says, grinning at you.

You turn back to your forms, barely noticing the door opening and footsteps heading toward you.

“Hi there,” Mr. Hak says to the other patron, “be right with you.”

“Oh, actually, I’m with her.”

That voice forces you to dig your grip in, and your pen inks a fat blot onto the page of the form that
you’re signing.

Slowly, you turn around.

Jungkook smiles at you. “Sorry I’m late.”

Late?

You glare at him.

“Seems I’m always behind her,” Jungkook chuckles to Mr. Hak, while wiggling his eyebrows at
you.

Your mind reels at all the meanings that sentence could take.

Turning back to Mr. Hak as if nothing is odd about this, you say, “Oh, yeah, um, this is my friend,
uh---”

“Hoseok,” Jungkook blurts, “but I go by Hobi.”

You swivel around and stare in horror at Jungkook. He smiles nervously, knowing to await your
wrath.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Hobi,” Mr. Hak replies. “Just need your ID and these forms.”

Jungkook pauses, mouth slightly open and completely silent as his eyes go blank.

Your pen scratches angrily, your writing looking less like the flowery script you’d adopted and
more like your scrawled, annoyed, barely legible handwriting. Of course Jungkook is freezing up.
He doesn’t have an ID with Hobi’s name on it. This is what happens when you don’t think through
things. When you don’t prepare. When you wing it.

Does he remember nothing?? you wonder. It pisses you off. All that training. All those talks. The
stash of IDs you encouraged him to make. His insistence on using his real name, with you, with
Sejin, with your cul-de-sac companions. How did he survive all this time? And why is he using a
pseudonym now --- especially one that potentially puts Hobi at risk?

Jungkook stupidly fumbles for his pockets, and the sight of him makes you seethe. If this were a
job, you’d be dead by now. And if there weren’t a witness, you’d be the one to kill him.

“I forgot my wallet,” Jungkook pouts. “B-but wait for me! I can go get it!”

You sigh and hand your forms to Mr. Hak. “Can’t guarantee I’ll be here when you get back,” you
say, clearly annoyed. “Was going to make this a quick session.” You soften and grin at Mr. Hak.
“Mr. Hak here generously squeezed me in on short notice.”

“Well, Miss Song, you’re a pretty loyal customer,” Mr. Hak replies, smiling back. “And I wouldn’t
say squeezed, exactly. Things have been, eh, pretty slow lately, shall we say.” He looks around at
the empty store, and you realize that the past few times you’ve been to visit, you’ve been alone.

Maybe that’s why you like it so much.

“Frankly, nobody else is gonna be here today,” Mr. Hak says. His eyes meet yours. “And I’m
always so appreciative of your business.” His eyes flick over to Jungkook’s anxious grin. “Even
bringing in new business. So…”
Mr. Hak hands Jungkook a clipboard and pen.

“Just don’t say anything. And bring your ID next time.”

Jungkook beams as he accepts the clipboard. “You’re a gentleman and a scholar, Mr. Hak,” he
says, making Mr. Hak grin.

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from grumbling. And now, you’re remembering. That’s
how Jungkook’s always survived. Stupid charm, and dumb luck.

Then, Mr. Hak gets a funny look on his face.

“Are you? New business, that is?”

“What do you mean?” Jungkook asks.

“Your voice,” Mr. Hak replies. “Just sounds familiar.”

You narrow your eyes at Jungkook. Mr. Hak’s ears know the sound of a deformed firing pin.
Something else is going on.

“One of those voices, I guess,” Jungkook shrugs.

“Ah, well,” Mr. Hak says, mirroring his shrug. “Anyway. Did you bring your own gun to shoot
with today?”

“No, but can I rent one?”

“Sure. What would you like?”

“Glock 19. Or a 19x, if you have one.”

“You like the crossover, huh?” Mr. Hak chuckles.

“Or just indecisive,” you mutter.

Jungkook shrugs. “The 17 and the 19 are perfect guns, so the 19x gives you the best of both
worlds.” He looks at you. “I just like having my cake and eating it too. Right, Miss Song?”

You try to ignore his teasing face, save for imagining the perfect spot to hit with a solid hook and
knock him out.

“I was cleaning a 19x earlier today. Let me go get it for you,” Mr. Hak says, disappearing into the
back room.

Jungkook sidles up next to you and leans on the counter.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you whisper.

“Hobi mentioned you were going somewhere in the group chat,” he whispers back.

“You tracked me?”

“You tracked me first.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “How?”

Jungkook grins. “You have your secrets. I have mine.”

You roll your eyes and fold your arms.

“Don’t roll those eyes away from me. I missed seeing them. I missed you,” Jungkook whispers, his
eyes following the curves of your face. “You’re all that I could think about all week.”

Fuck. His face. His words. Fuck fuck fuck.

You speak quickly and angrily. “If you’re here to try and talk me out of what I said---”

“I’m not,” Jungkook interrupts. “I’m just here to hang out with you. And shoot guns, apparently.”

He looks so earnest.

You hate when he looks so earnest.

“By the way, uh, can you pay for me, too?” Jungkook squeaks. “I kinda rushed over here, and, uh,
I really did forget my wallet…”

You grumble and start to pull out some cash when Mr. Hak returns with a pristine Glock 19x that
earns your and Jungkook’s approval and admiration.

“Can I get you two anything else?” Mr. Hak asks.

Jungkook gets a glimmer in his eye. He turns to you and smiles.

“Have you ever shot a sniper rifle?”

**

You go through twenty-odd, Swiss cheesed indoor targets before allowing Jungkook to speak to
you again.

And where you give an inch, he takes a mile.

Or, rather, 300 meters.

Both of you take your places at the converted stables outside for the long-range targets. His body
is pressed up against yours to show you your way around the M24, its legs set on the bench, and its
barrel pointed out at a target 300 meters away.

You follow his slight adjustments as he instructs you.

“Mmm, that’s more like it,” Jungkook purrs into your ear.

“Hey. Focus.”

“I am. I just get really turned on by sniper rifles.”

Biting back a smile, you try to keep your attention on the steel target in your scope.
“Aren’t spotters supposed to be off to the side?” you ask, shifting your position in his arms.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jungkook dismisses, breaking away after he helps you adjust. “OK, let’s go over it
again. Do you see the target?”

The steel of the person-shaped target glimmers in your crosshairs. “Yes.”

“Alright. Deep breaths.”

You inhale and exhale smoothly twice, and at the bottom of your third breath, you pull the trigger.
Despite the pain of the gun hammering back against you, you send the bullet through the air as
gracefully as you can.

All you get in response is silence and an unimpressive cloud of dirt.

“Missed,” Jungkook replies. “Half a mil to the left. Log it in your DOPE.”

You note the information in your makeshift Data on Previous Engagements card.

“Now, try again, before the wind changes. Follow the checklist.”

You square your shoulders to the target. You throw a round into the raceway and close the bolt.
After socketing the rifle in your shoulder pocket and adjusting your scope, you take another two
deep breaths, and as you let the third one out, you pull the trigger, unable to keep from hissing at
the recoil.

“Missed,” Jungkook replies, pulling the binoculars away from his face.

You sigh. “Ugh, this is taking so long---”

“Let’s just try one more time.”

“I don’t know why we’re even doing this,” you say, faltering. “I should go home to Hobi.”

“You are with Hobi,” Jungkook says gently, smirking a little.

You sigh. “You know what I mean. You shouldn’t have used his name.”

“One more time,” Jungkook pleads, placing his hand on the bench next to the M24.

You sit back in your chair and run your hands through your hair, frustrated.

“Then at least tell me what’s going on with you,” Jungkook offers, relaxing.

He pushes his hoodie sleeves up, resting his elbow on the bench, and resting his chin in his palm.
His eyes trace your outline like they usually do. As if he’s trying to draw you. Maybe for one of
those tattoos. Which you realize you’re staring at.

You shake your head and look back into Jungkook’s eyes. He’s smiling. “This really is the only
way to get your attention, isn’t it?”

“You shouldn’t have gotten those,” you snap. “Someone could recognize them.”

Jungkook knows you. How you lash out.

He leans forward in his seat, resting his elbows on his knees. He opens himself up, holding his
palms out to you.

“Is that what’s really bothering you?” he asks. “Is that why you want to stop working jobs? Is it…
Am I…”

For once, you see what it looks like for Jungkook to contemplate getting his go bag and entertain
the idea of disappearing. You didn’t know that look could be so heart-shattering, and for the first
time in a little while, you’re able to quiet that voice that keeps telling you that you should’ve left.

“No,” you admit. “I missed you.” You dare to reach out, finger following the tiger flower on his
arm. “I still miss you.”

Jungkook’s sigh trails into a grunt. “Then why stop?” He blinks. “Best of both worlds.”

“I don’t like that it’s at their expense,” you say.

“Was it something Gyu-ri said at brunch?”

You look at Jungkook thoughtfully. “I really don’t like that you used Hobi’s name today. It puts
him at risk. And, now that you mention it, no, I don’t like that I have to hear about your week of
painting and cooking and reconnecting with your perfect, new wife.”

“Well, I don’t like that I have to read about your Arsenal in the group chat,” Jungkook points out,
his eyes falling to the ground, “but I’ll take that over not having any contact with you at all.” His
eyes fall to the ground, and your heart drops with them.

“But it isn’t fair, Jungkook.”

“Not to Hobi or Gyu-ri.” He looks back up at you. “But I thought the only thing that mattered was
what was fair to us.”

You slump. “Is it fair to us?” you ask. “How long can we keep this up? I don’t know about you, but
I don’t want to be 70 and wracked with guilt as I lie in bed with Hobi while I pine for you across
the street.”

“Well, by then, we’ll all be neighbors at a retirement home, so you’ll only have to pine from across
the hall.”

You roll your eyes at Jungkook’s cheeky smile.

With a gentle scoff, you say, “To get into a retirement home, you have to retire from something.”

Jungkook zeroes in on you, his eyes dialing in just like his dexterous, delicate fingers adjusted the
scope.

“Seems like you want to retire,” he observes. “Your message? I don’t get it, Sel. No more jobs? At
all?” He raises his eyebrows. “Are you thinking about cleaning up? Selling homes for real?
Working in some boring office for real?” His voice sounds small when he adds, “Loving Hobi for
real?”

How do you remind him that you already do?

“Why are you here?” you ask hopelessly, as you slide your hands away from him.

“I told you. I tracked you.”

“I don’t just mean the gun range.”

“Neither do I.”

Jungkook leans back from the bench, interlaces his fingers, rests his elbows on his knees, and looks
down at the ground. He rolls his words over his tongue, trying to decide which ones taste right. Fit
best.

“Mr. Hak. He said my voice was familiar.”

He clears his throat and fidgets in his chair.

“I was able to track down your gun.”

Tilting your head to the side, you sit back in your chair. You had guessed as much, with the
comment from earlier. “But the serial number’s filed off. I made sure of it.”

And, thankfully, Mr. Hak doesn’t exactly always play by the rules, you think. You’re all cut from
the same cloth. You don’t ask questions where they don’t need to be asked.

“Duh,” Jungkook says, rolling his eyes. “But someone once told me that con work is not as
glamorous as it may seem.”

You smirk.

“Phone calls,” Jungkook says. “I knew your Sig’s model. So I called every gun range, repair shop,
or hobby store that I could find. Just like you taught me.”

You think of your time in the warehouse. Calling your targets with a fake motive. Simply calling
people got you all the info that you needed. For as often as you use this technique, you feel stupid
for falling victim to it.

Jungkook forgetting his wallet suddenly doesn’t seem so ridiculous.

He continues, “I followed every lead that seemed promising. Started with a 5-mile radius from the
last town. Then 10 miles. Then 20. Then 50. Then 100. When I got to a point where I lost all my
leads, I started again. And then, one day, Mr. Hak picked up.”

Though Gyu-ri might disagree, this might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard. The years
of planning. The consistency of his care. That Jungkook-trademarked tenacity.

“I said I was trying to surprise my girlfriend,” Jungkook says. “I said that she had a Sig. Might’ve
come in every so often. Might’ve needed repairs. And Mr. Hak asked, ‘Oh, is your girlfriend Miss
Song? I’m working on her firing pin right now.’ And that’s how I knew I had found you.”

“That was just a few weeks ago,” you say, impressed. “How did you get the house?”

“I used everything I had. Paid for it in full. Cash.”

Your chest tightens. That’s why Jungkook’s strapped for cash. Why he’s taking jobs. You don’t
have to be a realtor to know that houses are expensive. Especially in your neighborhood.

“It didn’t take much to convince Gyu-ri,” Jungkook admits. “She hated where we lived. Hated her
job. Hated being so far from her mom. The drive is a little long, but at least she doesn’t have to fly
anymore.”
“So you picked up and moved?” you ask, wide-eyed. “Just like that?”

He shrugs, and you wonder why he thinks everything is so damn easy until he says, “Why not?
That’s what you do.”

You shake your head. “I don’t take people with me, Jungkook.”

“So I’ve noticed,” he says, and the comment sears your flesh.

You take a deep breath. “Well, how did Gyu-ri find the job? And how did you even find the
house? Our cul-de-sac?”

Jungkook smiles. “Teachers are always in demand. And I tried to triangulate your general location
with increased activity in relation to waves of DDoS attacks that could have been happening
anywhere. From there, I searched for your secret shop. Even messaged you.”

“Really??” Of that , you had absolutely no clue.

“Used your code. I was Client 143.”

You blink owlishly at him.

“‘I’m in the market for a Ranch. Want to knock out some servers’,” he recites.

“I guess I owe you that $10 grand,” you reply, making Jungkook chuckle.

“We made up for it,” Jungkook reminds you, and you flash back to The Buxton.

“But what job…”

The banks, you realize. “Was it something like… Coral Road Savings and Green North Services?”

“CRS and GNS,” Jungkook says with a wink.

You chuckle. Cars and guns. Jimin and Taehyung. He was trying to let you know that it was him in
a way that only you would have understood.

Jungkook’s smile turns from proud to embarrassed. “I admittedly needed a little help on that last
part.”

“Who’d you reach out to?”

“Yugyeom. He propped up the fake servers for your attacks.”

You nod, impressed by his work, and having a little knowledge of him from your shared network.
“He’s good.”

“Are you kidding? He’s incredible,” Jungkook says softly. “He brought me to you.”

You might’ve kissed Jungkook then.

“It’s ironic,” you observe instead, raising your eyebrows. “All this time, I thought the Sope squad
would figure it out. Yoongi, especially.” You look at Jungkook pointedly. “We have to be more
careful around him.”

“Is that why you’re so itchy all the time?” Jungkook asks, and you think of how you almost
grabbed your go bag. “Y’know. Ready to leave at a moment’s notice.”

You mull his words over. Truth is, you’re always so itchy. You’ve always been. It’s hard to figure
out why.

“A little. But it’s mostly the guilt.”

You don’t expect Jungkook to understand, so it doesn’t surprise you when he reaches for your
hand again and places your fingers on his cheek, just under his scar. You sigh softly as he gazes
back at you.

A chill dances across your skin as the wind changes, and you think about what adjustments you’ll
have to make to your gun to hit that target in the distance.

“Why ‘Song’?” Jungkook asks suddenly.

Snatching your hand away, you shift nervously, bones anxiously creaking.

“Mr. Hak called you Miss Song,” Jungkook says, sitting up a little. “When we were on the run, you
booked our hotels and cars under Song. I always wondered why.”

You think about the nightmare that brought you here. Not just the one you had in bed with Hobi a
few hours ago. But the one that it was inspired by. The real one. The one that led you down this
road to begin with.

Hobi knows a little.

But you’ll have to tell Jungkook a lot.

You look back out at the target, the gleam from the steel dimming as the sun grows weaker.

“My cousin,” you say. “Songchul.”

Jungkook waits for you to gather enough energy to walk through it. Re-live it.

“Songchul taught me almost everything I know.”

His face flashes in your mind. Songchul at 8, and you at 5, stealing candy bars that you couldn't
afford. Songchul at 14, and you at 11, shooting your dad’s gun out by the creek. Songchul at 16,
and you at 13, doing donuts in the school parking lot after hotwiring his dad’s car. Songchul at 20,
and you at 17, running scams and pickpocketing tourists in the city center.

“He told me I was smart. Told me that I should try to get into college. Said he was probably a bad
influence.”

You remember how he’d steal people’s phones to jailbreak and sell them. From there, he asked you
to learn more about what other electronics you could steal and sell. You’d play around on an old,
hand-me-down laptop. Learned to code. Once you made enough money off your secret side hustle,
Songchul surprised you with your very own, brand new, pink phone.

“We messed up a job, though. Pissed off the wrong people.”

The wind picks up, and it reminds you of your hair whipping around you as Songchul sped down
the highway, your stolen phones and laptops, and a huge duffel bag of money, in the back. His
voice yelling, “Those dumbasses don’t know what hit ‘em!” Your voice cackling through the
night. But you didn’t know you were being followed. You didn’t know that they’d catch up with
you by heading you off. And you certainly didn’t know that they’d crash head-on into you just to
get you to stop, flipping your car over, and over, and over, until you were upside down in the
middle of the road, glass and plastic and metal everywhere, your face pressed against the road and
crushed under the weight of your body.

Your heart aches at the thought of a bleeding, barely conscious Songchul trying his best to stay
calm, telling you, “Don’t worry. We’ll get out of this, like always. I got you. Say it. Oppa’s got
you.”

“Oppa,” you whimpered, “Oppa’s got---”

“Oppa’s got you. Say it. Oppa’s---”

The two quick gunshots. Right at the base of the head. Execution-style, Songchul would have said.
Like it was happening to some character in his favorite action movie or video game.

If it hadn’t been for the car approaching, you would’ve been next. And that would have been it.
Sometimes, you wish that were the case.

You don’t exactly remember what happened next, but presumably, that person called the
ambulance, which took you to the hospital. And as you sat in the waiting room, you realized that it
was only a matter of time until the cops put two and two together about the things in your car. You
would have to call home. And you really, really didn’t want to call home. How could you explain?
How could you look your family in the eyes? How could Songchul leave you to deal with the
aftermath like this? How could you go on?

Pulling your phone out of the zippered pocket in your leather jacket, you nearly laughed at how
pristine it looked. You had the silly thought that maybe nothing happened, because if it had, surely
your phone would also be a twisted mess. But when you looked up, you were in the waiting room.

Waiting for what, you weren’t sure.

So you left.

“I haven’t been home since,” you tell Jungkook. “I don’t talk about it with my family. I have no
idea what they think happened. But I try to take care of them.”

You’d forgotten that Jungkook cries so easily, but then again, you remember that crying is also
something you can do in your sleep.

It’s clear that Jungkook understands you just a bit better now. And he’s livid for you.

His face tightens. You know what he’s thinking. He wants to ask you who was responsible. He
wants to rush in and take them out, guns blazing. Hobi can’t know this side of you. Not fully. He
wants to ask you if Hobi has actually taken care of you. Whether he could ever really take care of
you. Jungkook wants to be the one with that responsibility. He’s almost pleading for you to give it
to him.

But he softens and lightens when you move past these unanswered questions, your determined eyes
set on the M24.

“Look. If we take any jobs, we’ve gotta set some ground rules.”

“Like what?”
“Well, they have to be during the day, when everyone else is preoccupied,” you say. “I don’t want
to risk getting caught.” You think of Gyu-ri nervously waiting for Jungkook to come home. The
anguish she must have been in. “I don’t want to worry anyone.”

Jungkook sucks his lips into a firm line, his pout disappearing completely.

“No more nights away from Hobi and Gyu-ri. And…” Your heart aches as you make this next
decision. “No more nights… together.”

Jungkook takes a deep breath. He can’t say no. Not to you. And not after admitting that he would
take whatever he could get.

“Anyway,” you say, “I’m ready to try again.”

The corner of Jungkook’s lip turns up.

He releases his lips, scoots his chair back into the table, and peers through his binoculars.

“Wind’s coming in from the north now, so adjust accordingly.”

You write the information down on your DOPE card and go through the checklist again. Adjust.
Square. Shoulder. Target. Breathe.

Shoot.

You hear a faint clanging sound, and Jungkook turns to you, eyes smiling.

“Hit.”

You peer into his eyes, and you feel yourself getting lost, like you always do.

And you know.

These rules won’t last for very long.

**

“It’s just some chop shop job, like Jimin at the warehouse,” Jungkook reassures you. “They put out
a mass call. They need extra hands. We’ll be out in no time.”

You don’t know if that’s true.

“Why is the take so big, then?” you ask, suspicious. The $50k price tag doesn’t make sense. Any
grease monkey who needs some cash can take apart a stolen car.

“Who cares?” Jungkook asks.

It feels weird, taking a manual job. You had gotten so used to typing away on your phone or laptop.
So used to blinding people before you even arrive on the scene, setting up the perfect cloak under
which to work your magic.
And it feels weird to be sitting in a parking lot with Jungkook as early morning pink and purple
streaks criss-cross through the sky.

It all feels too… open.

“Besides. I like being with you like this,” Jungkook replies, thinking the same. “I can pretend that
we spent the night together. That we drove to work together.” He places his hand on your knee.
“It’s like how it was at the gun range. Like it’s normal for us to be seen together.”

You sigh with heated breath. This week has been impossible. Jungkook has been over every day to
scan through jobs, and though you’ve put in a stipulation that you need to fight the urge to pounce
on each other in these moments alone, it hasn’t stopped you from planting kisses on each others
collarbones, nibbling at each other’s necks and shoulders, straddling each other and dragging your
tongues across other hidden places.

Every time you’ve been together, you’ve been able to pull it back before you actually fuck. It’s not
like you don’t find ways to wrack up the guilt. But abstaining from truly connecting is having the
opposite effect that you’d intended. You only want each other more.

Jungkook runs his fingertips along the inside of your thigh.

“How much longer do we have?” he asks naughtily.

You shake your head. “Not here. It’s too dangerous.”

His fingertips graze the seam where your thigh meets your torso. You close your eyes and shiver.

“C’mon,” Jungkook whispers. “You did a better job of hiding the car this time.”

Your body bucks toward him out of habit, but you plant your bottom back down, firmly in your
seat. You stare at him, eyes begging him to stop.

“How am I supposed to just sit here when you’re in all your leather?”

You sigh again and flip down your visor. You gather your hair in a tight, neat bun. “Focus on the
job,” you say.

Jungkook squeezes your thigh.

“Alright. After, then.”

As you watch his hand leave you, you feel a mix of relief and remorse. The heat rising in your core
tells you that you’re not sure if your later punts are going to be as successful, but you’re glad that
for now, he’s letting it, and you, go.

Just in time, too. A line of cars is pulling up to the nearby garage, their wheels scratching along the
gravel as it slows. You both duck down in your seats, watching from a hidden alleyway a good
distance away as a large group of men park and head inside.

“I really don’t like this,” you admit. “There are too many people.”

“It’s such easy money,” Jungkook replies. “We leave the minute we’re done.”

Your gut is screaming at you to go home, but you follow Jungkook anyway. He tries to grab your
hand, but both are shoved into your pockets, the fingers of your right hand wrapped around the
handle of your Sig Sauer.
“So trigger happy,” Jungkook smirks.

“Yeah, well, what happened the last time that we both walked into an empty building?” you
grumble.

Jungkook eases back when he sees the look on your face.

“The minute we’re done, Sel. I promise. In and out.”

You nod quickly, as if doing so will get this over with any faster.

The garage is pretty nondescript. It’s quite old. It seems a bit jagged. But the job seems easy
enough. And there seem to be many hands to lighten the load. The leader of the unexpectedly large
group, decked out in coveralls and already covered in motor oil somehow, maybe perpetually so,
briskly walks you through the directions.

“Five minutes,” he barks. “Tear apart. Work fast. Leave.”

“Coveralls here is pretty eloquent,” Jungkook mutters sarcastically to you.

You smirk, but you shoot him a look. “I don’t want to be in another situation where I piss off the
wrong people,” you tell him meaningfully.

Jungkook nods curtly, even taking a tiny step back from your side.

It helps. It makes you feel like you can breathe again.

A huge truck pulls into the garage, and everyone around you starts wordlessly taking tools to task.
You and Jungkook slip on your gloves, and you join them. One group quickly removes the license
plates and tosses them out of sight. Another group separates the front frame, careful to keep the
fender and hood intact. The next team cuts out the windshield, while another team torches the roof
supports and the floor under the steering wheel. One team works delicately to get the undeployed,
and extremely valuable, airbags out along with the dash. And, working their way inside, another
team focuses on unbolting the doors and seats.

You join that last team, but you notice something packed into the upholstery.

“Hang on,” you whisper.

You turn to Jungkook, who’s reaching out for what he thinks are mere personal belongings.

You swat his hands away.

Confused, he looks at you, but then he looks at the bag that he was about to pick up.

Hidden inside the doors, and in the cloth of the seats, are bricks of white.

Cocaine.

“Hands up!” an amplified, slightly electronic voice calls out, accompanied by a siren. Then a raspy
line of static, before “Come out where we can see you!”

Red lights on rotation start streaming in from every direction.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jungkook hisses, backing away from the car and starting to wrap his arms
backwards, around you. Trying to keep you safe.
Trying to take care of you.

Someone collides into him, and you’re separated for just a moment.

“Who was it?!” Coveralls demands, screaming over the sirens. He scans the room, and his eyes fall
on you. “Who the fuck---”

He looks back at someone from across the room. “This is why we say no contractors!”

Coveralls turns and stomps towards you with murderous eyes. At 6’ 3” and, you’re guessing, about
300 pounds, he won’t be easy to take down without a weapon.

You move to reach into your pocket to grab your gun in defense, but before you can, Coveralls lifts
his heavy boot and kicks you, with all his might, right in the torso, knocking the wind out of you
and forcing you to the ground.

He looms over you. “Who are you??” Spit dribbles onto your face as he kicks you again and again,
for good measure. “You bitch! You fucking rat!”

It’s been a while since you’ve gotten the wind knocked out of you. The hits are hard, too. No
matter how hard you’re bracing, you’re going to bruise badly. You might have broken a rib or two.

A knee flies through the air, connecting perfectly, even gracefully, with Coveralls’ temple. It’s
enough force to knock him out cold.

Gunshots ring out, bullets ringing on steel.

Hit.

Hit.

Hit.

Someone calls out, “Swarm!”

Everyone’s mid-scatter, and some people are already getting cuffed. More gunshots. You have to
get out of there. But before you can do anything, you desperately need to catch your breath.

It’s not made easier by the way Jungkook hoists you over his shoulders, the root of his neck
pressing into you. You fight through the pain and let Jungkook do what he needs to do to get you
out of there. He sprints faster than you’ve ever seen him, and in almost no time, he’s throwing you
into the backseat of the car, the pair of you seemingly going undetected.

He jumps into the front seat, setting down his Glock in the passenger seat. You barely have the
wherewithal to throw him your keys.

Metal clinking, he catches them swiftly and starts the engine.

**
You make it to your house, and you and Jungkook scramble inside from the garage. You hobble
into the basement, collapsing into your chair. The pain has dulled a little, but it’s still there, making
it hard for you to breathe.

Jungkook flops into the seat next to you, panting. He smirks at you. “What’d I say? In and out.”

“Don’t fucking joke about this!” you wheeze, ribcage threatening to break apart as you speak with
too much fervor.

“Sel---”

“I knew it!” you cry out, exasperated. “I fucking knew it!”

“I should have listened,” Jungkook admits. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Your fingers curl into a fist, which slams down onto your desk. “What if we were seen? What if
they ID’d us? Got my license plate? Fuck, Jungkook, what if they trace this back to Hobi?”

“Hobi again?? Why do you care about Hobi so much?” Jungkook demands, frowning.

“You really care about Gyu-ri that little?” you ask, surprised.

Jungkook can’t believe you still don’t understand. “I only care about you! I dropped everything the
moment I found you!”

“You didn’t drop her!” you point out, squeezing your eyes shut. “You brought her with you!”

With closed eyes, you miss how Jungkook shakes his head and tears at his skin with frustration. “I
didn’t want to throw that away until I made sure it was really you.”

He reaches for your hands, and the force he brings makes your elbows dig into your stomach
slightly, making you hiss.

Jungkook ignores it, barrelling through with, “If we could have left that first game night together,
right when I finally got my eyes on you, I would have.” With pleading eyes, he adds, “Let’s go.
Let’s bail. Let’s start over. Now’s as good a time as any. Better, even.”

Should’ve left.

“We can’t leave now,” you say, tearing up. “What if someone comes after him? After all of them?”

Jungkook winces now, and you furrow your brow. That’s when you notice the giant gash in his
right sleeve.

And the blood streaming out of it.

The doorbell ringing sends even more pain into your wounds. This could be it. This could be your
worst fears realized. The unfamiliar footsteps you’ve been outrunning all this time. Yet another
person destroyed in your wake. An innocent, no less.

But then you hear a key in the lock.

And then you hear a voice. Faint at first, but growing louder, as fewer layers separate you.

“Sena?”
Yoongi’s low voice reverberates through the walls.

“Jungkook? You two down there?”

You and Jungkook exchange glances.

And then you start to wobble up the stairs.

Jungkook can’t take watching you. He scoops you up and gets you to the top.

“He’s onto us,” you warn in quick whispers. “He’ll look in the basement. He might make an excuse
to look in our room. Hide somewhere else. Anywhere else.”

Jungkook watches as you strip off your leather jacket, down to just your bra and pants, and
continue wobbling over to head Yoongi off in the foyer.

You grab a throw from your living room couch and wrap it around you, covering you completely.
You stuff the leather jacket into the cushions.

“Yoongi? Is that you?”

It hurts to call out with much force. You use it to your advantage.

He narrows his eyes when he sees you, hair messily gathered on the top of your head, and drenched
in sweat.

“You OK?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say weakly, doubling over from the dull ache now impacting you. “Uh, just… My
period. Cramps.”

Yoongi nods. “I started feeling pretty shitty at lunch,” he explains quickly. “Used up some sick
time for the afternoon.”

Sure you did.

You’ve seen Yoongi sick. You’ve seen Yoongi with a cold. You’ve seen Yoongi with the flu.
You’ve even seen Yoongi throw his back out.

This isn’t Yoongi sick. This is a reconnaissance mission.

“Thought I saw your car pull into your garage. Wondered if you and Jungkook were coming back
from somewhere, since you’ve been working so closely. Thought I’d say hi.”

Yoongi heads to the basement door, and you let him, trusting that Jungkook must have safely
stashed himself somewhere by now. Yoongi jogs down the steps at the ready. He even looks a
little disappointed at seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

“No, he hasn’t been over today. I just came back from the drugstore.” You lean into the lie.
“Cramps.”

“Yeah. So you said.”

Yoongi watches you carefully as he walks back up the stairs, his hand sliding up the banister. He
frowns at the feel of something wet. He holds up his hand and discovers streaks of red.
Yoongi widens his eyes and stares at you.

“Sorry,” you say, mind working quickly. “I was heading down to the basement from the bathroom,
and I rushed back up when I heard the door, so I might’ve---”

“Ugh, gross,” Yoongi complains. He slams the basement door behind him, stomps up the rest of
the steps, and goes into your guest bathroom to wash his hands and rid himself of the blood on his
fingers.

You rest in the door jamb and quickly scan for Jungkook when Yoongi’s eyes are low. There’s no
trace of him, and you’re not sure if you should be impressed or worried.

“Want me to make us some soup?” you ask, adding a little sweetness to your voice. “Sounds like
we could both use it.”

“No,” Yoongi says, sighing. “But thanks for asking.” He looks at you. “Well… I’m sorry you’re
not feeling well.” He sounds more relaxed. More like himself. “Think you’re feeling up to hosting
game night tonight?”

“I think I will be,” you say, hoping to keep things as normal as possible. “Just need a few hours to
rest, maybe. Hobi and I need to go shopping later. We’ll see then.”

Yoongi nods. He wipes his hands on his shirt. “Anything I can do to help?”

You shake your head. “Thanks, though.”

“You’re welcome.”

He walks to the front door, but he pauses before leaving. He turns to you, his eyes deep, calculating
whirlwinds. You have to be careful not to get swept up in them, lest you give everything away.

“Make sure you tell Hobi,” Yoongi says. “Let him take good care of you.” He furrows his brow.
“You know that he loves you so much, right?”

“Well, I love him, too,” you say.

Yoongi doesn’t seem to believe you. “Yeah.” He scratches his head. “Look, I… I’m sorry for
barging in like this. But I just wanted to tell you that.”

“That Hobi loves me?”

“Yeah.” Yoongi isn’t sure how to say it, but he tries anyway. “He tells us things. He’s always told
us things. And I’m his best friend. I said this when you got married. I’ve never, ever seen him
happier than when he’s with you.” He clears his throat. “He’s just been worried about you lately.”

You furrow your brow. “Worried.”

“He’s worried that you’re drifting apart somehow,” Yoongi admits.

You think of the group chat. How Jungkook knew you had gone. What Hobi must have told the
guys. Sorry guys, that’s all you’re getting. She left again.

Should’ve left.

“He doesn’t know why he feels that way,” Yoongi says, “but I had some thoughts, and…”
He dares to meet your eyes.

“Well, anyway. It seems those thoughts don’t matter.”

Damn straight.

“Your thoughts always matter,” you offer. You sound so convincingly sympathetic. You might
convince Yoongi that you care about his input. But you’ve long been convinced that you’re a
sociopath.

Yoongi nods. “Yeah, well. Just…”

From the day that you first saw the Sope gang, you knew that Yoongi had a certain scrupulousness
to him. If there’s a slight wrinkle on someone’s forehead, or if someone breathes funny, or even if
someone suddenly isn’t there, Yoongi’s usually deduced the cause seemingly within seconds. But
it’s more than just attention to detail. It’s that he really does care about what’s going on. He feels
the emotional impact of each wrinkle. Each breath. Each absence. Sometimes even moreso than
the person it’s happening to.

“...Just let him know. Y’know?”

You know what Yoongi is telling you. He’s not just telling you to reassure Hobi. He’s also telling
you that if that perceived distance between you is only going to get larger, you shouldn’t leave
Hobi hanging.

“See you at game night?” you ask.

“Sure.”

You close the door behind Yoongi, pause at the curtain to make sure he gets to his door, and then
you race back to the basement.

When you throw open the basement door, Jungkook winces as he jumps down and startles you,
nearly making you scream. You look up at where he had wedged himself in the ceiling corners
above the top stair, gripping onto the walls as tightly as he could, even with that gunshot wound
dripping onto the banister.

He’d heard every word. And for once, Jungkook actually looks concerned about Hobi’s well-
being. He looks at you hopelessly.

“C’mon,” you say, leading him back down the steps.

You grab your hidden, makeshift first aid kit out of your desk, and you sterilize the long pair of
medical tweezers.

“This is gonna hurt,” you say, eyeing the bullet entrance.

“Yeah, it is,” Jungkook admits, still mulling Yoongi’s words over.

Jungkook does his best not to holler, but strange, twisted choked-off yelps and grimaces eek out.
You get the bullet out thankfully in one piece, and you begin patching him up.

“You could have sterilized with iodine instead of alcohol.”

Muttering, you counter with, “You could have chosen a different job.”
Jungkook watches you. “That period thing was smart.” He smiles. “Yoongi was so grossed out
when---”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” you say, exasperated.

Jungkook grows silent again, taking in a deep breath as you finish dressing his wound. And then he
leans forward, staring into your eyes. “Look at me.”

Your eyes meet his, and he figures out a way to steady you.

“I really am sorry,” Jungkook replies.

You don’t respond. You don’t have the energy to. You just look back at him, listless.

Keeping his eyes on yours, he places his hands on your torso, making you squirm.

Jungkook slides to his knees, and he kisses you gently on your darkening bruise. There’s a lot of
pain. But there’s also a hint of something else. Something warm. Something growing.

“I’m sorry.”

Jungkook kisses you again, and though you wince, you don’t necessarily want him to stop.

He slides to his knees, and he looks up at you, meeting your eyes as he undoes your bra. He hooks
the straps in his thumbs and pulls the cups away from your chest, burying his mouth into your
mounds.

“I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you.”

Here, he touches you more firmly, adjusting his lips from kissing to sucking and eventually licking
with an open, hungry mouth, as he runs his fingertips softly up and down your body, using your
sensitivity to help get your mind off of the internal pain.

Your hands wrap around the back of his head to hold him there, hips starting to circle in your seat.

He kisses down your chest, around the border of the landscape of contact with Coveralls’ boot, and
starts to unbutton your fly, helping you wriggle out and show all of yourself to him.

Whines seep out of you as he digs his tongue into you, hands helping you move your hips and ass
forward, and your shoulders back. You rest the back of your neck on the back of your chair, and
you flex your thighs to prop yourself up, hands clutching your swollen nipples and raw breasts as
Jungkook works you out.

You reach down for his shoulder for balance, and he lets out another yelp at the unanticipated
added pressure on his dressing.

“Sorry,” you whisper quickly.

“I’m the one apologizing,” Jungkook says, his voice low. “Am I doing it well?”

“Y- yes…”

“Good. I wanna do it good. For you.”

His voice is threatening in its hypnotic nature, lulling you to pry you open.
“I wanna erase all of this. Make it mean something else.”

You open your eyes slightly and catch sight of Hobi’s picture, his ecstatic grin breaking your heart.

“N-no, wait, Jungkook, we said---”

Thumbs press into your bruise, and the mix of sensations heightens the one at your loins, where
Jungkook is sucking on your clit with just the right energy. You sweat even more, oozing out of
your pores. Your lungs catch on your ribs, and you have to decide moment to moment if what
you’re feeling is hurt or heaven.

Lips cushion lips and bud, tongue lapping up everything in reach. He traces your inner folds with
delicate precision. He looks up at you, having memorized their curves, and caressing you exactly
the way you like to be caressed.

You let out a huff of air, arms going limp, bruise feeling numb, and then increasingly hot.

He starts to bob his head up and down, sucking now, moving his jaw as he works, lips not only
traveling up and down but back and forth. He grunts softly after each slurp, as if you’re quenching
a thirst. As if this is satisfying a need of his rather than yours.

“J-Jung… Jungk…”

Your legs are trembling now.

“Don’t hold back,” he tells you, before diving into you again. “Do what you want. Do it all.”

So you do. You rest the backs of your thighs on his shoulders, your heels crossed on his back, and
he lets out another wince. But this time his eyes flash dangerously. He thrusts forward, shoulders
pushing your thighs up, digs his thumbs into your torso again, lets his weight press down onto you.
Both of you can barely breathe, and you spasm at each of his touches, muscles clenching and
accelerating the inevitable.

Jungkook sets his jaw and lets you ride him, feel him.

When you come, he latches his hand to you and rubs you quickly, milking your clit, fingers teasing
your entrance before slipping inside.

“Let me feel you.”

Your eyes flash open with surprise. It’s more intense than you were anticipating, with these sudden
changes.

He smashes his nose against yours, kissing your open mouth, grunting into your throat. You
whimper and cry against him, blinking back tears until your tears mix with your sweat.

Jungkook aims to please, even with his wounds.

You see him reach for his belt buckle. “Let me feel you,” he mewls again, heightened.

“No,” you gasp. “Wait, no.”

“No?” He frowns at you. “Really?”

“No, please, not… n-not now,” you say, still coming down from your high.
Jungkook looks wounded in a different way. But now, your own wounds are screaming out at you.

“I just… it hurts too much,” you explain, meaning it in so many ways.

Eyes lowered, Jungkook eases away from you. He stands to zip his fly, and you catch sight of his
length, torturously hard and wanting. His look grows distant as he calculates a path that he can
take, one out the back door, to where Yoongi won’t see. He looks hopeful. Specifically, he looks
hopeful that you’ll stop him from going.

But you don’t.

**

“How about these?”

You look over and see Hobi holding up two cantaloupes at nipple height. He puckers his lips and
fondles them, slightly bending over and wiggling his eyebrows at you.

Chuckling carefully, you roll your eyes and reach over to him, running your hands over the melons
before sliding your hand up his shirt.

“So fucking hot,” you tease.

“Mmm.”

Hobi laughs as he leans down to kiss you, keeping his eyes closed and blindly feeling for the metal
grating of the cart with his hip. Still kissing you, he catches the edge with his elbow and carefully
places the fruit on top of the delectable slices of prosciutto, taking care not to disturb the frozen
gnocchi, vodka sauce, lettuce, Caesar salad dressing, croutons, and chocolate cake.

You pull away, and Hobi smiles happily.

“You’re never this showy,” he says. “What’s gotten into you?”

Oh, y’know, just the near-death experience and the ever-present insane guilt.

You pull away slightly. “You made me laugh.”

Hobi beams proudly.

He’s so sweet. And so right. Other than the time you accidentally broadcast your nighttime
activities to the cul-de-sac, you’ve never been one for public displays of affection. You find
couples who do this to be four-eyed, eight-limbed monsters clambering through hordes of people
like you, just trying to live life. Just trying to buy groceries.

A point that’s made when a mother holding her infant daughter taps her foot impatiently at you and
Hobi. The two of you are blocking her angle to the honeydew.

“Sorry,” Hobi says sheepishly. He wraps his hand firmly on the cart handle and pushes it out of the
way as he snakes an arm around your waist and leads you away.
He looks back as you walk.

“What crawled up her ass?” he mutters. “And who likes honeydew anyway?”

You smirk, but you bite down on the inside of your lip to fight the wince that might come out if
Hobi’s fingers get any closer to the nasty bruise left by that coveralled idiot at the chop shop.

Hobi feels you tense.

“Cramps still bothering you?”

“Yeah,” you say quickly, giving him a peck on the cheek as you wriggle out of his grasp. “I’m
sorry, honey.”

Hobi looks more concerned than disappointed. “Why are you sorry?”

You huff. A loaded question.

“You’re sure I can’t help?” Hobi presses on. “Maybe when we get home and wait for the pasta to
cook, you can lie down, and I can massage your belly?” Hobi brightens. “A deep tissue massage?
Y’know, really dig in?”

That sounds terrible.

“That sounds nice, but I feel really sensitive. I think a massage might make things worse.”

Worry fills Hobi’s pupils. “You sure you don’t want to cancel?”

You shake your head. You tell yourself that you want to keep up appearances. Stick to tradition.
The group cancelled last week, and everything already feels so disjointed. You’re craving some
sort of structure. That steadiness brings a certain kind of comfort that’s served you particularly
well.

But also, there’s a part of you that’s dying to see Jungkook again. It’s going to be hell to fight the
urge to pick up where you left off earlier. You’d forgotten how addictive the wild card is.

“Let’s finish out the list and head home, then,” Hobi offers, guiding you toward the kitchen
utensils.

You need a new pair of tongs, as the old ones are starting to rust. You also need a new whisk.
You’ve never seen a whisk break before, but somehow, Hobi has bent one of the wire loops. It’s
probably the way he’s been haphazardly throwing things into the dishwasher, always cutely
smiling back at you as if he’s helping.

“And this,” Hobi adds, tossing something else into the cart.

A red spatula, still in its cardboard packaging.

Curious, you look up at Hobi.

“Housewarming gift, for next week,” he reminds you, smiling at your little in-joke. “Jungkook and
Gyu-ri will be hosting. Thought we could go ahead and get it now, since we’re here.”

“Right,” you nod. “Yeah. Good looking out.”

Immediately, your thoughts race. Will they really use it? Will they use it for their intended
purpose? Will they use it for your intended purpose? Where will they use it? How many times?
How many times will she tense and bow, the flat head making outlines of squares on her body?
What about him? Would he want to be spanked? How many times will he want to be spanked?
Will she make him count? Will he? Where? Will they find another way to use it? Will they focus
on the head, or the handle? Will they bite it? Will they slide it over their skin?

Will he think of you?

You think of every possible combination you can think of. Him in back. Her on top. In the
bedroom. On the balcony. Does he know her curves, caves, and contours as well as he knows
yours? Can he make her nearly come with just a look?

Suddenly, you blink, and you realize that you’re in the middle of stirring your gnocchi. The entire
cul-de-sac is just minutes away from showing up.

“Smells great,” Hobi cheers, freshly showered and changed, and kissing your cheek as he enters the
kitchen.

“Oh,” you say, blushing. “Thanks.”

“I set up the tent in the backyard for the kids. TV’s all set up for them, too.”

Hobi moves to tickle you, like he usually does when you’re at the stove. But you back away.
“Cramps,” you remind him.

He frowns. “You just look so…”

His eyes pore over your simple loungewear, breathable and comfy, and just dressy enough to wear
when entertaining people. Nothing to brag about. But he likes how natural you look in them. And
you like how it drapes over you. Particularly how it’s covering your bruises.

You smile at him, as your stomach starts to tighten.

“…Anyway, I forgot about the cramps.”

“Speaking of which, do you think you could strain this in the sink and pour the gnocchi into the
serving bowl?” you say, wincing and gesturing to the heavy pot on the stove. “I’ll finish up the
board.”

“Of course,” Hobi says happily, just glad to be included in your thoughts. Your world.

He puts on some music, something smooth and easy to listen to, and you start settling into the
familiar rhythm of getting ready for game night. You take turns with responsibilities, and this
week, you’re in charge of the food, while he’s in charge of the game.

“What game did you pick?” you ask.

“Charades. Yknow.” Hobi starts dancing around, making the gestures for movie, song, and holding
up different numbers of fingers for the amount of words. “I realized that we haven’t done anything
physical in a while.”

Speak for yourself.

“That’s great, honey,” you squee, making sure to let your eyes smile convincingly as you pull the
corners of your mouth up.
Namjoon and Nima are the first to arrive, as always. Nam-il, Nam-gi, and Na-young circle your
legs and hug you when they greet you, slapping your thighs and abdomen as they crash into you.

As the kids run into your backyard to play and watch movies in your old camping tent, Nima
exclaims excitedly, “Sena, are you seriously getting misty-eyed right now?”

“What?” you ask, and when you blink, you feel moisture.

“You are!” Nima bursts, doing a little dance in place. “You saw my adorable children---”

“Our adorable children,” Namjoon cuts in.

“---and you felt something! They finally fully melted your cold, cold heart!”

You make a mental note to swing by the medicine cabinet to get a couple more painkillers. You
really wish your bruises weren’t so sensitive, but you have to keep reminding yourself that it’s only
been a few hours.

“Look, I love your kids, but I don’t love all kids---”

“It’s only a matter of tiiiime,” Nima sings. You’re finding her to be particularly annoying, latching
on like this, but at least she’s helping you move all the food to the living room as Hobi and
Namjoon lazily chat and follow the kids to get their first movie set up.

Jang-mi and Jin arrive next, with Jong-soo sitting on Jin’s broad shoulders. He laughs with glee as
Jin tickles him before plucking him from the air and setting him down on the ground. As Jang-mi
and Jin greet you, Jong-soo’s eyes spot the tent in the backyard. When he sees sweet Na-young in
her adorable dress, he lights up.

“HIUNCLEHOBIANDAUNTSENaimgonnagoplaywithnayoung…” Jong-soo greets in a squeal,

quickly scampering to join his friends.

You chuckle as you watch him.

“I’m talking months,” Nima adds, watching as you bring Jang-mi, Jin, and the wine glasses into
the living room.

“Before Jong-soo finally proposes?” Jang-mi laughs.

“No,” Nima says singsongedly. Teasingly.

You scowl.

“For what, then?” Jin asks, flopping down onto your sofa. But then he frowns. “Wait. Should I be
sitting here?” He looks up at you. “Have you cleaned it since…”

Your eyes widen, and at first, Jin takes it to mean that you haven’t. But you’re really just trying to
remember if you put your leather jacket away, imagining and confirming that you hung it up after
Jungkook left.

“Shut up,” Hobi calls from the door to the backyard, as he and Namjoon join you, and you relax.

Snickering, Jang-mi says, “Can you blame us for asking? You guys are fucking at record-setting
pace!”

“A pace that’s about to be broken, from the sounds of it,” Yoongi’s voice cuts through the
laughter. He joins you in the living room, startling you all. None of you even heard him open the
front door.

“What do you mean?” Nima asks.

The guys exchange knowing glances. “Let’s just say that Jungkook added to the group chat,”
Yoongi laughs, glancing at you.

You stifle the impulse to grab Hobi’s phone from his pocket to learn more, but Nima and Jang-mi
seem to have a plan already in mind. “We’ll have to ask Gyu-ri for the details,” Jang-mi giggles.

“Might not need to,” Yoongi replies, glancing at you again with a smirk. “They’re about to---”

Gyu-ri’s voice calls out from the front door. “Hello?”

“Get in here!” Nima exclaims excitedly.

They join you in the living room. Gyu-ri looks more put together, having smoothed her clothes and
brushed her hair. But Jungkook still has sex bedhead, and it’s killing you that you weren’t the one
who gave it to him. Jang-mi stifles a laugh as Nima lets out an “oof” at the sight of him, wrinkled
clothes, and a sleepy, soft grin plastered on his face.

Hobi discreetly gives Jungkook a high-five, and you feel the cracks in your rib cage deepen.

“This looks great!” Gyu-ri squeals, looking at the spread. She smiles at you. “So, what are we
playing?”

“Charades!” Hobi announces, as you gather together, and the group starts to snack. You keep your
eyes low as you wordlessly divvy up the gnocchi into bowls and start passing them around.

Real tears are sitting heavy in your eyes now. The group chatter falls away, giving way to your
shallow breaths. You want to jump into the sauce and drown. You’re going to need an escape
before you lose your composure.

When you look up, Jungkook’s eyes meet yours, filled with regret. You can’t be mad at him. Not
with how you’d sent him home. Something was bound to happen.

“I think I want some water to go with all this great food,” Nima says suddenly, eyeing Gyu-ri.

“Me too,” Gyu-ri giggles.

“Ooh, me too!” Jang-mi turns to you. “You too, right Sena?”

“Just don’t take too long, ladies,” Jin says, annoyed. “It’s pointless to delay the inevitable. My
team always wins at Charades.”

As you join the girls in the kitchen, Jungkook’s regretful gaze lingers, and you’re split between
screaming at him right there and then, and wanting to get your go bag and disappear.

The turmoil is eating you alive faster than you can get to the kitchen, and you know that Gyu-ri’s
comments will end you. Is this what Jungkook felt when he read the group text?

You make a note to stop being so brazen with Hobi.

Should’ve left.
“Tell us everything,” Jang-mi whispers, as you pull water glasses out of the cupboards and start to
fill them from the tap.

“Ooh, do you have filtered water, by chance?” Gyu-ri asks, eyeing your faucet.

You grin painfully. Saying nothing, you reach into your fridge for bottled waters instead.

“C’mon, c’mon, we don’t have much time,” Nima rushes.

“I don’t know where to start, it was so surreal,” Gyu-ri whispers breathlessly, her cheeks turning
pink. “I came home, and I heard something in our bedroom. He was… I don’t know… I thought
maybe he was sick or something… Groaning the way he was… but when I got to him, I found him
lying on our bed, jacking off.”

“Oh fuck,” Jang-mi laughs.

“He got embarrassed at first. So embarrassed that he didn’t want to take his sweatshirt off.”

You bite the inside of your mouth, glad that the wound dressing didn’t become an issue of
contention.

“But I don’t know… seeing him there like that? Ugh,” Gyu-ri sighs. “I just leapt on top of him.”
She smiles. “I think he’d also just showered and changed. His skin was so cold.”

You dig your teeth in deeper into the tissue. You need to be able to get through his conversation, so
you tell yourself that maybe he was trying to cool off. Maybe he was trying to forget about you,
and he couldn’t.

This comforts you.

You hate that this comforts you.

“Ladies!” Namjoon calls. “Are we ready?”

“Also, can I get some water, too?” Jin calls out after him.

“We need to start a group chat of our own,” Nima says, sighing as Jang-mi grabs a couple of extra
water bottles from your fridge. “I want more details!”

The living room already feels a bit rowdy, as everyone begins to get wine drunk. Hobi’s already
explained that he got a co-worker to write down a list of familiar phrases and sayings for the clues,
and now, you’re splitting into teams. You, Hobi, Yoongi, Nima, and Namjoon are on one team.
Jungkook, Gyu-ri, Jin, and Jang-mi are on another team.

“This isn’t fair,” Jin complains. “We’re one person fewer.”

“I could sit out the gameplay,” you offer. “I’m actually not feeling too great.”

“Same as before?” Hobi asks gently.

You narrow your eyes. “Worse now, actually.”

Jungkook avoids your eyes when you say it.

“Do you want to go lie down?” Hobi asks, raising his eyebrows.
“What’s wrong?” Jin asks, also concerned.

“Just cramps.”

“Maybe playing would make you feel better?” Gyu-ri offers. “Exercise always helps me during my
time of the month.”

What about when you’ve gotten the shit kicked out of you? Let’s try and see.

“You have a point,” you toss out to get everyone to shut up.

“Just think of it as a handicap,” Yoongi says, similarly shutting Jin down through flattery.

“You could also just start dating someone,” Jang-mi teases Yoongi. “That would make our teams
even.”

“And a pair of extra eyes could help you pay closer attention to your hedges,” Namjoon scolds.

“Could also help you focus on yourself,” you add, flashing him a look of your own. You can’t help
it. The girls have annoyed you, and with all those comments, Yoongi seems like he wants to keep
poking the bear.

Yoongi’s lip curls up into a sneer. “I focus on myself plenty. See, if I’m gonna be with someone, I
wanna be sure that I’m gonna do right by them. So I think it’s best to wait and think about what I
really want, right?”

You could slap him.

“So serious,” Gyu-ri laughs. “We’re just talking about dating, Yoongi.”

Yoongi looks over at her in annoyance, and you can tell what he’s thinking. This comment is
actually meant to support her, and she has the nerve? “We’re talking about relationships. These
things ought to be serious, don’t you think?” he asks her, slipping Jungkook a passive-aggressive
look toward him this time.

Jungkook fidgets in his seat.

“Well, while you’re busy thinking about what you want out of a relationship, we can play with who
we have present tonight,” Hobi continues, trying to move game night along. He looks over at you
for another check-in. “You sure you’re OK, honey?”

You nod.

“OK then.” Hobi holds up a sheet of paper with all of your names listed randomly, divided into the
two teams. “Namjoon, you’re first up!”

As Hobi sits next to you and tries to comfort you, Namjoon smiles and stands, pulling a clue from
a small pile of folded sticky notes from your office supplies. He reads it, thinks, and then looks at
your team.

“Alright. Ready?”

“Ready,” Yoongi, Nima, and Hobi say together, as you just nod.

Namjoon holds up four fingers. Four words.

He holds up one finger. First word.

He makes a sad face, exaggerating tears flowing from his eyes.

“Cry!” Nima exclaims.

Namjoon places a finger on his nose and points with his other hand to Nima, indicating that she’s
gotten the first word correct.

He skips over to the last word.

He squats and begins to mime squeezing the udders of a cow.

“Cow!” Hobi calls out. “Farmer!”

“Milk!” Nima exclaims, jumping to her feet. “Cry… Cry over spilled milk!”

“Fuck, your brain is so fucking hot,” Namjoon mutters, hugging her as he sits down.

Nima smiles brilliantly. “That has to be a record time, right?”

“Whatever helps get you off later, since that seems to be all we talk about anymore,” Jin says,
rolling his eyes, still annoyed at how the game has started.

“So, one point for our team,” Hobi says. “Jungkook, you’re next up!”

Jungkook stands and shyly picks a note out of the pile. He opens it, eyes widening. He looks over
to his team, and his jaw opens slightly.

“No talking!” Namjoon reminds him.

Jungkook sighs desperately. He looks back at the note, and then he holds up ten fingers, then three.

“...Thirteen words?!” Jin exclaims incredulously. “How is that fair?”

Hobi cackles, pulling you closer. “Fuck, I told Suk-chin to make it difficult, not diabolical!”

You wonder if Hobi would hate you for throwing his heavy arm away from its resting place on
your abdomen. You wonder if the kids would hate you if you joined them for movie night instead.
You wonder if Jungkook’s tense frown is about the clue, or about the fact that he knows that
you’re in pain, some of which he’s inflicted.

After some time, Jungkook loosens up, and then he looks at his team. “Ready?” he asks, looking
disheartened.

“Ready!” Jin, Jang-mi, and Gyu-ri exclaim encouragingly.

Jungkook counts, and then holds up seven fingers. Seventh word.

He points to Gyu-ri’s water bottle.

“Water!” they call out in unison.

Jungkook smiles, nodding excitedly. And then, he gets an idea.

He holds up five fingers. Fifth word.

Quickly, Jungkook starts to wind his hips. He bites his lip as he dances, feet expertly gliding across
the floor. He rolls his body, each of his muscles having such control with the isolations. He waves
his arms around, as if he didn’t just have a bullet in one of them earlier. And then he straddles Gyu-
ri, grinding into her lap, hovering over her, and smirking. He locks eyes with her passionately,
pleading with her to understand.

You notice Gyu-ri counting in her head.

And then she smiles.

“You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink!” she exclaims.

Damn. She’s smart, you think.

“How the fuck did you get that??” Namjoon asks, annoyed.

“How the fuck could you even concentrate?” Nima asks, fanning herself.

Gyu-ri giggles and shares a knowing glance with Jungkook. “That’s a routine that we learned to
Ginuwine’s Pony. We, um… took a class once.”

“What kind of class?” Namjoon asks, confused.

“Um…”

Jungkook proudly nestles into Gyu-ri and litters her neck with kisses.

“Just a dance class,” she answers, with a light laugh.

You fight the muscles in your face from frowning. So physical stuff does seem to be their couple
things. Running. Dancing. Lap dancing, to be exact. Disapproval from you would seem out of
character here, so you try to redirect your face muscles to let out an enthusiastic and playful,
“Oooh!”

Given your reputation with the group, only Jungkook seems to know you’re not actually intrigued.
But instead of pure regret, this time, he peppers in a bit of spite. He wants to teach you what it’s
like to be on the other side of something like this. He always tells you how much he wants you.
The least you could do is try to make it less tortuous.

The group clamors with compliments for Jungkook, and more questions for Gyu-ri.

“Guess some people need a class to teach them those things,” Hobi whispers into your ear, and you
smile. You think of the red spatula. All the sessions that built The Arsenal.

You turn to him, heart full. Reassured. Loved.

Suddenly, his arm doesn’t feel so heavy on you.

But just as suddenly, Jungkook’s gaze feels weighted, and he fears he’s lost you again.

The game night goes on with more rounds. More food. More moments where you fight to keep
your eyes meeting Jungkook’s. It’s hard, given how much he’s trying to get your attention. You
think that if you linger for more than a second, you might weep, or you might kill everyone,
starting with him.

You even imagined it. Poison the gnocchi. Put it in the vodka sauce. Or just let that Sig Sauer rip.
Luckily, the night ends quickly, with Jin, Jang-mi, Jungkook, and Gyu-ri securing the victory.
Everyone goes home laughing healthily, and shooting their partners meaningful, horny looks. You
don’t have much fun.

Thankfully, Hobi tells you to go lie down while he cleans up.

Lying in bed, you mull over everything that’s been turning around in your mind. The accusatory
look in Yoongi’s eyes. The spiteful one in Jungkook’s. The happy one in Gyu-ri’s. The concerned
one in Hobi’s. You turn to his side of the bed, wishing Hobi were beside you, and you notice
Hobi’s phone on the nightstand. If anything, you’re at least thankful that you aren’t in the guys’
group chat, spared from the details of Gyu-ri and Jungkook’s latest fuck.

But you can’t even escape that.

Nima has followed through, like she always does.

CUNTS-DE-SAC GROUP CHAT

Nima (11:54 PM): Name too dirty? Brash?

Jang-mi (11:54 PM): I like it! It’s a little naughty!

Nima (11:54 PM): I admittedly solicited Jin’s advice on the name.

You (11:54 PM): Clearly.

Gyu-ri has entered the chat.

Gyu-ri (11:54 PM): Hi, ladies!

Gyu-ri (11:55 PM): Ooh, I love the name!

Gyu-ri (11:55 PM): Sena, you feeling OK?

You huff.

No, I’m not feeling OK.

Why does she always have to be so nice?

You (11:55 PM): Yeah, thanks, just resting in bed as Hobi does the dishes.

Gyu-ri (11:55 PM): He really is such a sweetheart.

Nima (11:55 PM): Didn’t think you’d be texting tonight, Gyu-ri. Thought your hands
would be full.

Jang-mi (11:56 PM):

Gyu-ri (11:56 PM): Nah, Jungkook said I wore him out earlier.

Nima (11:56 PM):

Jang-mi (11:56 PM):

 Gyu-ri (11:57 PM): LOL OK, OK, I’ll share some details from earlier. This works
out really well, actually. Jungkook’s downstairs. He said he wanted to finish up some
work before he goes to bed.

Your work phone buzzes on the nightstand next to you. You set your other phone down and turn
your attention to it.

Client 152 (11:57 PM): Hey. Don’t read them.

Client 152 (11:57 PM): Gyu-ri’s messages, I mean.

Client 152 (11:57 PM): She told me about your group chat.

Client 152 (11:58 PM): It’s not like we did anything crazy.

You (11:58 PM): So why shouldn’t I read the group chat, then?

Client 152 (11:58 PM): I don’t know. I just know that it won’t feel good to read it.

Jungkook was the first to have to see these sordid details in text, but you’re so angry about being
on the other side. It’s not exactly anyone’s fault. You just feel like there’s no way out. And you
hate feeling like there’s no way out.

You (11:58 PM): I can’t ignore them. They’re going to gossip about it. If I’m not in
the know for some reason, it’ll feel off. They’ll get suspicious.

Client 152 is typing…

You sigh. He goes on for what feels like forever. You’d rather just be put out of your misery.

Client 152 (12:02 PM): Let me tell you, then.

Client 152 (12:02 PM): I pretended it was you, anyway. I always do.

Your heart flutters, and you almost forgive him on the spot, eager to hear it from this perspective.
But you hear the dishes clanging in the dishwasher, and you remember that Hobi is downstairs,
finishing up.

You (12:03 PM): Maybe not now. I’ll just say I’m going to bed because I’m not
feeling well.

Client 152 (12:03 PM): Pretend you are feeling well. Pretend you’re feeling warm.
Pretend that you want me.

Rolling your eyes doesn’t help you ignore your muscles tensing slightly, your mound tingling. You
don’t have to pretend.

Client 152 (12:03 PM): That’s how you left me after the basement. Warm. Wet.
Wanting you.

Client 152 (12:04 PM): I tried a cold shower. Tried staying mad at you. Tried
focusing on other things. But eventually, I had to lie down. I couldn’t think of anything
except you.
 Client 152 (12:04 PM): I ran my hand up and down. Stroking. I was so full.

Breath catching in chest, zapping pain through your ribcage, you think about the mix of pain and
pleasure from before. And now. You imagine Jungkook’s swollen cock, begging for relief. You
want to give him your mouth. Your body. Anything to give him that release. To give yourself one,
too.

Client 152 (12:05 PM): I thought of your lips on mine. I thought of your sweet pussy.
Always so tasty. So tight.

Client 152 (12:05 PM): I couldn’t help myself. Needed to go faster. Harder.

Client 152 (12:05 PM): And then, you were on top of me. You straddled me. Rode
me. Curves squeezing. Pulling. Asking me to give you more. Give you everything.

You run your hand across your chest and up into your hair. Sweat is forming at your hairline again.
You aren’t exactly sure if this is helping.

Client 152 (12:06 PM): I tried to turn you onto your back, but my arm. Anyway, you
insisted that you stay where you were. You turned around. Kept riding me. Rested on
my knees. Used them to pull yourself up and down.

Client 152 (12:06 PM): You came. You lied down next to me. And then I tried to
give you what I wanted to give you earlier. Licking and sucking. Kissing every inch of
you. Replaying the afternoon. Thinking of only you.

Client 152 (12:07 PM): Slid inside of you like I wanted to. Felt every inch of you
with every inch of me. Melding. Moaning. Pumped so hard and fast. Slapped your
thigh to turn you over. Ass up. Legs shaking. Fell down into the mattress. Fuck, I’m
getting hard thinking about you now.

Client 152 (12:07 PM): God. Fuck. Are you in your room? Can you feel me looking
out for you?

You let out a little whimper at the thought of him, sitting on his couch, looking out the window at
the lamplight in your bedroom.

Client 152 (12:07 PM): Not gonna lie. It felt good. But you know that it could’ve felt
so much better. It could’ve been perfect, if we could have just stayed in the basement.

“Fucking stupid!” you hear Hobi curse at the dishwasher downstairs.

Tell me about it.

And then you think of just Hobi.

Should’ve left.

If you aren’t careful, you’re going to turn into a wet, hot, dripping mess.

You (12:07 PM): Fuck, I know. I’m sorry.

Client 152 (12:07 PM): I don’t want you to be sorry. I just want you to be OK. I want
us to be OK. I want us to be together.
Hobi mutters to himself as the dishwasher finally starts to whir.

You (12:08 PM): Today was awful. I don’t know.

Client 152 (12:08 PM): Just try again with me. Please, let’s just keep trying.
Pretending until we get there. Fake it til we make it. Like old times.

Client 152 (12:08 PM): Shit. Your first floor lights just went out. He’s coming.

You hear Hobi’s footsteps nearing. You feel so conflicted about what you’re about to send. But
you can’t help it. Not after what Jungkook’s told you.

You (12:09 PM): Pretending it’s you.

Client 152 (12:09 PM): I’m there. I’ve got you.

Your heart twists.

Client 152 (12:09 PM): Dream of me. Nothing else.

When you look up, and see Hobi’s face, you aren’t sure what you feel.

“Before you find out and get mad, I just wanna say, I overpacked the dishwasher again and I
chipped one of the bowls. I’m sorry.”

You force a smile and close your work phone.

“Just come to bed.”

When Hobi lies next to you, you hate the part of you that tries to imagine that it’s Jungkook
instead.
 The Heist

When you see Yoongi’s eyes blinking rapidly at the scene before you, you know for sure that
you’re witnessing something incredible.

“How long did this take you?” he gapes, scanning the room.

Latched to Jungkook’s side, and tightening her embrace, Gyu-ri giggles and bends her knee.
Jungkook shifts uncomfortably in her grip, holding the red spatula housewarming gift that Hobi’s
just handed him like a grenade without a pin.

“We’ve been working since last game night.” Gyu-ri smirks at you. “With it being our first time to
host and all, we kinda wanted to level up a bit.”

Hobi playfully pinches a little bit of skin at your hip. He knows that you tend to assume that people
actually do have the edge that you hear in their voices, and it doesn’t help that Gyu-ri is now
running her hand under Jungkook’s shirt and traveling up his stomach. Hobi’s pinch only distracts
slightly from the anger building inside of you. To rid yourself of the rest of that anger, you chomp
the insides of your lips, smashing them even tighter together than they normally set when you form
this hardened, unpleasant line, hoping your canines draw enough blood for a convincing enough
medical emergency and excuse yourself from game night altogether.

“To make an escape room is impressive,” Yoongi says, as he finishes his 360-degree turn and
places his hands on his hips, “but to make four is, well, downright insane.”

Gyu-ri blushes. “Aw, thanks, Yoongi.”

You wonder how that could have possibly been meant as a compliment, and Yoongi’s, “Uh…
you’re welcome?” lets you know that you’re not the only one.

As your eyes follow the same path that Yoongi’s have laid out, up the grand staircase to the second
floor and along the square perimeter of the walkway, you see that the doors to the master bedroom,
regular bedroom, guest bedroom, and attic staircase have taped to them big, manila envelopes
numbered sequentially from 1 to 4.

Gyu-ri finishes explaining how each of the rooms have been wired and outfitted with electronic
deadbolts that can be solved one of two ways. Jungkook planned one sequence, while Gyu-ri
planned the other. This way, everyone, even the hosts for the evening, could truly be immersed in
the experience.

To that point, Namjoon adds, “Good call on suggesting the sitter, too. This is gonna be extra fun!”

With a confident smile, Gyu-replies, “We wanted everyone to fully participate,” finally sitting
down after gathering you all in the living room, at the heart of the house. “But let’s eat first. I’m
sure everyone’s starving.”

On the coffee table are glasses of wine and little homemade pizzas of all types, from standard
pepperoni, to fancy-schmancy fig and prosciutto with a hot honey drizzle. Everyone starts digging
in, taking a few slices for themselves and buzzing with excitement.

The group also voices appreciation for Gyu-ri’s decor, cool blues and greys with adorable and
interesting black-and-white frames that go as high as the vaulted ceilings. You can’t help but admit
noticing and liking her style every time you’ve been over to their house, and now, the rest of the
group can see what you mean. Gyu-ri really has more in her than you give her credit for.

“But to be honest,” she continues, “Jungkook did most of the labor.”

Did he, now? you think. You actually spent a good chunk of this work week explaining to
Jungkook the process of how to wire the doors, and then, how to fix his mistakes, as your smaller-
scaled cybercrime bots worked in the background.

“I took care of the planning and direction,” Gyu-ri smiles.

“As wives are often wont to do,” Jin mutters, rolling his eyes.

“Seems like her husband at least listens well,” Jang-mi chuckles, elbowing Jin in the ribs.

You fight the urge to smirk at Jungkook about door 3, which he nearly kicked down out of
frustration. He begged you to come over and help him, but since the last game night, you just
couldn’t bring yourself to step foot in that house again until you absolutely had to. You just didn’t
trust yourself. You didn’t know what you might do.

“Kidding aside, I’m glad it’s finally game night,” Jin sighs. “Work has been super stressful.”

“Namjoon’s been saying the same thing,” Nima replies, exchanging a look with Namjoon and
frowning. “Terrible, what’s happening.”

“What?” Jungkook asks, looking at the guys. “What’s going on?” His eyes catch yours for a
moment.

Actually, you’re just as curious. Hobi hasn’t mentioned anything of concern to you. When you look
over at Hobi next to you for an explanation of his lack of one, you find him focused on his slice of
pizza as he brings it to his mouth.

“Well, for one, I’ve been tinkering with my hypothesis that my lunch bag must look exactly like
Suk-chin’s dick, because he keeps grabbing it inappropriately at work,” Yoongi complains, piling
pizza slices onto his plate.

Namjoon sighs. “I told you the passive-aggressive sticky notes were a bad move.”

“Those were Jin’s idea,” an annoyed Yoongi replies, as Jin shrugs and stuffs his mouth with pizza
crust.

“You came across like a whiny roommate,” Namjoon goes on. “Now, he’s probably just eating
your lunch out of spite.”

“He’s not even eating it!” Yoongi says. “My lunch bag was unzipped and completely empty, and
all my food was in the trash next to the fridge!”

“Why are you even fighting again?” Jin asks, crumbs flying out of his mouth.

Yoongi rolls his eyes. “He’s still pissed that I beat him at the hackathon!” He snorts and sneers as
he says, “I don’t know why he’s taking it out on me. It’s his own fault that he’s a shitty
developer.”

“No offense, Yoongi, but I think we were talking about bigger issues on the horizon,” Nima sighs.

Gyu-ri and Jungkook, and you, for that matter, still look lost.
“Stock’s plummeting,” Jin explains, gulping down his pizza crust and chasing it with a sip of wine.
“One of our manufacturers pulled out of a deal on one of our consumer products, so people are
losing confidence in the brand.”

“We’ve got that defense contract, though!” Hobi points out eagerly, his gaze finally willing to meet
with yours.

Jin and Namjoon shift awkwardly in their seats, and Yoongi glares at Hobi.

“The… confidential… defense contract,” Namjoon goes on, nervously glancing at Gyu-ri and
Jungkook.

Yoongi spreads his glare to you, and then to Jungkook.

Hobi winces, and you chomp into your lips again. Why is Hobi keeping things from you? And why
does he seem so on edge?

“We know the drill,” Jang-mi says, taking a bite of her slice and smiling with appreciation for a job
well done.

“Not everyone knows the drill,” Yoongi mutters, also glancing at Gyu-ri and Jungkook.

Jang-mi notices, and she momentarily tears her attention away from the tastebud-led analysis of
her pizza slice. “Well, then let’s fill in the uninitiated.” She turns to Gyu-ri and Jungkook, sharing,
“If we ever accidentally hear them say anything work-related, it’s in one ear, out the other.”

“There could be serious legal ramifications if anything leaks,” Nima says gently, catching their
gaze as they look from Jang-mi to her.

Before the conversation gets too serious, though, Gyu-ri smiles and glosses over it with her
seemingly signature sweetness. “I didn’t hear a thing,” she replies. “All I know is that I’m ready to
get this game started and blow you all out of the water with our impeccable handiwork.”

She exchanges an encouraging smile with Jungkook, who smiles half-heartedly.

Gyu-ri excitedly explains how the rest of the night will work. “We pull names and break off, one
group in each room. You’ll have two hours to solve one of two puzzles in each room. The answer
that unlocks the door will be a five-digit code. Once you enter that five-digit code into the console
on the door, you’ll escape, and you can come down here and relax, have another glass of wine, chit
chat, whatever!”

She gestures to the hatch under the coffee table and says, “There are board games in there,” before
pointing to the TV console to add, “and feel free to watch anything you like!”

“How did you come up with this idea?” Hobi asks, feeding off of Gyu-ri’s admittedly contagious
energy.

“Teaching kindergarten forces you to be pretty creative,” Gyu-ri laughs. “Gotta keep those suckers
entertained!”

“Hell, this works at any age,” Nima says, similarly excited. “Damn. We’ve never done anything
like this for game night, have we?”

The group heartily agrees, and even starts to do a polite and appreciative golf clap that Gyu-ri
curtsies to.
“Now,” she says, returning to her seat, “all we have to do is…”

After looking around the table, she realizes that something is missing.

“The names!” she gasps. “I left them in the study. Be right back!”

She skips, actually skips, over to the office area by the front door, her shiny hair bouncing along
behind her.

“Sorry,” Jungkook mumbles miserably, “she’s been like this all week.”

The laugh that prickles your throat gets stuffed back down when Hobi asks, “What, an absolute
angel? Wine, pizza, fun, and friends. Certainly nothing to apologize for.”

You have to turn away from the group to hide how you’re essentially distending your optic nerves
and pulling both sets of top and bottom eyelids so far back from each other that if you hadn’t
received a solid understanding of basic anatomy from your torturing days, you’d fear that your
eyeballs would pop out of their sockets from the utterly massive roll you’re giving them.

Swiveling your head back to the group, you throw on a smile just in time to see Gyu-ri skipping
back into the living room with a fishbowl of slips of paper cut out and painted yellow to look like
keys.

This is what breaks you.

“You… painted… yellow… keys?” you ask slowly, your natural, sardonic voice shining through.

Gyu-ri beams. You want to punch through it. You swear that if you did, you’d find a black portal
to hell behind those ridiculous, unnecessarily sparkling white teeth.

“You didn’t just get yellow construction paper… or color it in with a yellow marker?” you ask,
sounding more and more like yourself. “You didn’t just use a yellow sticky note for each of us?
You drew keys… put all our names on them, and then you… painted… the paper… yellow?”

“Well, it’s cardstock, but yeah,” Gyu-ri brags proudly, “with watercolors.” She wraps an arm
around Jungkook’s shoulders and hugs him tightly. “Cookie helped.”

He smirks, not out of pride, but out of amusement.

“A-and then you put them… in a fishbowl?” you ask.

Intrigued, Yoongi arches an eyebrow.

Gyu-ri giggles, oblivious, as always. “Yeah! Someone left it at the register at the arts and crafts
store. It was a bit of an impulse buy, but I thought it might be useful. That way we don’t have to
use antique teapots---” Gyu-ri smiles over at Jang-mi and Jin, and goes on to say, “---or have to
enter them into a name randomizer all the time,” before flashing a smile at Hobi, who smiles
genuinely back, but cowers a little when he sees the incredulous look on your face.

Jungkook leans forward with his elbows on his manspread knees, resting his chin in his palms,
hiding his nose and mouth by rubbing his face and clearing his throat repeatedly. But his shoulders
are shaking, and his eyes are squinched in a way that signals to you that he’s fighting with all his
might to keep from letting out the biggest, most monstrous cackle he’s ever let out in his life.

Gyu-ri keeps surprising you. Apparently, you’re not the only one well-versed in torture.
“How cute!” Jang-mi gushes happily.

You would find this cute, you think, your eyes like darts through her skull as you remember the
whimsical cupcakes that Jang-mi whipped up and gave to the whole cul-de-sac to test for the kids’
upcoming Fall Ball bake sale. Sure, you scarfed those delicious chocolate and peanut butter
bastards down, but you didn’t particularly care that they were shaped like friendly spiders with
bright icing-orange smiles.

The rest of the group continues to gush adorably, and you quickly realize that none of them, save
perhaps a smickering Yoongi, has any idea of the connotation of couples at a party where keys are
kept in a fishbowl. And you’re certainly not going to be the one to educate them, given your
circumstances, plus the dangerous look in Jungkook’s eye.

“So, let’s partner up --- starting with our odd group of three,” Gyu-ri says, winking at Yoongi,
who’s quickly becoming less and less amused with her.

Gyu-ri dramatically closes her eyes and swirls her wrist in the bowl. You disguise a scoff as a
cough.

“Everything OK, honey?” Hobi whispers quickly into your ear.

“Not now,” you whisper back, so annoyed that you’re nearly praying.

Gyu-ri grabs onto one key and pulls it out. “Room 1 has Namjoon…” Another key. “…Nima,
and…” Another key. “…Jang-mi!”

“Nice!” Jang-mi exclaims triumphantly, jumping to her feet and plopping down between the
couple. “We’re gonna be the first ones out for sure!”

“Hey!” Jin says, pouting at her gleeful departure.

“Not to worry, Jin,” Gyu-ri laughs, showing him that she’s pulled his name next, “you’re in Room
2 with… Yoongi!”

“Ah, a solid competitive edge, if I do say so myself,” Jin says, smiling at Yoongi, who only just
perceptibly turns his lip up into moue.

“Then, in Room 3, we’ve got… Hobi,” Gyu-ri says, with a smile that Hobi mirrors back, “and…
me!”

Keys in a fucking goddamn son-of-a-bitch fishbowl, you jeer.

“Which leaves Sel and me in Room 4,” Jungkook says quickly, and a little too brightly, as he
stands and bumps his elbow into Gyu-ri’s side a bit.

Bless him. As your eyes meet, you think, If anyone’s the real angel here tonight, it’s you.

“Right,” Gyu-ri replies stiffly, rubbing where he’s made contact, as everyone else stands. “OK.
Well, let’s head upstairs.”

You follow Gyu-ri up the staircase, and you gather in your groups and stand in front of your
assigned doors. Namjoon, Nima, and Jang-mi are already whispering about their strategy as they
stand in front of the first bedroom. Yoongi and Jin are positioned in front of the master bedroom,
Jin’s fingers already on the doorknob. Hobi stands just behind Gyu-ri, hands in his pockets as Gyu-
ri turns from the guest bedroom door to face everyone else. And you’re careful not to stand too
close to Jungkook as he leans against the door to the attic, slightly crumpling the carefully taped
manila folder.

“The folders contain your first clues, and time starts as soon as you open your door,” Gyu-ri
explains. “Be sure that everyone’s inside before you start! We have it set so that the doors lock on
the next close. If you solve the puzzles and want to try a 5-digit code, enter it into the keypad on
the other side of the door. If you’re right, the timer will stop, and the door will unlock.”

“How will we know that you and Jungkook won’t cheat?” Jin accuses. Beside him, Yoongi scoffs,
before lolling his head back in annoyance.

Gyu-ri blinks, appalled that anyone would even entertain the notion. “Honor system, I guess,” she
replies lightly.

“Hmm. Honor.” Yoongi says pointedly, turning his head to look at you and Jungkook. “The
strongest of the vows.”

You think you hear Jungkook mutter something about vowing to do something to Yoongi, but you
decide not to draw any more attention than you’re already getting.

“But how will we know?” Namjoon seconds, eyeing Gyu-ri playfully skeptically.

“How about…” Gyu-ri thinks, still somewhat surprised the group hasn’t dropped this. “How about
we all have to be able to explain our answer before claiming victory.”

“Are you all satisfied yet?” Jungkook spits out impatiently. “Can we start now?”

Everyone laughs a little, and Gyu-ri grins at the shift in tone.

“Alright… go!”

There’s a quick rustling of paper and tittering giggles as everyone else hangs back in the hallway
and reads the first clues, but Jungkook quickly tears the envelope off the door and yanks you into
the room that leads to the attic staircase.

He shuts the door behind you, and the ominous, echoing metal click! of the deadbolt locking into
place speeds the growth of the lump in your throat. You stare at where you think Jungkook is
standing as he fumbles for the light switch.

As soon as the tiny, hanging, exposed bulb clicks on, you reposition yourself so that you’re staring
at him and not the wall, and your brow sinks toward him, heavy under your chagrin.

“The timer starts when we open the door! We could have bought a bit of time to---”

Jungkook crumples the manila folder and throws it on the ground before slamming you into the
wall and kissing you passionately, his tongue roving the inside of your mouth with fervor. And you
let him, quickly getting swept up in the moment. Drywall slams onto the backs of your hands, the
back of your head, and your ass. Jungkook’s strong frame slams against your chest, torso, thighs,
and knees. Nothing will seemingly stop you, until you hear grunts and scraping.

You pry yourself away from him, and though he chases your lips eagerly, you turn away to force
your bottom lip out of the vacuum Jungkook has created with his mouth.

He looks at you quizzically, still pinning you against the wall.

“Come on,” he whispers, pleading. “We’ve got two whole hours.”

You shove him toward the other wall.

“They’re right next door,” you whisper back. “We can’t chance it.”

“Did you see how rabid she got explaining the rules?” Jungkook asks. “The only thing she’s
thinking about is winning this game, and the only thing I’m thinking about is how I get two whole
hours with you.” And then, his eyes deaden. “But I’m not the only thing you’re thinking about, am
I?”

“It’s not that,” you happen to say precisely in the way Jungkook won’t believe. “I just can’t fully
enjoy it when it’s this close.”

Jungkook would sulk if he didn’t already have an idea in mind.

“Fine. C’mon.”

He grabs your hand and leads you up the stairs into the attic. The door creaks open like you’d
expect from a house this ancient, but surprisingly, everything is spotless.

Jungkook takes a long look around the room, starting with some file cabinets in the back. After a
few moments, he smiles satisfactorily, letting out a little, “Hmm.”

“Don’t fucking tell me she cleaned up here,” you grumble.

“Little Miss Perfect? Of course she did.” Jungkook beams at you. “God. Earlier. You looked like
you wanted to kill her.”

“Wanted?”

Jungkook smirks. “I know a couple of guns for hire.”

You sigh. “We really shouldn’t be joking like this.”

He shrugs and moves toward you, the squeaking floorboards pelting you like a sudden hailstorm.

“This is worse,” you point out, exasperated, and backing away.

“What? We’re just walking around up here.”

“It won’t sound like that if we fuck.”

“True,” Jungkook gleams. “It’d sound like there were at least four times as many people were up
here, especially if you let me do that one thing where I---”

“Jungkook,” you hiss, irritated at first, but easily relenting once you take a breath. “OK, look,
maybe we should, I don’t know. Just play the game or something. Look for clues.” You look
around. “Shit. Did you leave that manila envelope downstairs?”

“The code is 42195,” Jungkook says flatly.

A puff of air whooshes out your nostrils. “What happened to the honor system?”

“Nothing,” Jungkook says. “I just already knew it.”

“Because it’s actually your code,” you challenge.

“No, that’s Gyu-ri’s code, I just---”

“Because you programmed it into the door?”

“No, we took turns entering in our own codes, just like you taught me how, but the---”

“Because you saw her notes?”

Jungkook huffs angrily, stomping his foot on a floorboard that eek! s in response. “The manila
envelope clue said, ‘You already have the next clue in your hands’ .” He points to a file cabinet in
the back corner of the room. “We keep extra arts and crafts supplies up here, and there’s a whole
box of manila envelopes in there.”

“And how exactly does that translate to 42195?” you ask.

“If you’d just let me fucking tell you---”

You frown, but it’s because you’re trying not to laugh at the pained look on Jungkook’s face.

“Look,” he admits, “I don’t know what the clues are after that, but if you stand by the filing
cabinet and look out at the room, you can see a few things that are just a little bit sus.”

Jungkook points to some shelves holding a book inadvertently made shady because Gyu-ri isn’t tall
enough to have been able to push it all the way back in line. You follow his finger across the room
in a straight line from that book to a painting of a bird, which is slightly tilted and off-center. Both
of you follow the bird’s new gaze down to some old sports equipment, where a pair of skis are
leaning against the wall. Those skis are sitting directly under two framed marathon bibs:
Jungkook’s, which reads 92765, and Gyu-ri’s, which reads 18326.

Ugh. Couple things.

You start to try and do the calculations.

“But she likes misdirection,” Jungkook warns, “so I’m willing to bet that instead of using either of
those numbers, or any math, she’ll go for something clever and up its own ass, like the amount of
kilometers in a marathon, which is 42.195.”

Speechless, you watch as Jungkook overzealously mocks Gyu-ri’s curtsey from earlier and
hurriedly does a flourish with his hand to mark his argument’s elegant finality.

“Can we go up on the roof and fuck now?” he asks, annoyed. “We’ve already wasted at least 20
minutes, and I tried to get us inside as quickly as possible.”

Your eyes grow wide, and your smile grows even wider.

You slink toward him.

“See?”

It comes out dripping with lust, edging just under a whisper.

“Not just the muscle.”

Jungkook smirks as your hand runs up his shirt, feeling the slopes of his muscles, and then down
again, following the line separating his abs, hard and toned even when unflexed, as it bleeds into
the line of his fly.

“Although you’ve got plenty of that, too.”

You grab him, and he lets out a shuddering breath.

Jungkook suddenly becomes shy at the way you’re ogling and grabbing him. “Guess I’ve learned a
thing or two,” he moans, eyes closing, head bobbing toward you.

You dodge him, choosing to play a bit more. “Teach me.”

Jungkook bites his lip. “What do you want to learn?”

You ghost his kiss, breaths mixing yet imperceptible if not for the heat raising sweat on your lips.

“Teach me how to get onto the roof.”

Climbing through the circular attic window and finding steady footing on the tiny blip of a ledge is
the trickiest, scariest part. You feel a little vertigo when you look down and see the balcony where
the two of you usually perch, its distance viscerally explaining just how high up you are. But that’s
quickly remedied when you refocus on scaling the bit of wall next to you to get up onto the solid
shingles of the topmost part of this roof.

The angle is too sharp to actually allow for a decent fuck, so you both straddle the A-shaped frame,
hips grinding as you pitch, “Makeout session instead?”

“No, please, I wanna touch you,” Jungkook pleads, running his hands up and down your thighs.

“I’m scared I’ll fall,” you admit, “and this isn’t exactly a tuck-and-roll kind of situation.”

“Fair enough. But I’m at least getting my hands on those tits.”

You chuckle softly as Jungkook wraps one arm around you to keep you stable, places one hand on
your breast, and nestles his lips against your collarbone. You haven’t been able to stop pawing at
each other since last week. Jungkook’s eager to make up for his game night transgressions, and
you’ve been walking around in a daze from Jungkook’s messages from that same evening.

You haven’t quite admitted it to yourself, but that’s definitely why Hobi has been so skittish around
you. He’s second guessing every move or sound that he makes. Every single one of them seems to
rub you the wrong way.

“Could do this forever,” Jungkook whispers, the feel of his lips against your neck bringing you
back into the present.

“Agreed,” you sigh, as his taste buds dare to cross your jawline.

“Well, shit. Then let’s just go. Leave.”

“We can’t just go. It’s not like before. Hobi would have this whole town looking for us.” You
whimper as Jungkook’s thumb slides into your bra, teasing your nipple and making you squirm
against him. “Fuck.” You sieve a breath through your teeth. “We’d need different resources. A
crazy amount of money.”

“So let’s take a job.”

Teeth start to pull and nibble at your earlobe, and you giggle in spite of yourself.

“Mmm, is that a yes?” Jungkook mumbles.

“No.”

You let out a soft moan as his tongue traces the outline of your ear.

“Why not?”

His tongue slips into your left ear, sending shivers from it to every non-left-ear part of your body.

“Too big.”

“Mmm.”

“I meant too obvious. Too easy to trace.”

His hand dips back into your shirt and starts massaging like he had been, and you bite your lip at
the feel of skin on skin.

“Break it up into a bunch of jobs?”

“It’d take a while. Need several accounts. Might get caught in that time.”

Finally, his lips drag his tongue across your cheek and into your mouth, and you kiss hungrily.
Sloppily. With reckless abandon.

And then after a while.

“Mmph!”

You stop kissing, but your lips stay locked.

“Whmph?”

“Mmph hng hngingingull cnmph!”

Releasing each other, you lock eyes instead.

“What?” you repeat.

“Do the original con!” Jungkook whispers excitedly.

You tilt your head. “ Nnnnno---”

“Think about it,” he begs, taking both of your hands in his. “No one requested it. You planned to
hit Sope on your own. Whatever con you came up with would have netted you a huge take. And
we have four badges at our disposal, for fuck’s sake. We’re in.”

“Way, way, way too risky,” you say, though between your freedom and Hobi’s love, you aren’t
sure what you’re worried more about risking.

“How? There’s no trace,” Jungkook points out rightly. He licks his lips and pouts. “And I know
how you like to leave no trace.”

“Out of line,” you protest. “Besides. Guilting me isn’t going to make me want to do it.”
“Then let me suck on your neck a bit more. That was the last time you agreed with me on
something.”

Despite the countless Should’ve left s that flurry through your mind, your small voice finds a way
to crawl out and breathe, “I mean it, Jungkook.”

He slides you closer to him. Your neck soon feels raw and undone without Jungkook’s lips, tongue,
and teeth working against it.

“So do I, Sel,” he mumbles between kisses. “So do I.”

**

You’re both surprised to see only Yoongi, Jin, Hobi, and Gyu-ri back in the living room, watching
some show on TV.

“Where’s our all-star team?” Jungkook jokes as he flops down onto the loveseat, leaving you the
only one still standing.

“They’re still at it,” Hobi replies, laughing, his splotchy, crimson cheeks suggesting that he’s at
least four glasses of wine in.

“Yeah, listen,” Gyu-ri giggles, reaching for the remote and muting the sound.

There’s faint beeping, a pause, a frustrated “Ugh, that’s not it either!” from Namjoon, and Nima
and Jang-mi cackling.

Everyone laughs, but all you can focus on is Gyu-ri practically sitting on Hobi’s lap, her legs
swung over his thighs, ass pressed up against his hip bone, bodies fitting together like Tetris pieces,
eyes locked, and lips turned up into playful smiles. Though Hobi’s arms are spread wide open and
innocently resting on the couch back behind him, Gyu-ri’s temple is awfully close to the crook of
Hobi’s elbow, the one that had been resting on your hip just one hour and fifty-odd minutes ago.

Yoongi seems to be the only other person who cares, his lashes fluttering as your eyes meet. You
aren’t completely sure what he’s thinking or feeling, but within his ever-enigmatic smirk, he leaves
you clues. His downcast eyes suggest he isn’t thrilled about Gyu-ri either, but the wrinkle in his
chin tells you that he thinks it’s maybe kind of your fault.

And you can’t argue there.

Funnily enough, where you expect another deflating Should’ve left to pop into your brain, you find
the flicker of a flame. Fire with fire, you decide.

With Hobi and Gyu-ri taking up the couch, Jin lying on his back across the other sectional, Yoongi
hugging his crossed legs on the floor with his back leaning against an ottoman, and Jungkook
manspreading on the loveseat, you look around for a place to sit.

The fake-curious look on your face triggers fidgeting from Gyu-ri, the flawless hostess. “Oh, here,
let me---”
“No, here’s perfect.”

You crouch by Jungkook, nudging his knee with yours slightly, and eliciting a small, happy smile
from his lips. He makes room for you, but only a little, forcing you to squeeze next to him. He
glances over at Hobi, like a toddler testing the boundaries. But wine-drunk Hobi seems to be off in
his own world.

Jungkook rests his wrist on your knee as you cross it over your other leg.

Yoongi tightens his arms around his legs and frowns.

Gyu-ri’s wide, clear eyes flash from his wrist to your pupils, and she’s surprised to find you staring
at her not like she’s a friend across the room, but a steel target 300 meters in the distance.

You square your shoulders to her, eyeing her in your crosshairs.

“So. While we’re waiting for those brainiacs upstairs…”

You place a round in the raceway.

“…who got down here first?” you ask.

“We did,” Yoongi says, his eyes trained on you with his own dangerous agenda. “Only took us
about half an hour.”

“Yeah, no thanks to you!” Jin exclaims, sitting up in a half-crunch to sneer at him. “All you did
was run around picking random things up and asking if they could be clues.” He waves his arms
around. “‘Is this a clue?’ ‘Could this be a clue?’ ‘How about this, Jin, is this a clue?’” Jin sits up
all the way and huffs in frustration. “I don’t know what possible connection a wedding photo, a
lamp light bulb, and closet hangers have to each other. Turns out, they’re just things in a married
couple’s bedroom.”

“You never know,” Yoongi mutters, staring at the floor.

“I solved it with the clues in your nightstand drawer, under your bed, and behind your curtains,
which was the trickiest to find,” Jin explains. “ ‘You see these more than we do.’ I didn’t
understand the clue until I ruffled the curtains, which made the envelope fall.”

“That was Gy-ri’s puzzle,” Jungkook acknowledges. “What ended up being the code?”

“Well, the last clue just said, ‘Now add them together,’ ” Jin goes on. “The thing that the
nightstand drawer clue was taped to was your remote control. I used it to turn on the TV and saw
that you left it on channel 36. The clue from there directed us to look under your bed. The envelope
was taped to an old box of tealight candles?”

“Decorations from our wedding,” Gyu-ri gushes, choosing to smile at Hobi for some reason, who
politely smiles back and says, “Aw. That sounds magical.”

You almost chomp down on your lips until Jungkook cuts in with a, “Yeah, but setting and
cleaning them all up was a pain in the ass.”

“Well, that box had 50 candles in them,” Jin goes on. “Then, the curtain clue made me think the
last number had something to do with looking at your house from outside. I thought about your
address, and you’re house 1 on the cul-de-sac. Math didn’t work here---”
Jungkook smirks at you, and you can’t help but match him.

“---so, I simply entered 36501, and it worked.”

“That’s how we solved it?” Yoongi asks, impressed.

“That’s how I solved it,” Jin remarks, “while you were busy digging in their closet or whatever.”

You hum. “You solved it so fast, but then again, I guess the clues weren’t so complicated.”

You brace at the shoulder for the kickback.

Gyu-ri smiles hesitantly. “Seems not.” But then she looks more confident, eyeing Hobi and
looking back at you. “Hobi and I didn’t have clues, but we had a much more challenging task.
Cookie just littered a ton of one-digit numbers around the room like confetti.” She turns to Hobi
and ruffles his hair, making him giggle sheepishly. “Sweet Hobster here figured out that the
relevant numbers were all in the same font.”

Hobster??

“Once we settled in on that,” Gyu-ri adds, “it was just a matter of figuring out the combination.
17425. Right, Hobster?”

“Sure,” Hobi says with a simple, vague shrug.

Really. She’s going with Hobster.

You take your first deep breath.

“They were done not too long after us,” Jin points out, looking at you.

You take your second deep breath.

“What did you two end up doing?” Yoongi asks, narrowing his eyes at you and Jungkook, and
meaning more than he’s saying. “Seemed pretty quiet in your room.”

You glance over at Jungkook, who just chuckles. He does a flourish with the hand that had just
been resting on your knee.

You grin.

“Folder, book, bird, skis, marathons, 42195. Cookie figured it out right away,” you say cryptically,
leaving Jin, Yoongi, and the Hobster scratching their heads, while Gyu-ri looks flattened.

“Guess Cookie just knows me really well,” she tries.

Yoongi rocks forward as he readjusts in his seat. “If you figured it out right away, then what took
you so damn long?”

At the bottom of your third breath, you pull the trigger.

“Just wanted to talk it out to make sure,” you say. “Right, Jungkook?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, his voice low, “that’s what we did.” He sets his hand back on your knee and
gives it a squeeze. “Just… talked.”
The corners of Gyu-ri’s eyes twitch. Then, she swings her legs off of Hobi’s lap.

Direct hit.

“Snacks are low,” Gyu-ri replies stiffly, and it’s just then that you see bowls of chips, pretzels, and
candy set out on the table. “I’ll go get some refills.”

She picks up a couple of bowls and disappears into the kitchen, this time seemingly not finding the
energy to lift her feet to skip.

The last door swings open upstairs, and you hear Namjoon bounding down the steps to see you all
sitting in the living room.

“Aw, man,” he complains, as Jang-mi and Nima join him. “We lost?”

But everyone’s demeanor shifts when you stand abruptly. “Yeah, and Hobi and I have to go,” you
say.

You look over to Jungkook. “Tell Gyu-ri we had fun,” you say.

When you look over at Hobi, who is still so blissfully ignorant to what has just happened, you feel
the triumphant flame within you explode into an angry fireball.

Finding Jungkook’s eyes again, you add, “An original idea. Wondering what it would be like to
plan something like that again.”

Jungkook understands what you mean. “Sure. Already got some thoughts. Maybe I’ll text them to
you,” he replies, and you can’t help but smile in anticipation of the messages you’ll get later.

You stride over to Hobi to help him to his feet, uncaring that Jin is making jokes about you always
turning game night into something steamier, or that Yoongi’s eyes follow you all the way to the
door.

As you lug Hobi home, you feel the fireball burn. You’re tired of keeping up appearances for
someone who’s choosing to hide things from you rather than chase you down and make you
understand. It might be unfair, leveraging Hobi’s sunny disposition and general all-around
goodness against him, especially when those were the things that drew you to him in the first
place, and ironically when you’ve been hiding literally everything about yourself. But even if it
might be unfair, you can’t fight the real truth lying underneath all of it.

That you need and want the kind of love that someone would be willing to die for.

To kill for.

You think of Jungkook aiming your Sig Sauer at Jimin’s head.

“Mmm,” Hobi sighs, distracting you and stumbling through the living room and collapsing onto
your couch as you close and lock the front door behind you. “C’mere. Let’s cuddle.”

“Cuddle my ass,” you grumble.

“That’s what I’m trying to do.” He stretches out his hands to you and wiggles his fingers.

“What the hell was all that?” you demand, throwing your keys onto the counter and marching over
to him.
“What?” Hobi asks softly. Nervously.

“Sope Industries stock is plummeting? Work has been stressing you out?” You fold your arms in
front of your chest, Hobi just watching sheepishly. “Were you gonna tell me any of that?”

Hobi lowers his eyes, shrugging. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Well, you did.”

You start pacing. Your fingers get itchy for your go bag again, and you start squeezing them into
fists.

“Are… are you about to hit me or something?”

“No,” you sigh, stopping in your tracks just to roll your eyes at Hobi. But when you catch a
glimpse of him, you see that he has tears welling in his eyes.

Your heart softens, and for a moment, you’re able to pause the whirl of plans that are quickly
building in your mind.

If you’re really going through with the plan that Jungkook has suggested, then you don’t have to
kneel in front of Hobi. If you’re leaving, then you don’t have to run your hands up his thighs
comfortingly. If you’re leaving, then you don’t have to look up at him, sigh, and say, “It’s me. It’s
just me. I wanna know. I want you to tell me.”

But you do it all anyway.

“What’s going on?” you continue. “How are you feeling?”

Hobi leans forward, taking your hands in his, resting his lips against your wrist and interlacing your
fingers with his.

“Because Yoongi told me you were feeling… I don’t know… off,” you say. A sharp spike of anger
pokes through your next words. “I really wish it had come from you, but…”

Hobi nods. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “Having all this come out like that… and in front of the
others… I should’ve just told you. But, lately, it feels weird.”

“What does?”

Hobi looks deeply into your eyes, tears still welling. “Talking to you.”

Fuck. Look at the state of him. You really should’ve left.

Guilt starts to sprout, apologies and confessions threatening to flower.

“Try,” you offer. “And I’ll try my best to listen.”

Hobi takes a deep, deep breath. You know this will be difficult. Drunk Hobi is more about feelings
and actions than words. And Drunk Hobi tends to shut down when he feels like he’s flailing.

“You just feel so far away,” Hobi finally admits, and you almost hear it in Yoongi’s voice. “I
didn’t want to tell you about work because I thought that’d push you even further.”

You let his words settle as you play with the pads of his fingers.
“I miss you,” he whispers. “I know that doesn’t make sense. But I do.”

You nod. You understand.

You understand because you miss yourself, too. The self that you created with Hobi. It’s at war
with your reawakened self. Your dirty, angry, independent, fiery self.

Your true self.

“I’ve been feeling off, too,” you say, careful with your words.

“Is it work stuff?”

“…Kind of.”

You shake your head to avoid the impulse to come clean right there and then. You want to be
honest. You want to tell him everything. But doing that would be selfish, too. You’d be absolving
yourself, but where would that leave him?

“Anyway, I’ve just been in an awful mood,” you say, feeling the fireball start to cool.

“Me too.”

You can’t help but smirk at concerned, worried Hobi. You’ve literally never seen him in any mood
except happy.

Come to think of it…

“You seemed happy with Gyu-ri sitting on your lap,” you can’t help but mention, feeling not hurt
exactly, but competitive. Petty.

Hobi brightens. “Yeah?”

“You’re really smiling right now?” you snap.

“Not by Gyu-ri specifically, but---” Hobi wraps his arms around you and pulls you onto his lap.
“But… I… maybe like that you got jealous.”

“Yeah, well,” you grumble, admittedly liking the feel of his arms around you.

Hobi laughs. “I know that’s strange, coming from me,” he says. “I just don’t get jealous. I don’t
really pay attention to much except for what’s right in front of me. I don’t care about anything
else.”

He sighs and runs his hands up your back, pulling you into him. You rest against his chest, and his
voice emanates warmly, your body buzzing with each of his words. This is what Hobi’s love feels
like. A long day of work, ending with a soft, warm embrace.

Running his fingers up and down your neck, he pauses at a slightly pink stain on your skin from
earlier. To cover, you scratch it as if it were a bug bite, but you think of Jungkook’s mouth working
moderately, and, even with Hobi holding you, suddenly itching to feel him there at a stronger,
faster pace.

He wipes your scratching fingers away and runs his thumb delicately over the stain in an attempt to
soothe it. “I just care about you,” he whispers.
But can a soft, warm embrace soothe the core of you? The part that needs more than this? The part
that he doesn’t know, and will never know? Though you’ve felt so cared for with Hobi, you’ve
never felt more alive than when you’re with Jungkook.

Should’ve left.

You feel Hobi’s eyes on you, awaiting some kind of response.

“I care about you, too,” you choke out.

The effort with which you have to get it out only makes him grapple harder with what he really
wants to say.

“That feeling is back,” he tells you.

“What feeling?”

“The feeling I told you about a few weeks ago.” He slumps a little. “The feeling that you’re
looking for more. For something else.”

You tremble as you think about what you’re going to say next.

“Don’t fight it,” Hobi tells you. How kind a heart he has, to offer you permission to break it.

“There’s a lot going on inside,” you say.

“Can I help with any of it?” He looks at you hopefully. “Is there a way through?”

You take three breaths. And at the bottom of the third breath, you say, “I don’t think that it’s about
whether this is enough or not. You’ve given me everything. It’s just that… there’s a lot you don’t
know. There are parts of me that will just always be somewhere else.”

You’re almost thankful for the chance to get to try to explain. You’d never put it into words before,
but now you see pieces of you were left on so many roads going in so many different directions.

“Help me understand,” Hobi says.

“I don’t think I quite understand it myself yet.”

You crawl off of Hobi’s lap and extend your hand to him.

“So tonight, let’s just try to get some sleep,” you say. “We’ve had a few drinks. You’ve had a long
week.”

But he looks unsure. Like he wants to go brew some coffee and hash it all out right now.

“C’mon, Hobster.”

He laughs and smiles softly. He relents, taking your hand. And he follows you to the bedroom.

When you both get into bed, still fully dressed, and Hobi nestling into you, you notice that the
whispers in your mind are changing.

Leave.

Leave now.
Before it gets worse.

Before you really break him.

**

Client 152 (12:42 AM): So we’re on, right? I’ve got thoughts.

Client 152 (12:42 AM): You there?

Client 152 (12:47 AM): Message me back when you get a moment away.

Client 152 (1:20 AM): Are you there?

Client 152 (2:09 AM): I know I wasn’t misreading things. We can start planning
whenever you’re ready.

Client 152 (3:13 AM): Can you just let me know you’re OK?

Client 152 (5:42 AM): Heads up. The little one and the old one just came over. We’re
heading over to the brainiac’s, then yours. Apparently, we’re going fishing at 6 to
“shoot the shit”, whatever the fuck that means.

Client 152 (5:42 AM): Please don’t let this change your mind.

These messages, coupled with Hobi’s quickly scrawled “Fishing with the boys -- love you” on the
note on your nightstand, confirms it.

Something’s up.

Yoongi is stirring the pot.

But you’ll worry about that later.

Right now, you just keep staring at the messages that Jungkook left, and you think about the
conversation that you and Hobi had the night before. How you felt. What you heard. What your gut
told you.

Maybe you said it out of spite. In the heat of the moment. But leaving, and using the original con
idea to give you an out, still seems like the best option. You haven’t been able to convince
Jungkook to go without you. And if you both stay, everything will disintegrate in the flames that
you spark.

Your gears are a little dusty, but they’ve started spinning.

If Sope Industries is, in fact, on a downturn, you’d have to steal something from them quickly, and
it’d have to yield enough for you, Jungkook, and Hobi to be OK no matter what. You need to get
your hands on something really valuable. Something bigger than you’ve ever dealt with. Something
potentially as big, or even bigger than the Gomez. A true Victorian. And as you reflect on the game
night conversation, you realize that Hobi, in his ever-present generosity, has inadvertently given
you the answer.

The defense contract.

Your doorbell snaps you out of your thoughts and forces you out of the basement.

And when you find Gyu-ri standing on your porch, you furrow your brow and cross your arms,
wishing you were still in those thoughts instead of looking into her earnest eyes.

“I thought the run was canceled,” you say, even though you’re still dressed in your sweats.

“Just because the guys saddled Nima and Jang-mi with parenting duties doesn’t mean we can’t
enjoy our freedom,” Gyu-ri replies, also still dressed in sweats.

“Oh.” You shrug. “Well, to be honest, I was about to change out of these.”

Gyu-ri nods slowly, her eyes falling to the floor. “Well… we don’t have to run. We could just hang
out, maybe?”

“Maybe another time---”

Gyu-ri’s eyes catch hold of yours, and you feel slightly off-balance.

“Look,” she says, her voice urgent, “I just…” She pulls back, her voice reverting back to its sweet,
lilting tone. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve been wanting to talk to you. Not with the others. Kind of a
heart-to-heart sort of thing.”

Heart-to-hearts already make you squeamish, and one with Gyu-ri is making you absolutely
nauseated.

“Sure,” you say callously, when you meant to say it noncommittally. But given that you’re finally
getting ready to move out of the cul-de-sac, you no longer care how you come across. Least of all,
to Gyu-ri.

She follows you into your entryway, and as you close the door, she notices the bunny figurine. She
chuckles and picks it up, and you immediately want to slap it out of her hands.

“Looks like him,” she says, laughing.

“Who?” you remember to say, but it sounds more like a knowing dare than a genuine question.

Gyu-ri gives you a knowing look of her own.

But you decide to walk past it, like you’re now walking past her to get to the living room.

You watch her as she sits on the couch. You think of kneeling in front of it and Hobi last night, and
how strange it is that you’ve seen your sofa shift from a hearth of healing to enemy territory in just
12 hours.

Gyu-ri blinks those earnest eyes at you. “You have to know why I’m here.”

“Fill me in,” you say, secretly enjoying the way Gyu-ri is tangling her fingers into knots and then
untying them, over and over.
“Well. It’s about Cookie.”

“Is something wrong?”

Gyu-ri glares at you. “Yes, Sena. Something’s wrong. Very wrong.”

You try your best not to huff in annoyance. You ignore all the scenes that play in your mind, the
flashes of heat, the glimpses of his body, and the feeling of your body making room for him. You
desperately tamp down the He was mine first! s and You’re just in the way! s and He doesn’t love
you! s that keep fighting the Leave, leave, leave! s that keep taking up space in your brain.

“What makes you think something’s wrong?” you ask.

Fingers unraveling, Gyu-ri looks at the empty coffee table. “Can I have some water or something?
I’m feeling a bit… uh… nervous.”

Unlike Gyu-ri, though, you’re not really one to go great lengths to make even wanted visitors
comfortable.

“Maybe you’ll feel less nervous if you just tell me what’s on your mind.”

And then you can get the fuck out of here.

“OK,” Gyu-ri replies stiffly. “Um… well… OK. I just… I wanted to ask if something was…” She
sighs. “I wanted to ask if you’ve noticed anything weird about him lately.”

“What would be weird?”

Clearly thrown by your challenging straightforwardness, Gyu-ri can no longer meet your eyes. But
it might be helping her. Staring into the sun makes you blind.

“He’s been so quiet lately.”

“Hmm.”

“I mean, he’s always been kind of quiet.”

Really? Because I can’t get him to shut up.

“But, apart from game nights, he doesn’t get excited about anything anymore,” Gyu-ri complains.
“We haven’t been cooking together. We don’t paint like we used to. We’ve stopped going for
runs.” She gestures to her sweats. “I wear my workout clothes around you ladies more than I do
around him.”

You just stare at her, and she realizes that this is one of the things that you wouldn’t know about
them.

“Running is… or, well, used to be… one of our couple things,” she explains. “I mean. He bought
me these.”

You think of the marathon bibs.

Gross.

She frowns, and she looks as if she’s about to cry.

Ughhh, noooo, grosssss, you think, disliking the prospect of having to console her.

“I’m sorry,” Gyu-ri whines in an ugly, stupid voice, fat with emotion, “I j-just… I don’t know what
to do!”

You watch Gyu-ri bury her head in her hands and fall apart. She’s always been small, but here, in
this moment, she looks miniscule. Like you could hold her in the palm of her hand.

How easy it would be for you to crush her.

“Gyu-ri,” you say softly, trying not to sound as exasperated as you are by her, “I… Well, I’m not
exactly sure what to do here…”

She lets out a pained wail, and though you think it’s a tad overdramatic, you feel the deepest of
those wails wrap themselves around and clench your heart.

If this were Jang-mi or Nima, you’d have all sorts of suggestions to make, but they all really roll up
into one action: talk about it. That’s what you did with Hobi. Even if you aren’t any clearer on your
feelings about him, you at least know that it’s better to make the break from Hobi now than let
things fester.

But you don’t know if you should make the same suggestion to Gyu-ri. Not without giving
Jungkook a heads-up. His last message echoes in your brain. Please don’t let this change your
mind. You fear that if Gyu-ri acts exactly like this and talks to him about how she feels, it won’t be
your mind that you’ll have to worry about changing.

“I know I mentioned this at brunch a while back, but I really need to know. Have you noticed
anything strange about him lately?” Gyu-ri asks.

“Like I said, I don’t---”

“Is he doing anything weird on his computer, specifically?” she asks.

This gives you pause.

“I don’t think so?” you ask, watching Gyu-ri very carefully.

“What kind of stuff does he work on?”

Gyu-ri’s voice starts to sound desperate, but not in the wanting way Hobi sounded last night. It’s
more inquisitive. Scrutinous.

“I really don’t know,” you say, your defenses up.

“Please, anything,” Gyu-ri begs. “Have you seen any chats? Any names? Anything… well…
suspicious?”

Not to you.

“No.”

“Any, like… shady people?”

You frown. “Shady people.”

Your fingers start to itch for your go bag again.

“Yeah.” Gyu-ri looks a little flustered, and then she sighs. “I don’t know how to explain it. But
sometimes, he goes online, and he tells me it’s all for work. But then sometimes, he’ll go places.
Disappear. Sometimes late at night. And it gets scary.” She looks back up at you, pleading. “I’m
trying to find out more. Where he’s going. Who he’s consorting with.”

You tilt your head. “Consorting?”

“Stop repeating me!” Gyu-ri cries, unexpectedly more frustrated with you than with Jungkook.

You notice that though she’s been wailing, she hasn’t cried any real tears.

And, upon seeing the look on your face, Gyu-ri wipes her face --- for what, you don’t know. For
show?

She settles back. “Just… can you do me a favor and tell me if you find out more about who he’s
talking to online?”

You narrow your eyes at her, alarm bells ringing at full blast. “Why?”

Gyu-ri looks annoyed. “Excuse me?”

“Why don’t you just ask him directly?” you ask.

Gyu-ri sighs and rubs her face. “He won’t tell me anything, and I’m just worried about his safety,
OK?” she asks, but it lands funny. Sounds odd. Seemingly knowing this, she stands and shakes her
head. “I’m sorry I bothered you with this.”

You follow her back to your front door, noting that like her run, her stride is quick.

“Why did you bother me with this?” you ask, kind of enjoying the way she cringes at you repeating
her words again.

She turns on her heel and finally looks you in the eye.

“Because he says your name in his sleep every goddamn night,” she says coldly.

There’s a loud, mean exhale out of her nostrils, and then, “I don’t need to know why. At least, I
don’t think that I need to know why. But that could change.” She sneers. “To be honest, I couldn’t
fucking care less. But I just wanted to know if you knew anything about whatever else he might be
hiding from me. Alright?”

You just stare at her.

Gyu-ri looks you up and down before stepping back onto your porch.

“Like I said, I’d really appreciate it if you’d text or call me if you find anything out,” she says
angrily. “Because I’m really worried about him,” she adds quickly. But not out of haste or
insistence.

Almost as if it’s an afterthought.

She jogs back to her house, but you don’t stay to watch her go.

Instead, you rush down to your basement and double-check all of your encryptions. All of your
alert systems. All of your bots. There don’t seem to be any breaches. You run check after check,
and everything looks secure.
So you chance it. You respond to Jungkook.

You (11:22 AM): Watch your back around Little Miss Perfect.

**

The Sope Industries parking lot is so massive and sprawling that you have to settle for a spot in lot
BC-21. As you hike past the sign marking the A-1 lot, the front entryway finally starts to make
itself known to you.

One hand grips the strap of your crossbody purse, and the other clutches the handle of the bag
housing four big plastic containers filled to the brim with vegetables, rice, and curry --- two shrimp,
and two lamb. You don’t often feel the tug of domesticity, but you appreciate when jobs require it.
Those moments bring you nice perks. The chance to revisit recipes. The chance to bust out an old,
favorite sheath dress. The chance to see Jungkook in your apron in your kitchen, stirring the curry
for you as you get ready and telling you how great of a job you did.

“You sure you don’t want me to go with you?” Jungkook asked, as the two of you split the
leftovers.

You reassured him that you’d be fine with the pin camera that you’ve affixed to the charm on your
necklace, just before you packed up the bag that you’re now toting toward security.

“Hi, I’m here to visit my husband, Jung Hoseok,” you say warmly.

“One moment.” The security guard refers to their computer screen. “Sorry ma’am, you’re not on
the books?”

You hold up the bag. “It’s a surprise,” you reply, smiling and raising your eyebrows.

The security guard mirrors your smile. “Hang on,” he says, as he picks up the desk phone.

You imagine Jungkook watching from your basement, chuckling to himself at the record time
you’ve been able to sway someone.

Jungkook doesn’t work from his house anymore, technically not since Gyu-ri’s visit, and definitely
not since you showed up as soon as she and the others left for work on Monday morning. “We’re
working here today?” he asked sleepily, noticing you frozen on the step. “I don’t feel like working
from home at all,” you said loudly, enunciating, just in case. “Can we work somewhere else?
Maybe camp out at a cafe or something, eat while we work?” You flashed him your Sig Sauer in
your purse, and his eyes widened with concern. And you finally filled him in at the gun range,
releasing the tension that had built up in your muscles since Saturday.

You also discussed how things seemed to be lining up for your plan. Obviously, neither you nor
Jungkook are safe around Gyu-ri. And, as manipulative as it sounds, you decide to lean into the
funk that you and Hobi are in. It’s oddly satisfying, this unfortunate souring of your marriage. It’s
just the kind of peripheral excuse to leave him.
Plus, it opened the door for this recon mission.

The timing is right. Your departure is now fueled by more than just what you feel for Jungkook.
Gyu-ri and her needling questions are the biggest threat to Hobi and the cul-de-sac so far. Even if
you did love Hobi enough to stay, there was no way that could happen now.

Though you’re familiar with plenty of people from the Sope Industries family, you’ve never
actually been to their headquarters. As you see employees come and go, swiping their badges by
the scanner at hip-height, you smile to yourself and think of Yoongi’s convenient badge placement
within the small pocket of his pants. He really is so clever.

And that worries you, too.

Hobi steps off the elevator and sees you immediately. He excitedly calls out to you from across the
floor.

“Honey!”

And he comically runs the entire length of the lobby, bumping into people on his way to you but
not caring.

When he reaches you, he wraps you up in his arms and gives you a kiss on the cheek. “What are
you doing here?” he asks.

“Wanted to surprise you,” you say, holding up the bag, the smell of food wafting toward his
nostrils. You hope the smell masks how uneasily your voice comes out. With everything that’s
going on, it’s becoming harder and harder to lie to his angelic face.

To preserve him, and to save him, you need to go the minute that the opportunity presents itself.

But that all depends on how today goes.

“Come up and see the guys!” Hobi says enthusiastically.

“Oh, no, that’s OK,” you lie, shoving the bag toward Hobi and looking back at the doors. “I don’t
want to disturb anybody. Just remember to give Namjoon one of the lamb ones because he doesn’t
like---”

“You won’t be disturbing anyone,” Hobi says, taking the bag from you, but also taking your hand.
“C’mon. Come up and say hi. They’ll be happy to see you.” He grins happily. “Especially with this
food, and in that dress.”

You smile warmly. Based on Jungkook’s replay of the guys’ fishing trip turned heart-to-heart of
their own, you know that Hobi at least partially means that they’ll be thrilled to see you making
some kind of effort. They’re all rooting for you and Hobi to make it. They just don’t realize that
the effort you’re putting in is for the opposite outcome.

Hobi checks in with the security guard. “She’s OK with me, right?”

“Yes, sir,” the security guard replies happily. “Both of you have a great day.”

Hobi wraps an arm around your waist, his excited elbow bumping your perfectly tied sash slightly
to the side of your waist, and leads you to the elevators.

And with that, Step 1 of the recon mission is complete.

The 17th floor is full of people dressed exactly like Hobi: sensible sneakers, khaki pants, gray polo
shirts, and lanyards with badges. When you come upon The Cul-de-Sacks’ little pod, you smile at
the little things about the guys that you’ve come to know and love. Namjoon tending to the
succulent on his desk. Jin playing a game that he minimizes anytime anyone walks by. And
Yoongi sitting on his desk, arms folded, mouth hanging slightly open, mind lost in thought, his
rebellious dark jeans sticking out in a sea of waist-high beige.

“Look who’s here!” Hobi cheers, presenting you to the group.

The guys turn toward Hobi’s approaching voice, and they look genuinely surprised and happy to
see you.

“And look what I’ve brought,” you add in singsong, starting to pass out the containers of food.

“Aww,” Namjoon coos, as he accepts one of the lamb curries, “what a kind gesture!”

He passes the other lamb curry over to Jin, who says, “Sweet Jesus, this smells so good.” He grins
naughtily. “Jang-mi’s trying to get us to be vegetarian again.” He adds raised eyebrows to his
expression. “Don’t tell her that I’m eating this?”

You cross your heart and smirk at him, and he gives you a wink.

Yoongi takes one of the seafood curries, his eyes roving over you, unable to do anything but admit,
“Yeah… this is… this is actually really nice of you, Sena.” He smiles, touched. Warmed. “Glad
you came for a visit.”

Hobi beams with pride, and though you absolutely hate everything about this dog-and-pony show,
you’re at least happy that you could come through for him. For them all.

“It’s spicy,” you tell the group, as you hand Hobi the last seafood curry.

“Like you,” he murmurs, kissing you on the lips.

You giggle in the moment, but then you remember not to linger. Jungkook probably doesn’t
appreciate an up-close view of Hobi’s chest, and what it would insinuate.

You pull away self-consciously, turning back to the group. “How’s work going?” you ask,
reaching back into the bag to pass out plastic cutlery and paper napkins.

Hobi sits down at his desk, completing the pod, and he gestures for you to sit on his lap. When you
do, he bounces you a little, and you lovingly start to serve him some food.

“We’re kind of blocked, actually,” Hobi begins to explain, his mouth half-full. “The servers are
down because---”

The rest of the guys glare at him, and Hobi nods quickly.

Hobi swallows and chooses to say, instead, “Because of some kind of issue.”

You know exactly what that issue is, seeing as you’re the one who has sicced the security gap-
identifying bots on them in the first place, but you quip, “Complicated computer stuff?”

For once, even Yoongi seems to be at ease, as they nod and chat with you.

You play the part. You listen, feed Hobi, and watch the guys eat. You’re amazed that this is all it
takes. An old recipe. An old dress. All that running you’ve done, and this is the most
inconspicuous that you’ve been, hiding in plain sight, tied up in a bow of a gender role right at the
scene of the crime.

It’s kind of infuriating.

“You cum stains know anything about these security breaches?” someone calls, and you all look
up to see a grinning, admittedly handsome and muscular man striding toward you, his chest puffed
out, and his badge swinging from its clip on the lip of his back pocket.

“What do you want?” Jin asks, rolling his eyes as Yoongi scowls into his curry.

“Easy, I’m just making conversation, walking off my lunch,” the man laughs, patting his stomach
and staring at Yoongi, eager to get a rise out of him.

When he sees that despite scarfing down Yoongi’s lunch, Yoongi is still eating, he frowns and
looks around, his eyes landing on you.

“Ooh! A guest!” His smile transforms from eagerly teasing to painfully charming. He extends his
hand to you for a handshake. “And you are?”

Before you’re able to answer, he interrupts you with, “Gorgeous. You are absolutely gorgeous.”

“She’s also my wife,” Hobi says. He peers at him and wraps an arm around your stomach to hold
you to his lap before grumbling, “Sena, this is Suk-chin.”

“Hmm.” You don’t accept Suk-chin’s hand. “I’ve heard all sorts of stories about you.”

“Yeah? Well, if you’ve heard them from this nerd herd, don’t believe a word,” Suk-chin says,
retracting his hand and latching it to his sweaty balls to scratch unabashedly.

“Ugh,” Yoongi mutters, leaving his spoon in his food and setting the container back down on his
desk until he regains his appetite.

“You guys hear that the fourth sector just went down?” Suk-chin asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Damn,” Jin says worriedly.

“Yeah,” Suk-chin continues, “they’re starting to think that this isn’t just an isolated issue but a
straight-up attack.”

“An attack?” you ask worriedly, masking the pride you have in your handiwork, and Jungkook’s
progress in coding.

“Not a physical one, just more complicated computer stuff,” Namjoon reassures you.

“Yeah, don’t worry your pretty little head, baby,” Suk-chin replies, grinning at you.

You wonder if Suk-chin’s ever been shot before.

“Anyway, it’s kind of a blessing in disguise, if you think about it,” Suk-chin replies. “These kinds
of things keep us on our toes. Help us beef things up, y’know?”

“I guess that means we should be on standby for data recovery,” Yoongi comments. He sighs. “If
something happens, we’re gonna get so many tickets on the Jira board.”

“That all sounds pretty important,” you say worriedly. “Maybe I should leave?”
“No! It’s OK,” Hobi replies, desperate not to let anything ruin your visit. “It’s just typical work
stuff. Right, guys?”

Jin, Namjoon, and Yoongi are quick to agree, but Suk-chin looks like he’s about to counter.

“Actually, it’s not really common for---”

“Let me give you a tour or something,” Hobi tries.

He looks back at Suk-chin, annoyed at the intrusion. “Getting a bit crowded here, anyway,” he
adds, and even though you’ve been married for a while, you can’t believe how easy it is for you to
steer Hobi in the direction you want him to go.

Hobi holds his arm out so that you can use it to help yourself to your feet. He wraps his arm around
your waist, and the two of you push past Suk-chin, your hip slightly colliding with his, which
makes him let out a skin-crawling, “Ooh. Don’t hurt yourself, baby.”

You flash a dead-eyed smile at him, and a happy and slightly apologetic one back to the guys, not
envying the task before them as Suk-chin sits at Hobi’s chair to ruffle their feathers a bit more.

The building feels much larger than you initially visualized. Even though you easily obtained the
dimensions of each floor by pretending to be an interior decorator and contacting the contractor
about the job, you think it’s an important detail for Jungkook to know.

“This place is huge,” you observe, looking up at the ceiling and fiddling with your necklace,
aiming the pendant wherever you look. “It’s like a spaceship.”

You can’t help but gawk at the sleek, unconventional curves of the building. The environmentally
friendly glass panels. The mix of bold and pastel colors. The transparent walls that serve as dry
erase boards. And everyone’s hard at work. You take a peek at a couple of small conference rooms
that Hobi says they call “think tanks”, and some larger conference rooms that they call “war
rooms”. People are even hard at work in the recreation room, pausing every now and then to jot
some work notes down on the wall as they play ping pong.

“Welcome to the tech industry,” Hobi says flatly. But then he smiles as he leads you down another
hallway, pulling you in and kissing the top of your head. “And speaking of welcome, I was so
happy to see you today.”

You smile and grasp Hobi’s fingers in yours, leaning your body into his as you stroll.

“Thank you for the surprise,” Hobi whispers, planting another kiss on your cheek.

You notice that the hallways that Hobi keeps leading you down are getting narrower. And they
have more cameras in the corners.

“Where are you taking me next?” you laugh lightly.

Hobi looks around to make sure you’re alone before grabbing at a nondescript, unlocked door
handle. He wiggles his eyebrows, and then he twirls you into a dark, cool room.

Rows and rows of servers are laid out before you.

Jackpot.

Interestingly, Hobi’s thinking the same thing.

“I know I just said thank you, but… I wanna say it another way,” he mutters, pinning you against
the wall by the door.

You’re thankful that the pin camera is only streaming video and not audio. You’re hoping that the
room is dark enough that Jungkook hasn’t been able to see anything since Hobi first twirled you
inside.

As Hobi barrels into you for a kiss, you tug downward on your necklace, snapping the delicate
chain against the back of your neck, and quickly dropping it into the front pocket of your purse
before you let your purse fall to the ground.

You titter, hips coming away from the wall, your chest rubbing across his. “Really? Here?”

“We have a reputation to uphold,” Hobi mumbles next to your earlobe, and you giggle.

As Hobi slides down your body, kissing you and slowly unbuttoning the six points keeping your
dress together, you quickly awaken for him. It doesn’t surprise you. This was never the problem.

Hobi grunts, when he pulls the two halves of your dress apart, staring at the lingerie you’ve picked
to wear underneath. “Pretty.” He kisses at your navel, and you run your hand through his hair,
grabbing and fisting his crown as he travels south. He catches the scent you’d sprayed on yourself
as you finished getting ready, and he starts to salivate. He opens his mouth and draws your panties
down slightly with his mouth, and you’re unable to tell if the moisture you feel when he licks your
lips is coming from him or you.

“G-getting right to it, huh?” you ask shakily.

“Just want you.” He kisses your inner folds, slurping you and him up, his fingers reaching for the
backside of your panties and pulling them down the slopes of your ass. “Wanna devour you.”

“Still not full from earlier?” you joke.

“Different kind of hunger.”

His tongue parts you, and you shiver, fist clenching, pulling up slightly and threatening to detach
root from scalp. Hobi grunts at the tug and takes it as a sign to go harder, sucking and licking with
hurry.

“What if we get caught?” you ask in the darkness, heart thumping.

“Won’t.”

You feel his lips smirk as he gets an idea. “But maybe we use this as insurance.”

He reaches for the sash that is still tied around your waist, and he starts to undo the knot.

You bite your lip as he stands again, crumpling the sash into a ball, and pressing his nose into your
cheek as he kisses your jaw, his mouth wet with you. He follows the curve of your chin and then
lands on your lips, kissing you sweetly at first, but then deeper, and with more fervor.

His other hand travels down your side and then into your folds, doing a good job of picking up
where his tongue had left off, insanely close to your clit but still not touching, still only teasing, still
wanting to build the thrill.

Your jaw opens wide and a loud moan escapes.

Hobi smiles and shakes his head. “Can’t have you doing that now, can we?”

You whimper a frail “sorry”, and Hobi kisses you again, tongue digging, fingers working, all of it
making you pant and drool.

Then, he slides the ball of fabric of your sash up your neck and cheek, edging closer to your mouth.

A whisper before you begin. Something to give you context.

“I’ve thought about fucking you at work so many times. Never thought it’d be like this.”

And then a kiss. Slow, sweet, suggestive.

“Open.”

You take the fabric in, whining as a test, and then moaning with more abandon now that you know
that your voice is reasonably stifled. You try to take deep breaths, but the tangle is making it hard,
heightening the sensation, making all the blinking blue and white lights of the servers look more
like stars passing you by as you’re traveling through space.

You whimper again as Hobi returns to work at your mound, stroking your thighs as he laps you up.

“Honey. You even taste different here.”

You need something to hold onto, and your palms desperately search the wall for anything, but
coming up with absolutely nothing to help you.

Settling for leaning back against the wall, you push your flesh forward, but Hobi stays still, using
the leverage you’re giving him to work deeper inside of you. His tongue enters you, and you
squeeze around him as he fucks you with it, the muscle so strong and wet. You imagine how he
had snaked it around the spoonful of food you had given him earlier, each serving effortlessly
wiped clean as you pulled the silver from him. You’d never even been curious to know what spoon
feels like before.

A desperate plea fights its way through the fabric, and where met with resistance, bounces back
and detours through your nostrils.

Your hips engage, and you start to grind. The force helps Hobi’s upper jaw and the bottom of his
nose meet your bud, and he takes strong breaths of his own through them to stay there for you,
work for you, excruciatingly building each layer of heat that you will have no choice but to

crash through in a few moments.

Gonna come, you think desperately, rerouting your words to your brain, knowing they won’t be
able to make it past the sash.

But then you feel a rush of cool air as Hobi pulls away from you, and you start to whine in protest.

“You thought I was just gonna give it to you?” he chuckles, kissing up your sternum.

Edging? Here? Now?? Of all the possible times, and under all of the possible circumstances, he
chooses a public place, and when you’ve got a checklist in mind that you need to complete?

But maybe that’s precisely why now works so well.

How quickly Hobi makes you forget.

His lips form a perfect pout as he stamps kisses along the revealed flesh of your breasts, his fingers
starting to dig into the rest that is still covered by the cups of your lace push-up bra. He gnaws at
the detailed fabric, and where saliva collects, his tongue flattens, spreading it across your chest.

You’re desperate for more contact, but Hobi is being selfish. Now, you understand that he wants to
see you asking for it. He doesn’t want to get caught, but he wants to hear the pain in your voice
when you call out to him. He’s probably missed that, given how distant and in your own head
you’ve been. But today, you’ve come here. You’ve sought him out. You’ve brought everything to
him, sustenance and soul.

It’s not part of the mission, but you alone can complete the fantasy.

Be there for him. Just for now. Just for this part of it.

Treat this like any other job.

With each furious whine you give him, you widen your eyes and flitter your lashes. Hobi folds your
arms behind your back and forces your shoulders against the wall, making you rest back on your
forearms and locking you into place.

“Just us,” he tells you. “Just you and me.”

You don’t know if he’s trying to reassure you, or keep you focused.

He licks his lips and finally pulls one cup of your bra down, pert nipple meeting a slap of cold air
and hardening, the other seizing and bracing for its turn.

Hobi’s perfect pout circles around it, and he locks eyes with you as he sucks, making you whine
even more, and start to nod. Yes, you think, hoping that as you think it, he hears it. Feels it. Right
there. Please. Yes.

Lips curling into a smile, Hobi moves faster, tongue swirling like it did inside your folds, and
inside of your channel. You start to circle your hips, and ever-present Hobi notices. His hands latch
to your waist, hands traveling down to your thighs, and stopping at the creases where they meet
your torso.

You squeal with insistence. Fuck. Please! Please touch me. Move your hands down and touch me.
I need it.

At your chest, Hobi moves his head from side to side, leading with his brow and letting his cheery
cheeks and chin follow. So fluid. So good.

But none of it is enough to get you all the way there, and though your walls are starting to pulse,
you know the next few moments are going to be inescapably insufferable. You’ll have to wait until
he’s ready to give it to you, and you painfully expect coming apart so quickly when he finally
does.

You sob through the sash, neck starting to go limp.

“Stay with me, hon,” Hobi tells you. “Don’t give up. Fight for it.”

The words shoot to your heart, but they also shoot to your core, strengthening you somehow.

Look at how badly he wants you.

You start to feel it all a little deeper now. Maybe a little realer. And increasingly, whatever
pressure Hobi is giving you in his touch is starting to satisfy.

Hobi senses the shift.

“Is that what you needed?” he asks you, eyes no longer hooded, but suddenly alert. He brings his
hands back up to the other cup of your bra. “Didn’t you know that? That I’ll always fight for you?
In my own way?”

Your eyebrows knit, and Hobi smiles in a way that removes all doubt.

He pulls both bra straps off your shoulders, letting the bodice of your bra sit just under, at your
breast bone, your chest free. He nestles between your curves, and he licks and sucks at both, hands
clutching your rib cage, which doesn’t necessarily hurt, but you aren’t sure about just yet, not
knowing if you’ve healed fully. Twinges of a dull ache sprinkle throughout the explosions going
off in your head. You’d thought that the point of life was to get rid of those dull pains, to chase
only the explosions. Having something to compare the explosions to, giving them new depth, is
something you hadn’t really considered.

HIs hands start to travel down again.

Yes, yes, yes. Pleeeease.

As Hobi’s lips meet your neck, you squeal, but you notice that his hands are busy undoing his own
fly, stroking his own sex, precum leaking and moistening the tip.

You moan at the sound, and if there were a little more light in here, you’d see the sash starting to
darken even quicker as your mouth waters.

“No,” Hobi tells you sternly, making your pussy twitch. “I want it to myself for a bit. Wanna stroke
it while I look at you.”

Fuck, what is he doing?

You realize that you’ve never not been able to have Hobi before.

Whimpering, you start to untangle your hands behind you, but Hobi stops what he’s doing to push
your chest back, making sure you stay in the position he’s set you in, your arms pinned behind you
to the wall.

“Don’t make me turn that gag into handcuffs,” Hobi warns. “Don’t know what I’ll put in your
mouth in its place.”

You could do anything, you think, squeezing your eyes tight as Hobi pushes your shoulder blades
against the wall again for good measure.

His hands return to his thick, full cock, swollen and wet, his strokes getting faster, and his grunts
getting deeper.

You squirm impatiently and whine, wanting just a little bit more. The lightest touch. The smallest
contact. You want whatever he’s willing to spare.

“Those eyes,” Hobi sighs, licking the hollows of your cheeks. “Killing me.”

You widen them even more, and he chuckles.

“Soon. But not yet.”

He fondles more of himself with his other hand as he runs his tightened fist up and down his long
shaft, hissing as he begins to struggle to maintain his composure.

You watch him deliriously, just able to trace his outline against the soft glow in the room.

You feel Hobi’s fingers touching the inside of your thigh, just by your knee. When he pulls his
hand away, you feel cool air rush in to fill a void that you didn’t know would remain.

“Look how wet you are, just from this,” Hobi tells you, holding up his fingers and showing you the
sticky slick that he’s pulled from you.

He takes more of you and slathers his cock with it, the sound of liquid on muscle as sinful as
you’ve ever heard.

“Mmm, gonna need you soon,” Hobi sighs. “But let’s start it slow.”

He rests his cock against your thigh, and you both shudder at how warm and good it feels. Soft.
Right.

Nearly enough.

You change your stance, still jutting your hips out, but squeezing your thighs together. He lets out a
groan and punches the wall, not expecting the way you clamp shut.

“Fuck,” he sighs. “Yes. Move like that.”

You roll your body to stroke his cock with your thighs.

He bites into your shoulder, starting to pump into the crevice you’ve made for him, letting his cock
travel farther up your thighs so that you get a little bit of friction of his shaft against your lips, a
tiny fraction of that friction against your starved clit.

You hit one particularly good stroke, and your heads knock into one another. But instead of
fumbling and laughing together like you normally would, Hobi’s eyes meet yours dangerously. He
frowns, baring his teeth, and starts to pump.

Everything is so warm and slick, and given the angle you’re working at, it’s not long before the
head of his cock starts to poke at your entrance, and you encourage it by shimmying it against your
thighs just right.

“Fuck, honey, fuck,” Hobi sighs.

The pressure builds, the layers Hobi’s set up threatening to buckle. Walls are no longer just pulsing
but throbbing. Muscles aren’t just clenched but locked. You might’ve missed the opportunity to let
him slip in. You might come just from this.

But then, Hobi breathes, “Take it.”

And then you slam into each other in a way that slides Hobi inside of you.

You both sigh with pleasure, even with him just less than halfway inside. But everything is so tight.
So raw.

“Wait,” Hobi moans, letting his head loll back. “Mmm. Stay like this, just for a little while longer.”
You try to ride him as best as you can, but without going overboard. It’s difficult, now that you’re
craving.

He whines, hips no longer rolling, but legs and ass starting to thrust.

Finally, god, give it to me, you think.

Hobi’s eyes shut, and then he angles himself on the next thrust to slide inside of you, deep and
hard, making you yelp a bit. He doesn’t wait for you to finish making room for him. He pushes his
way inside, claiming a stake.

“Shit,” he breathes, slamming his palm against the wall now. “Shit, shit.”

As he pumps, his other hand crawls up your side, fondles your breasts, and then reaches for one
end of the sash that is dangling out of the corner of your mouth.

“You ready, hon?” Hobi asks, eyeing you.

What else could possibly be coming?

You nod, and then Hobi takes the corner of the fabric between his index and middle finger,
wrapping the wet fabric around his wrist, moving in a slow circle and drawing the sash out of you
ever-so-slowly.

Where you lose the fabric running against the tissue inside of your mouth and the soft border of
your lips, you soon gain Hobi’s tongue, active and able to respond. You moan into him, and he
kisses you, his tongue threatening to slide past your tonsils.

You hit another good stroke, and you let out a squeal.

At this, Hobi grunts, and he suddenly picks you up and slams you down onto his cock, stepping
forward and pinning your lower back against the wall. He fucks you hard, and fast, grabbing you at
your rib cage and sheathing himself into you before pulling you up and off of him again. Over and
over, faster and deeper, changing up the angles, responding to your moans whenever something
particularly delicious happens, he keeps using you like this, pushing all the way to the hilt on every
pump, sucking on your breasts, neck, lips, anything he can get his mouth around.

Soon, you’re seeing real stars.

It’s a good thing you’d gotten used to not talking and somehow figuring out another way to
communicate, because you definitely cannot talk now.

Gonna come, fuck, you think, whining piteously and wrapping your arms around Hobi’s neck.

He grunts over and over again, voice getting raspier, telling you the same.

He tops out at a relentless pace, slamming into you with such speed and force that you’re sure
someone’s heard you by now. You meet his pace by riding him, climbing up his chest with each
stroke and landing back down on him, hard. You tighten, and when you think you can’t tighten any
more, you tighten again.

Suddenly, his eyes flash open, staring at you, almost in anger, incredulous at how you’re daring
him.

“Fucking come,” he tells you, voice somehow too clear for what’s happening, mind too clearly
understanding that you will be the first to surrender. “Come now.”

You don’t know what happens, exactly. The heat emanating from your core explodes around you,
and you have no choice but to melt into it, succumbing every moment of resistance that your
muscles have been holding. And then, he shudders and lets out a gasp, emptying into you, squirt
after delicious squirt, your liquids meeting and mixing and melding together, slowly dripping down
your tired, aching, twitching thighs.

Hobi holds strong, though, palming your ass and making sure your legs are still firmly around him,
propping you up with his forearms and making a ledge against his torso for you to rest on.

You thank him by kissing the muscles along his shoulder and up his neck, telling him that it’s OK
to relax there at least, resting the flats of your upper arms on them and cradling his face in your
forearms, your hands playing with his hair at his temples.

You line your face up with his, and you kiss him lovingly, with every inch of space in your mind
and heart, forgetting everything else and focusing on giving this man everything you have right
here, in this moment.

“There you are,” he whispers, one hand running up your spine as the other continues to hold you.

“Hobi.”

You place a hand on his chest, over his heart.

You look at him softly. In this moment, it really is just you and him.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Hobi smiles and walks you back into the wall. In all your rocking, you hadn’t
realized that you’d drifted so far. He pins you there as you kiss, and he gently rubs your pussy lips,
walls still clenched so tight around his cock.

And though you technically could have checked this box off a little earlier than this stolen little
moment, the first Hobi-sober thought you have is that Step 2 is complete.

You think it as he helps you back down to your feet, and you feel solid ground underneath you.

A little out of breath, a little flushed, and more than a little embarrassed, you and Hobi sheepishly
help each other get dressed before heading back to the pod, giggling and tickling each other on the
way.

There, you find Yoongi, Jin, and Namjoon hard at work.

“Oh no,” Hobi complains, seeing the speed with which they’re typing. “Don’t tell me.”

“Actually, the work queue isn’t that bad,” Namjoon admits, though his eyes are still glued to his
screen. “Just a lot of minor tickets.”

Yoongi adds to this, punctuating his sentence with a reassuring look at you. “Everything is fine.
There haven’t been any important data breaches.”

Yet, you think, fighting a smirk.

You follow Hobi to his desk, and as he sits down, you quickly dip your hand in and out of your
purse to complete Step 3.
“Oops.” Hobi rises up slightly before turning to see what he almost sat on. He picks up Suk-chin’s
badge and frowns at it. “Oh. Guess he dropped this.”

Jin glances over at Hobi and eyes the badge. “Oh, yeah,” he replies, “Suk-chin came by again
when he realized it was missing.” He finishes typing and then swivels his chair to face Hobi. “We
didn’t see it, but I guess we didn’t check your---”

He notices Hobi’s sweaty temples, and your dewy collarbone. The off-center seams of your dress.
Hobi’s wrinkled, untucked polo shirt. Two sets of flushed, ruddy cheeks.

“---sex!” Jin exclaims.

Namjoon and Yoongi stop typing, and Hobi’s eyes grow into cartoonish circles.

“I mean, uh, your chair. We didn’t check your chair,” Jin replies, eyes darting back and forth across
the room before landing on the ground, and then blazing a trail back to his screen, pupils darkened
and frantic.

“So,” Yoongi chuckles, pausing his work and swiveling to face you both head on, “Hobi gave you
a good tour, then?”

“The VIP tour.” You look back adoringly at Hobi, and though you’re playing it up for effect,
you’ve gotta give it up to him. “Has nice perks.” He always knows what he’s doing in this
department.

Yoongi meets you with a happy nod of approval.

If there were a Step 4 for today, that would have been it, with an extra gold star.

After a flurry of quick, giggly goodbyes, Hobi walks you back to security.

“Be careful driving.”

“I will. I might have to sit a little funny…”

Caringly, you step forward and kiss him on the lips. It’s like your limbs are drawn to his. You’re
surprised at the magnetic pull.

“Mmm,” Hobi sighs. And you catch it when he opens them again. The signature shimmer in his
eyes. You hadn’t realized it had dimmed so much until you see it now.

“That was fun,” you say quietly, and truthfully. You smooth his hair down. “I’m glad I came.”

Hobi snickers, and you slap him on the shoulder, laughing.

“Me too,” he adds. “I’ll see you at home.” Hobi’s voice is the most relaxed you’ve heard in a
while, especially as of late. And it helps to calm you, too. Even with everything you’re about to do,
about to do to him, he somehow tells you that it’ll be alright.

Your voice comes out warm, low, and full without you having to do act. “See you.”

As you hike back to your car, you feel the daze slowly start to fade. Not in a bad way. Just in the
way that happens with everything over time and distance.

You pull your work phone out of your purse and turn it back on to check in with Jungkook.
And you start to feel guilty when you glimpse his last message.

Client 152 (1:23 PM): Lost the feed after that last room, but great job. He really fell
for it.

**

Welcome to the Fall Ball!

Nima’s pretty, maple-colored cursive stretches across the yellow and orange banner, laminated
with dried flowers and leaves and hanging from trunk to trunk at the entrance of the picturesque
park across the elementary school campus.

She steps back to admire her handiwork, grinning at you and Hobi, and peppering kisses all over
Na-young’s face, the little one’s arms wrapped around her neck, and legs wrapped around her
waist.

“What do you think?” Nima asks, as Na-young giggles with each kiss. “Did Mommy do a good
job?”

“Mommy is the bestest!” Na-young celebrates, throwing her tiny hands in the air.

Namjoon is off running around with Nam-gi and Nam-il somewhere behind you. You can hear
their laughter, as Namjoon chases them around.

And Hobi is staring at you with those eyes again.

You punt the conversation with Hobi for later, turning to Nima and saying, “It does look
beautiful,” making her beam with pride.

“Fifth attempt, by hand,” she sighs. “The boys kept knocking the paint cans over.”

“You could’ve just gotten it printed, like always?” you say.

“Yeah, like always.” She smiles a little anxiously. “I don’t know. After seeing how much effort
Gyu-ri put into game night, I felt like I wanted to try doing something the old-fashioned way.”

You fight the frown that’s forming, and luckily, Nima shoving Na-young into your arms helps
distract you from the anger.

“Take her for a sec,” she replies, “I see Jang-mi and Jin with the cupcakes.”

“I can go help instead!” you begin to protest.

But you’re left with no choice, as Na-young is already resting her head on your shoulder as she
clamps her legs around your waist. You sigh and watch as she eyes the collar of your sweater.

Those eyes of Hobi’s widen even more, and his insistent smile burgeons on being creepy.
“Not now,” you say sternly, inadvertently addressing both the conversation and the idea itself.

“Auntie Sena?” Na-young asks.

“Uh, yeah?” you respond awkwardly.

“Mommy says I’ll get these when I grow up.” She pokes at your breast, her tiny, inexplicably
sticky hands starting to dig into your cleavage.

“Whoa, hey, OK there, ‘ya little flirt,” you say, repositioning her away from your chest, “ask for
consent before you do that.”

“What’s consent?” she asks, as you hear someone approaching behind you.

“Oh, hi,” a vaguely familiar woman says, her toddler gripping her hand and shakily waddling next
to her.

“Hi,” Hobi says, as you both turn to face her.

“I was looking for Jang-mi’s booth,” the woman explains, eyeing the empty but decorated table
next to you. “I saw Na-young, so I thought you were Nima and Namjoon at first, but…” She
laughs sheepishly. “Sorry, am I in the right place?”

“Yes, this is Jang-mi’s booth. They’re getting ready to set up,” you say, angling back to reveal Jin,
Jang-mi, Nima, and a cranky Jong-soo making their way from the school parking lot, carrying tons
of batches of cupcakes and other baked goods.

“Great,” she replies, smiling again. “Um, I’m Hei-ran.”

“I’m Hobi, and this is my wife, Sena.” You smile politely, and he grins and places an arm around
your waist, posing with you as you hold Na-young.

You can see him making the Christmas card in his mind already.

“I think we’ve seen you around?” you add. “You look familiar.”

“Yeah, I think we shop at the same grocery store,” Hei-ran observes.

Never forgetting a face, you’ve already clocked her. She’s one of the cretins in your neighborhood
who actually likes honeydew, and you’re surprised that her little one is as big as she actually is.

“I live not too far from here,” Hei-ran goes on. “I help run the daycare at the school, so I’ve met
Jang-mi and Nima.” She crinkles her nose at Na-young’s sweet little wave. “I take it you all know
each other, too?”

“Oh, yeah,” Hobi says. “Jin, Namjoon, and I go way back. Met in college. Work together at Sope.”

Hobi kneels and meets Hei-ran’s little one’s eyes.

“And who’s this?” he asks, making her blush and hide behind her mother’s leg.

“That’s Hyun!” Na-young exclaims happily, making Hyun peek out.

“Hello, Hyun,” Hobi coos, slowly winning her over. He holds out his fingers, and Hyun grasps his
pinky. He shakes his hand up and down, Hyun’s tiny hand following. “How do you do?”
Hyun giggles, and says, “Ow doo?”, bringing smiles to everybody’s faces.

“Where are your little ones?” Hei-ran asks, looking around for more tiny limbs and voices.

“That’s a good question,” Jang-mi teases, as the rest of the present cul-de-sac gang starts to join
you. “We’ve been asking Hobi and Sena that for years!”

Hobi swivels around to face you, with those eyes again.

Everyone centers around Jang-mi’s booth right at the entrance, the beginning of the bake sale
lineup.

“Where’s Hwan?” a blessed Namjoon asks Hei-ran, eyes scanning the line already starting to form.
“Or is he working a shift at the hospital?”

Hei-ran smiles worriedly. “Actually, uh… Hwan and I are…” She reaches out for her daughter,
picks her up, and strokes her hair. “We’re testing out a trial separation. It’s sort of, um, new.”

You meet those eyes of Hobi’s with a look of your own, mentally underlining that part of the kids
conversation. That not everyone is as blissfully happy as Jang-mi and Jin, or Nima and Namjoon.
That it isn’t the perfect picture that he always believes it to be. All he sees are the smiles and happy
introductions. But, though you haven’t tried, you’re pretty sure you can’t fit a bulletproof vest over
a baby bump.

“Oh, wow,” Namjoon tells Hei-ran, surprised. He fails to find something else to say. To someone
as devoted as Namjoon, a trial separation is unthinkable.

“Sorry to hear it, but hoping it works out however it needs to,” Nima replies, equal parts warm and
diplomatic, as Jin and Jang-mi just grin and nod.

The looks on their faces say it all. Another couple bites the dust.

“We’re just here to have a happy day and spend some time together,” Hei-ran says weakly,
bouncing Hyun a little to comfort her. Maybe comfort herself. “Thought we’d start with one of
Auntie Jang-mi’s cupcakes.”

“Well, first ones are on the house!” Jang-mi offers, taking a cupcake and walking over to Hyun,
smiling at her and offering it up.

Hyun’s eyes brighten, and she takes the cupcake with both of her hands, starting to lick the icing.

“Oh, no, I’d be happy to pay,” Hei-ran says, embarrassed.

“It’s tradition,” Jin says warmly, smiling proudly at his wife.

“During training, we were taught to give the first items of the first batch of anything away for good
luck,” Jang-mi explains, wiping some icing off of Hyun’s cheek. Jang-mi reaches back for another
cupcake and hands it to Hei-ran. “They’re peanut butter and chocolate. Pretty sure Hyun doesn’t
have any food allergies, right?”

Hei-ran grins and nods. “Well. That’s very kind of you.” She looks at Hyun. “What do we say to
Auntie?”

“Tank woo,” Hyun babbles, and everyone, even you, can’t help but sigh in disgustingly sweet
admiration.
Hobi gives you another pointed look with those eyes, and you do concede that part of the
argument.

“Thank you,” Hei-ran says again. “C’mon, Hyun. Let’s go chase that down with some apple
cider.”

As they take their leave, you notice that Jang-mi’s pretty much all set up with the bake sale items,
so you set Na-young down to join her parents.

Hobi pulls you in closer and kisses the shoulder that Na-young was resting her head on, the two of
you watching as the two families continue to set up Jang-mi’s booth, even getting the kids involved
with minor tasks. You watch their tiny fingers help put out napkins. Take cash and coins to make
change. Hand over cupcakes, or cookies, or any of the other delicious treats that are bound to sell
out within the first hour.

It’s either brilliant or cruel that every year, Nima has organized the entire event to start with Jang-
mi’s booth at the front. You feel sorry for the bake sale booths that follow, their lines empty, but
you notice their owners taking the chance to enjoy time with their kids and activities at the festival
until their sales pick up.

“So?” Hobi asks, following your eyes as you scan the park grounds.

“Yeah, yeah, kids can be cute,” you say, smirking at his eager expression. “But you don’t have to
carry one in your stomach for nine months.”

“I’m not saying that we should make one tonight,” Hobi laughs. “But this is a big deal, you
actually coming to one of these things.” He hugs you closer to him. “I’m glad to see you enjoying
yourself.”

It’s true that you’ve stayed away from the kids’ school events, but not because you don’t like kids,
though you kind of don’t. You just want to help keep everyone safe. Each time you’d received an
invitation to the Spring Fling or Fall Ball or some other cheesy nonsense, you’d get a flash of
Jimin, or Taehyung, or even Sejin in the crowd and have a panic attack.

You agreed to come tonight because Jong-soo is in the talent show this year, and Jin and Jang-mi
begged you to come support him.

It also serves as a great cover.

You feel better about this particular year, because if something crazy did happen, you potentially
have backup in the form of---

“Jungkook!” Jin calls. “Gyu-ri! Hey! You made it!”

He steps out from behind the booth, still carrying Jong-soo, to stand next to you and Hobi. You
both turn to see Gyu-ri and Jungkook making their way toward you. Jungkook reaches you faster,
as Gyu-ri slows to say hi to some of her students, who are swarming her and greeting her excitedly.

“Aw,” Hobi sighs wistfully, and while you and Jungkook share a knowing look, you turn to find
Hobi meeting you with those eyes again.

“Sorry we’re late,” Jungkook apologizes, first to you, and then to Jin and Hobi, and you’re glad
Yoongi isn’t here to see that. “We just got caught up in a bit of a---”

“Hey!” Gyu-ri gushes, waving animatedly as she joins you. “Aw, everything looks so beautiful! All
the pumpkins and apples and leaves and stuff… so autumn-y!”

“It is called the Fall Ball,” Jungkook mumbles, making you scoff.

Gyu-ri rolls her eyes. “Don’t mind him,” she replies, “he’s in a bit of a mood.” She looks at you
stiffly before adding, “Anyway, I’ll go see if I can help at the booth.”

The rest of you linger, just taking in the sights.

“Well, this one’s in a bad mood for sure,” Jin replies, still carrying Jong-soo in his arms. He holds
out his son, adorably decked out in a tuxedo. “How are you gonna put on a good show with that
frown?”

Jong-soo scrambles to latch back onto Jin’s body.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” Jin asks seriously, pulling him close again. “Aren’t you excited to sing?”

Jong-soo stays frozen.

“Everyone came to see you,” Jin tries, in an attempt to soothe him. “Uncle Yoongi’s even helping
set up your special mic for later.”

Jong-soo kicks his feet and hides his face from view, resting his cheek on his father’s broad
shoulder.

Jin’s eyes meet yours and Hobi’s. “Stage fright,” he whispers, rubbing his poor son’s back.

“Jang-mi said he did so well at the practice earlier,” Hobi encourages.

“Yeah, but I don’t think he knew there were going to be this many people for the real deal,” Jin
replies. “Guess we’ll see how he’s doing when we get closer to time.”

Noticing how sweetly Jin is swaying Jong-soo in his arms, you start to feel the phantom weight of
a small body against yours.

And you get an idea that might help.

“Hey, Na-young, come back over here,” you call, catching her attention.

She checks in with Nima first, who nods and smiles as she scampers over to you.

“Yes, Auntie?”

“Did you know Jong-soo is going to sing tonight at the talent show?”

Na-young beams. “Oh, yes! I was at the practice show today!”

“How do you think he’ll do?”

“Great! He’s a really good singer!”

Jong-soo’s head raises, and he turns shyly over to you and Na-young, curious about your
conversation.

“R-really?” Jong-soo asks quietly, into Jin’s neck.

“Yeah!” Na-young exclaims. She fiddles with the end of her dress. “I clapped for you and yelled
your name, but I don’t think you heard me.”

Jong-soo smiles. “I didn’t.” He kicks his feet again, but differently, in a way that tells Jin that he
wants to get down.

“I like your hair,” Jong-soo says, pointing out Na-young’s pigtails, tied up with pink ribbon.

“I like your, um, this,” Na-young says, poking at his bowtie, the edge of which follows her still
inexplicably sticky fingers.

As the two of them start chatting excitedly, Jong-soo brightening with each word, Jin softens and
sparkles at you, mouthing an appreciative “thank you”.

You’re surprised at how easy that was. Like running a tiny, adorable con.

Hobi stares at you with those eyes like two screaming exclamation points, his sclera narrow
columns, his pupils little dots.

But perhaps more convincing, and satisfying, is Jungkook’s soft, reserved eyes settling into yours,
his lips pulled into a small, admiring smile.

After Jang-mi’s booth sells out in record time, you help pack up all the containers and join Yoongi
at the little stage in the middle of the park. You gather together all your picnic blankets and set up a
home base, relaxing and taking turns with the kids to chaperone them to the arts and crafts stations,
storybook puppet plays, and various games.

When Jong-soo grasps his sparkly white mic and sings his song, Yoongi jumping up and nudging
the parent volunteer at the mixing board out of the way, you can’t help but notice sweet little Na-
young, who seems just as captivated and proud Jin and Jang-mi, the latter of whom cries and
strokes the back of Jin’s head, gloating, “Just like his father,” as the crowd erupts with applause.

As you all welcome first-place winner Jong-soo back to the group with cheers and celebratory
kisses, you all help Jang-mi unpack a veritable feast of cut-up and dried fruits, salads with different
kinds of dressings to choose from, and a huge make-your-own sandwich board for dinner.

“Did you see the girl who came in second place?” Namjoon chuckles quietly. “She was crying so
hard.”

“Her mom was scolding her so badly, too,” Nima complains. “Very Mama Rose.”

“It makes all the difference,” Gyu-ri sighs. “Parents need to have healthy attitudes.”

The words seem to cut Jungkook, who has served as a dart board for every one of Gyu-ri’s passive-
aggressive comments all afternoon.

“Good point,” he says, the bit of edge in his tone signaling that he’s starting to get heated. “I hate it
when parents do that to their kids. In fact, as a general rule, people shouldn’t transfer their personal
stuff onto other people.”

The rest of you exchange tense looks. It happens from time to time, couple disagreements during
hangouts. But this one seems especially strained, and given Gyu-ri’s recent and weird visit, you
and Jungkook are the only ones who seem to know why.

“Parents should at least be transparent, shouldn’t they?” Gyu-ri asks, needling. “With each other,
at the very least.”
Jungkook lets out a pressured laugh. “Yeah, gotta have a lot of trust. Trust that you’re doing what
you say. Trust that you won’t go around telling everybody everything about your private lives.”

Gyu-ri’s eyes snap to yours, and Yoongi’s are quick to follow.

“Until you establish that trust, you shouldn’t have kids,” Jungkook says with finality.

“Fair point,” Gyu-ri replies angrily, slapping some cheese onto her sandwich. “Besides, we don’t
know if you’re going to make a good parent, anyway.”

You see the hurt in Jungkook’s eyes, but right then, before anyone can leap to his defense, his
phone chimes.

When he reaches into his back pocket to check it, Gyu-ri angles to see his screen.

“Work,” he tells her, looking slightly relieved and replacing his phone before she can get a look.
He looks out at the group. “Sorry, everyone, I have to go.”

Though he’s currently dealing with all the kids scrambling and climbing on top of him, Yoongi
looks back over at you. You don’t meet his eyes. Instead, you make it a point to show that you’re
holding your sandwich with both hands, raising it to your mouth, and taking a gigantic bite of food.
As Yoongi’s eyes drift back over to Jungkook and Gyu-ri, you sense that whatever accusatory
questions that were bubbling up in his mind have dissipated.

“Really.” Gyu-ri glares at Jungkook. “Let me see the message.”

Jungkook furrows his brow. “You know I can’t let you.”

Gyu-ri folds her arms. “I guess it really is a good thing that we don’t have kids yet. You’d be
abandoning them every time you got a work call.”

You can’t help your body from tensing, and your fingers start to tear the bread in your sandwich as
they begin to ball up.

“Hey,” Hobi says softly to Gyu-ri, noticing that for whatever reason, this conversation is putting
you off. He looks around at the others, and though the kids are happily harassing Uncle Yoongi,
your friends similarly look kind of miserable.

Gyu-ri softens, and Jungkook frowns.

“He’s right,” Jungkook replies, looking at Gyu-ri. “Let’s not do this now.”

“Well, how am I supposed to get home?” she demands.

Nima pipes up, “We’re all going to the same place.”

Gyu-ri falls silent, staring angrily at the picnic blanket.

“I’ll see you later,” Jungkook tells her.

“Don’t think this gets you out of it,” she says pointedly, eyes rushing up to burn into his. “We’re
talking about this when you get back.”

“Great, can’t wait,” Jungkook scoffs before bidding everyone else an understandably curt
goodbye.
After he walks off, and enough distance has separated him from the group, Nima dusts her fingers
off and looks over at Namjoon. “I think I wanna take a quick walk, stretch my legs.”

“Good idea,” Jang-mi replies, placing her hand on Jin’s shoulder for support to stand.

They look at you expectantly.

Goddammit.

“Um, yeah, me too,” you grumble, setting your sandwich down.

“Gyu-ri, you said that you wanted to go check out one of the jewelry crafting booths?” Jang-mi
asks. “One of your students’ moms is working it?”

“Right,” Gyu-ri says despondently, standing and dusting her pant legs off, away from the food.
“Yeah, let’s go see if she’s still there.”

“Alright then.” Nima looks down at the blankets. “You boys good?”

“Yep,” Namjoon answers dutifully, before Jin protests.

You share a look with Hobi, who just smiles at you. Yes, you’re all good, the smile tells you. But
the eyes, those eyes, tell you that a conversation may also be waiting for you at home, too.

“Let’s go,” you say, jumping to your feet and starting to head further into the park, as Jang-mi,
NIma, and Gyu-ri follow.

All of you move in silence at first, but you see Nima marking the distance you’re traveling by
counting trees along the walking path. You almost hear her mind working.

Eight.

Nine.

Ten.

“What was that about?” she asks as soon as you pass that tenth tree, bringing a small smirk to your
face.

Gyu-ri shrugs. “I don’t know. I just…” She sighs and looks at you desperately.

Fuck, you think. You’re going to have to vouch for her.

“I talked to Sena about it earlier this week,” Gyu-ri replies, shifting the tension onto you.

Nima and Jang-mi look almost offended, but they’re quickly able to refocus on the real point of
this walk.

“Well, what did you talk about?” Jang-mi asks, glancing sideways at you.

“We did talk, but, Gyu-ri, this is your thing. I don’t exactly feel comfortable kicking off the
conversation for you,” you say, bluntly, but fairly.

Gyu-ri huffs in the same way any of your past gal pals did whenever you failed to pick up
whatever secret signal they’d sent you. But Nima and Jang-mi are different. They agree that, with
them, you may be blunt, but you are always fair.
“We don’t have to talk about it, but if you want to, we’re all here to listen, not judge,” Nima offers
gently.

Gyu-ri sighs. “Well. It’s like I mentioned at brunch a few weeks ago,” she begins. “I just don’t get
his work stuff.” She looks at Nima and Jang-mi, sensing that she’ll earn a bit more sympathy from
them. “I don’t know how you do the whole confidential part of your husbands’ work. But maybe
it’s easier for you. Your husbands don’t steal away in the middle of the night.”

Hah. “Steal away,” you laugh, internally.

But then you wonder about the weird atmosphere around Gyu-ri’s visit. How preoccupied she was
with finding out more information about the things that Jungkook was doing, rather than Jungkook
himself. She’s doing a better job of masking it now, you note. Maybe that’s what that first visit
was? A test of some kind?

“Well, I’d hardly call this the middle of the night,” Jang-mi says, noting that the sun has only just
begun setting.

“He just up and leaves,” Gyu-ri complains. “Does Jin ever do that?”

Jang-mi watches her quietly.

Gyu-ri sighs. “I’m sorry. I just wish I could know what he’s up to.”

Though you won’t divulge a thing, you know exactly what he’s up to.

You know that the automated text message that he received says, “Need you down here”, just in
case Jungkook needed an out. It ended up not being necessary, as Gyu-ri kind of set the stage for
an exit, but the message was meant to cover Jungkook in case he couldn’t hide his phone from
Gyu-ri when the time came.

You know that his black skinsuit is already packed, and though this isn’t necessarily mission
critical information, you know that he looks damn good in it.

You know that the suit is nestled against his two Glocks, extra rounds, some rope, and a toolbelt
with tiny screwdrivers, knives, and Allen wrenches.

You know that on top of the folded suit sits a case containing a pair of black glasses with a tiny
camera and flashlight affixed to it, and that when you get home, Jungkook will be able to see your
messages on the left lens, and respond with one tap for No, two taps for Yes on the right.

You know that all of this stuff is a nondescript case in the trunk, in a secret compartment that you
built under the upholstery.

And you know that the car itself is being driven by a khaki and polo-clad Jungkook, a copy of
Suk-chin’s badge with a code set to self-delete in the records a few minutes after being scanned,
the badge itself clipped to the small, inside front pocket, the entire car on its way to the Sope
Industries A-1 lot, to park in a spot where the cameras are down for maintenance.

You hate that you aren’t there with him, partially because you want to see him change into that
skinsuit, and change back out of it.

But mostly because you’re terrified.

This is the riskiest work that you have done since the Sejin job. Adding a body to a job is even
riskier, but you just wish you could be together to see it through.

And you hate that of all the things that you could be doing instead, you’re here, on this stupid,
boring walk in the park.

“Well, we never really know what any of our partners are up to,” Jang-mi replies. “It’s like
Jungkook said. Trust.”

There’s a pit in your stomach that aches. Yes, he has a point. It just turns out to be hypocritical in
this particular case.

“Unless there’s something that’s making you question that trust?” Nima asks, sensing more.

Your heart pounds, wondering if Gyu-ri will let your name slip, the same way it does out of
Jungkook’s mouth in the middle of the night.

“We’ve just been fighting a lot,” Gyu-ri replies. “I don’t know why. I thought that working on the
game night escape rooms would bring us closer. But it’s just been… bad.”

“We have bad slumps from time to time,” Nima replies.

“I know, but… I guess I just want to see if I can learn more about what he’s experiencing. What
he’s going through at work. Maybe that would help me understand.”

Gyu-ri turns to you.

“That’s why I talked to Sena.”

You’re surprised that that’s how your name comes up. With all the reasons to, and with all the
perfect opportunities to, why isn’t she outing you? Is she that desperate? Stupid?

“I mean, out of curiosity… is there anything that you’ve noticed while you’ve worked together?”
Jang-mi asks.

Nima blinks at you, waiting to hear your response.

And that’s when you realize what Gyu-ri is doing. Now, she’s not the only one asking. Pressuring.

Nima and Jang-mi would close themselves off from you if they found out you and Jungkook were,
well, cheating. And Gyu-ri couldn’t get you to budge by herself. Now that it’s coming from a
unified place of support, Gyu-ri has created some sort of special wife task force. A husband
intelligence agency.

But again… why?

As Nima and Jang-mi redirect their attention to you, you swear that you can see Gyu-ri smirking
behind them.

“I told you when you visited, and I’ll say it again,” you reply. “I don’t really know much about his
work. We just keep each other company.”

Nima and Jang-mi exchange a look of their own, and you know that though Nima ends with a soft,
“Don’t worry, Gyu-ri, it’ll all sort itself out,” you know that there will be several conversations
waiting for you after tonight.
**

Hobi grins at you as you enter the bedroom, wearing one of your comfy black silk pajama sets. The
top hangs loose around your frame, and the shorts just graze your thighs as they catch the air in
your stride.

“I thought we said that we weren’t making a baby tonight,” he jokes, watching you from the bed.

You smirk as you put some clean laundry into Hobi’s dresser.

“Come here,” Hobi says softly, straightening and reaching out for you.

You turn to him and roll your eyes before joining him. He leans into you and kisses your neck. You
hear him smelling you, enjoying your fresh laundry scent.

“Is this your way of starting the conversation?” you ask.

Hobi’s lips stop working, merely pressing into your skin at your shoulder. He leans back and looks
into your eyes as you reposition yourself to face him.

“I saw you light up with Na-young and Jong-soo today,” he tells you. “I just want to know if that
means anything more substantial than when we first got together.”

It might, you think. But as you think of Jungkook’s smile, you also wonder if Hobi’s the right
person to consider that with.

“I don’t know,” you choose to say, taking Hobi’s hand in yours. “And if I’m not sure… then I
don’t want to say yes.”

Hobi looks a little sad, but he tries to press on.

“What stops you?” he asks earnestly.

Loving and needing my independence. Not wanting to sacrifice my body any more than I already
have. The constant threat of murder and death.

“The usual stuff,” you say, shrugging. “I’m just not ready.”

Hobi sighs and retreats, leaning back in his spot on the bed. He knows that he’s not getting
anywhere with you tonight, and if the night after a whole day spent with adorable, perfect children
isn’t going to lead to a more serious conversation, then it simply just isn’t the time.

He really only needs to know one thing, anyway.

“Do you think you’ll ever want them?”

His voice is delicate when he asks you, as if trying to make space to catch whatever heavy
response you have and not buckle under the weight.

You purse your lips. “Hobi, we’ve talked about this… Kids are a huge commitment.”
“Marriage is a huge commitment,” he points out. He grins. “And we’ve done that.”

“Yes, but kids are a different type of commitment,” you reply, releasing his hand and getting off
the bed instead of acknowledging that you’ve actually failed at the first.

Hobi wants to tell you not to go, but you say, “I have some work stuff to check up on.”

“Can you do it up here?” he asks hopefully.

You definitely can’t. But you can’t turn Hobi down twice in one conversation. Not when you’ve
made such great headway this week.

“Why?” you ask.

You crawl back onto the bed and smile.

“Will you miss me if I go downstairs?” you purr, letting your top slip down and show your chest.

Hobi licks his lips at the peek at your cleavage, but he frowns slightly when you stop at his hips.

That frown disappears when you gingerly slide your fingers into the waistband of his boxer-briefs,
running along the seam, fingernails grazing his skin.

“I always miss you when you’re not by my side,” he breathes, watching your hands working.

“You’re such a sap,” you comment, pressing your lips to his abdomen, and kissing the faintest trail
of hair under his navel.

He scoots down to lie flat on the mattress. “Hon,” he gasps at your touch, “o-only if you’re, if
you’re sure.”

“Oh, this I’m always sure about,” you say truthfully, sliding his boxers down and taking his length
in your hands.

You lick his shaft, and as you watch Hobi revel in it, you wonder how much longer Jungkook can
lie in wait in the vents before hearing from you.

You want to enjoy whatever time you have left with Hobi, but you have to admit that the thought of
Jungkook in that skinsuit, resting in the vents in silence as your bots send the fake email that will
get Suk-chin to the office in the middle of the night to check on the servers, spurs you on.

“Damn,” Hobi sighs as you slide his stiffening cock into your mouth. He opens his eyes when he
hears wetness that doesn’t quite match up with your tongue, and he bites his lip when he sees your
hand down your shorts, working just as hard. “Shit… Honey…”

You smirk and look up at him, and you feel a thrill as you watch Hobi prop himself up on his
elbows, his head lolling back.

“God, that feels so good,” he sighs, as your eyes take in the sight of his abs crunching.

You close your eyes and imagine Jungkook in an employee bathroom, slipping out of those khakis
and stashing them somewhere like you planned. He has to get completely naked to get into that
skinsuit.

Your throat clenches at all of these thoughts swimming together, and Hobi bucks up, sliding
muscle against muscle. “Fuck, sorry,” he groans, as you move a little farther away from him. But
you take a breath and slide back down, taking his entire length back into your throat, leveling out to
make sure you can press your lips against his hips.

“So deep,” he whines, falling off of his elbows.

You start to pump your throat, watching Hobi squirm, and imagining Jungkook slithering through
those vents, both sets of hips moving so gracefully.

Your own hips start to grind, and soon, you don’t even need your hand. The corner of your
mattress works just as well when you’re this aroused, clit stretching out for anything that it can use.

Now free, both of your hands focus on Hobi’s thighs, maybe less muscular and defined as
Jungkook’s, but strong in their own right. You rake your fingers up and down the smooth, soft
skin, drawing red lines like the ones that Hobi smacked into your flesh, and the ones the thicker
layers of the tight skinsuit might be imprinting on Jungkook’s body.

You fight the impulse to get the cane, or any other toy out of The Arsenal. The only arsenal that
you should be focusing on now is the one that will ease Hobi to sleep, and free you up for the rest
of the night.

Tongue folding. Teeth grazing. Tonsils closing. Throat clenching.

They all work overtime. You close your eyes and force yourself to take as much as you can, soon
hearing animalistic grunts floating out of Hobi’s mouth. “Hon,” he whines, grasping the sheets
underneath him, his entire body sweating, “what the fuck… God…”

Tears are forming at his eyes, and you know he’s close. You need something that will take him
over the edge. Something that will really tire him out.

You flatten your palms and slide them under his ass on the mattress, and he moans at your touch,
not expecting you to be there.

He shivers when he feels your finger circling around his hole, and as you start to ease him open, he
bolts straight up to look down at you, his weight uncomfortable on your wrists.

“Wait, hon, are you sure you--- I didn’t prep or---”

You plunge the tip of your finger inside, and he howls, shaking as you feel for his prostate, and his
weight lifts from your wrists as he flattens the soles of his feet and raises his ass into the air.

Your mouth moves with him, each direction that his hips buck leading to some kind of incredible
bliss. Upwards, into your mouth. Downwards, onto your finger. And soon, fingers, as he widens for
you to pleasure him more.

“Sen,” he moans. Anything other than “honey” means he’s really about to explode. “Baby, I---
ooh, fuck---”

You stroke the bulb of tissue, hypnotizing it, Hobi delirious with pleasure as you work. Unable to
form words, he resorts to pained grunts and whines, clenching as many muscles for you, helping
you make it easier for him to get there.

Seeing him like this.

Completely surrendered.
You’re going to miss it.

You stroke his cock with your throat even harder, even deeper, tongue lapping up as much liquid as
you can collect to redistribute it along his shaft. As if there were a lack. Everything is so wet,
sliding so easily in and out of you.

Then, a spurt, and Hobi’s incredible voice.

More spurts, more juices.

Hobi’s very bones shaking as he comes.

He thrashes and rolls onto his side, slipping out of you. But your lips chase him, and you kiss his
still-hard cock as it continues emptying into your sheets.

“B-baby,” he moans, “that’s enough, god, it feels, that’s---”

“Not yet,” you say roughly. “I know there’s more.”

Weak, he opens his eyes and bites his lip at the sight of you kissing his thigh and hip, letting his
cock scream over and over again before resting, hand still working at the muscle in back, your own
hips working against that mattress corner.

“I’m close,” Hobi warns. “Close… so close… Fuck, that feels so good… I just--- Honey, I--- Fuck-
-- H-hon, babe!”

He comes again, sighing and moaning, grunting as his entire body pulses, his hands reaching out
for you, and your free hand meeting him. You lock your fingers together, and you smile and kiss
his thigh as he rides the wave, your hand stroking his ass, and the skin leading to his exhausted,
weeping cock.

“Honey,” you whisper, as you plant a kiss on his thigh. “Hobi. I love you. I love you.”

Others would find that foul. But you know in your heart that you mean it.

“L-love you,” Hobi sighs, blown away by what he could have done to deserve this. To deserve
you. “Fuck. Honey. I love you.” He doesn’t know that this is a consolation prize.

Tears stream from your eyes as you smile, and you force a chuckle to rid yourself of the guilt.

“Hon,” Hobi sighs, trying to summon the energy to pull you close.

“Rest, honey. Just the first round,” you whisper.

He nods, and almost immediately, he sleeps.

You can’t look at your reflection in the mirror.

So you focus on washing up, and taking a warm washcloth to clean up a completely blacked-out
Hobi, smiling to yourself as he snores. If you have to deceive him, then the least you could do is
make sure he has a good time.

Once done, you tiptoe back down to the basement, pussy still twitching and hoping for release.

You (10:41 PM): Is everything OK?

 Client 152 (10:41 PM): YES

You (10:42 PM): Is he there?

Client 152 (10:42 PM): YES

Poor Jungkook, ever a victim of timing. Though the cul-de-sac gang had taken the day off, Sope
Industries was still hustling and bustling. Jungkook had to blend in, getting there before the end of
the day so as not to stick out from the crowd. He then had to change and wait in the vents until
most people were gone, and the rest of the plan could be set in motion. You imagine him trying his
best not to make any noise, desperately working not to fall asleep, his snores potentially giving him
away.

You open the video feed and see Jungkook peering down from the vents, an enraged Suk-chin
gesturing wildly while he’s on the phone. This camera is a bit bigger than the pin camera that
you’d installed and have since removed from your necklace, so you reach for your headphones to
listen to the audio.

“---send me in to see what’s wrong?” you catch Suk-chin complaining.

There’s a pause as he listens, and then, “Well, if there’s no flag in the system, then why the hell am
I here in the middle of the night? Get one of the fucking lackeys to do it! One of those IT idiots,
like Min Yoongi or whatever!”

Pause.

“Yes, I’m literally in the server room now! I drove all the way down here, and it seems fine!”

Another pause.

“What, and ignore an email from C-suite? I’m telling you, I got an email!”

Another pause, and you catch Suk-chin scratching his balls again.

“I already forwarded it to you! God, you know what? Tell those executive leadership shitbags that
this is fucking ridiculous! I was in bed with my girlfriend!”

Suk-chin sighs angrily before interrupting whoever he’s speaking to on the phone.

“I had to sneak back into the house to get my badge, Jum! My wife thinks I’m on a business trip!
What if I had gotten caught?”

“Ugh,” you mutter to yourself.

You (10:43 PM): Can you believe this guy is married?

Client 152 (10:43 PM): NO

Client 152 (10:43 PM): NO

Client 152 (10:44 PM): NO

You stifle a laugh. You can only imagine the earlier part of the conversation, the part that
Jungkook alone had to endure. But you also recognize that you, Jungkook, and Suk-chin may have
more in common than you think.
Suk-chin leaves the server room, cutting off the lights, and cueing you to lean forward in your
chair.

Time to work.

You (10:45 PM): Clear?

Client 152 (10:45 PM): YES

You (10:45 PM): Go for install.

Having already loosened the vent screen, Jungkook slips silently into the pitch-black room, his
flashlight barely standing out from the blue and white dots on the servers themselves. He hangs
down from the rope and softly lands on the floor, shoes covered in shower caps to keep from
leaving any kind of trace, no matter how uninformative it may turn out to be in the end.

He searches with gloved hands to find the ports that you’ve identified on the system map as the
most useful points of entry, and he plugs in the first flash drive.

A new window pops up onto one of your screens, and you look over to see your script running
through all sorts of Sope Industries information. There’s a varying degree of range and usefulness.
Patents filed. Patents approved. Patent drafts with in-jokes between employees. Emails and
schematics. Plans for a new wing for the building. Plans for an employee’s surprise birthday party.
Plans for a slideshow presentation that seems ugly, dry, and terrible.

You capture it all, but your job won’t be done until you find the defense contract.

Jungkook works with you, planting multiple flash drives to make your scan go faster.

And then, a new window pops up, your script listing top potential hits.

As you turn to the side monitor to see it, your eyes settle on that cheesy picture of you and Hobi on
your desk. You imagine it on his desk, just behind the container of lamb curry that you delivered to
him.

Heart hurting slightly, you re-focus on the task at hand.

You quickly comb through the first dozen or so hits, but they’re all referring to contracts drawn up
to address legal defenses.

Soon, though, one hit catches your attention.

It’s a series of plans and models for a new type of drone. Increased flight speed and time. Increased
protection from known flight scanners and radars. And increased accuracy when deploying a
weapon.

The entire project is valued at $2 billion.

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself.

You wait for the downloads to finish, and you quickly make copies on several private servers of
your own.

You (12:19 AM): We got it. Bail.

 Client 152 (12:19 AM): YES

You watch as Jungkook swipes all of the flash drives and stuffs them into a compartment on his
tool belt. He scans the area before climbing back up the rope. He does it with such ease, and you
can’t help but purse your lips and stare.

As he nears the vent, you send him another check in.

You (12:25 AM): Wait, look down.

Jungkook looks down, fearing he’s missed something. He hasn’t. You just want a close-up of his
taut body in that skin suit. And you get an eyeful.

You (12:26 AM): God. You look so hot in that.

You hear a faint scoff on the audio, and his glasses shake slightly.

Client 152 (12:27 AM): YES

Giggling to yourself, you watch as Jungkook disappears into the vents and starts to crawl back the
way that he came. You check the camera feeds from the parking lot and confirm that there are still
quite a few night shift employees in the building, and that the security shift change is still
happening at 1 AM.

Jungkook should be safe for now.

But it’s you that you’re suddenly worried about.

At the sound of unfamiliar feet shuffling by the door, you close down your screens and bring up
your nonsensical real estate graphs.

You reach for your Sig Sauer in your drawer, careful not to draw it unless you really have to.

Is it someone from Sope? How could they have found you and gotten to you so quickly? What
tracers could they have been using?

Your heart pumps in your chest, and when you hear footsteps that are too close for comfort, you
whirl around in your chair and aim your Sig Sauer.

Right between Yoongi’s surprised eyes.

 The Switcheroo
Chapter Notes

Thank you so much for reading along with me. I have so loved your comments and
feedback, and I hope you know how special this particular writing experience has
been! I have so enjoyed writing The Cul-de-Sac Cons, and I've cried a total of 5 times
while writing this last chapter. One cry for each chapter, I guess. To keep the vibe
going, check out this playlist that I made for it, with songs meant to tell the story from
the beginning (maybe listen to it while you read the whole thing from the start, who
knows):

The Cul-de-Sac Cons Playlist

Again, thank you so much for checking this story out. Hope you enjoy

You aren’t sure what to say. Where to begin. You know Yoongi hasn’t been there for long. You’re
pretty sure he didn’t see anything incriminating.

Except maybe, y’know, the gun that you’re aiming at him.

“Why do you keep entering my home unannounced?” you demand, annoyed.

“Do you really need to point that at me?” Yoongi asks a little nervously.

“Instead of just pointing it, I can start using it,” you reply, adrenaline pumping and bringing you
out of your chair, backing Yoongi up a little. “What are you doing here? It’s late, and Hobi’s
already asleep.”

Yoongi frowns slightly at your quiet, threatening tone. “I know. He ate a lot at dinner and had a
really full tummy, so I stayed quiet so that I wouldn’t wake him.”

How delightful. Even when facing death, Yoongi finds a way to sound patronizing.

And still cares so much about Hobi’s tummy.

“How about instead, maybe don’t break in during the middle of the night, smartass,” you hiss.

“Technically didn’t break in.” Propelled by a shocking amount of audacity given the situation,
Yoongi’s eyebrow soars into an arch as he adds, “Used my key like last time.”

You widen your stance, planting your feet and resolve firmly in the ground beneath you. “You
really wanna be fucking around like this, Yoongles?”

He looks you right in the eye. “You’re one to talk.”

Scowling, you cock the gun.

“OK, OK, OK, listen,” Yoongi rushes, “I actually came here looking for you.” He waves his
empty palms at you. “I don’t mean any trouble. I promise.”

Yoongi reaches for his pocket, and you double-down on your aim, raising your free hand to bolster
your grip. He freezes quickly, meeting your eyes again, and slowly returns to his original position,
hands up, palms flat and facing you.

“Sorry,” Yoongi whispers, “easy, OK? Easy. It’s just me,” and it dawns on you that even though he
seems a little scared, he also seems weirdly accepting of the fact that you, his best friend’s wife, his
friend and neighbor, and a realtor, no less, are one fast-twitch muscle fiber flex away from ending
his life.

He looks almost as if he expected to be in your crosshairs.

As if he prepared for this.

You keep staring at him with furrowed brow, impossible decision after impossible decision
running through your mind. Apart from Hobi, and probably at least some of the children, of all the
people on the cul-de-sac you might have had to kill in your inevitable escape, you really wanted to
spare Yoongi.

“I found something out,” he says urgently, clearing his throat before continuing, “I just want to talk
to you about it,” while adding hastily, “and, I swear, I’m on your side.”

So many moments have been leading up to this. His wisecracks and asides. The last time he snuck
in. You knew things were going to come to a head at some point, but this conversation is quickly
taking a different path than the one you’d charted in your minds. What might’ve been him
approaching you about your infidelity has turned into Yoongi declaring his loyalties to you.

He doesn’t know that, depending on what information he’s got, his loyalty may not matter.

Yoongi’s pupils follow your finger as it carefully threads around the trigger.

“What is it that you think you found out?” you demand.

“I can show you! My phone! I was going for it in my pocket!” His voice comes out too bright, tight,
quick, and pressured, like tense, fast snare drum hits crashing and falling over themselves.

“Try me. Go for your pocket again and I’ll shoot you. I mean it.”

“Well, I mean it when I say that you’re gonna wanna see this,” he mumbles, and you don’t miss or
particularly like the sass in his voice. Between the tension of the gun still aimed at the bridge of his
nose and the weight of the importance of whatever is in the front pocket of his jeans, Yoongi
seems like he doesn’t know how to corral his energy. He’s almost starting to lose patience, and you
don’t know if you respect that swagger, or find it irritating enough to go ahead and make one of the
impossible decisions that has just rifled through your brain.

“What is it?” you ask.

“A video.”

“Of what?”

“Just let me show you,” Yoongi sighs, getting antsy. “I mean, damn, if you would just listen to me,
you would’ve seen the whole clip by now. If you’re gonna keep asking questions like this, I’d
actually prefer that you kill me.”

“Can you blame me for being cautious after you’ve snuck in here, twice?” you ask, the earlier
sound of his footsteps echoing in your mind and sending a chill that penetrates to your bones. “You
scared the shit out of me! I thought you were---”

Yoongi stares at you, hanging on your unfinished sentence.

“Who?” he asks finally, a devilishly curious glint in his eye. He braves a small step forward. “Who
did you think I was?”

Be more careful, you chide yourself, frowning, and eyes narrowing. God, be more fucking careful.

“I really don’t know what this is, or what it means,” Yoongi admits. “Can I just show you the
damn thing?”

“Fine,” you say. “Take your phone out. Slowly.”

His right hand gently dips into his pocket and delicately slides his phone out, index and middle
finger straddling the plastic and glass before curling the entire thing into his palm. He glances at
you to check that it’s alright to keep going before unlocking his phone and pulling up the video.

And then he turns the screen toward you.

You see Gyu-ri on her cell phone, pacing back and forth in her and Jungkook’s master bedroom.

“I’m not getting anywhere with him,” she complains. “It’s really frustrating.”

“What is this?” you ask, looking back at Yoongi, completely confused.

“Shh!” Yoongi urges, waving his phone screen at you. “Listen!”

Gyu-ri sits on her bed and sighs. “Honestly, at this point, I just want out. I don’t care how.”

There are worse things that could have happened in this moment, and you know that. Yoongi could
have been violent. Or it could have been someone else. Someone who could have really done some
damage. Someone who could have harmed Hobi. Those are all worse fates than this. But it still
doesn’t feel great to listen to the wife of the man you’re essentially having an affair with lament
her marital troubles and resulting existential exhaustion.

“This is private,” you say, shaking your head, but keeping your eyes squarely on Yoongi. “I don’t
know what you’re trying to do here.” You frown. “And I definitely don’t want to know how you
even got this video.”

Yoongi steps toward you again, eager to keep your attention.

“I said, listen!”

He reaches for your gun and places the barrel on his forehead, eyes wild.

Desperate.

Recognizing that your finger is way too close to the trigger than it should be, you try to calm your
nerves from being surprised like that by him, just long enough to readjust your grip to something
less lethal.
Yoongi shoves his phone screen right in front of your face.

You pick back up with Gyu-ri’s conversation at, “Fuck it, I don’t know, do whatever you did for
Cho’s team.”

She kicks up her heels and sighs. “Yes, I’m sure he’s gone. We got into an argument before this
neighborhood event thing at the school, and then he got some kind of work text. Probably more
low-level petty shit that we can’t prove and can’t pin him on.”

She wiggles her toes in the satin of her bedsheets. “So, now would be a great time for an extraction.
Just sayin’.”

These words. Especially in Gyu-ri’s voice. It all feels wrong. Off.

A brief pause, and then, “I already tried pushing the mistress but didn’t get anything.”

Your cheeks get hot, and you notice Yoongi holding the phone a little lopsided to observe your
reaction.

But Gyu-ri’s voice is all you can really focus on. She laughs and says, “Oh, no, don’t get me
wrong. They’re definitely fucking. He can’t keep his mind or hands off of her. But as far as the
case, she clearly isn’t tied to Sejin in any way. And I’m telling you, I don’t think Jungkook is
either.”

The chambers of your heart collapse, and you feel like your basement is closing in on itself.

You stumble backwards and land in your chair, but your gun stays pointed at Yoongi’s torso, just
in case. He stands over you, still holding his phone. When you peer up at him, you notice a small,
circular indent at the top of the bridge of his nose, and you’re glad that’s all there is.

How dangerously close you were to putting a bullet there instead.

Gyu-ri crosses one knee over the other, and her pedicured foot starts twirling in the air.

“This well has dried up. It was a great lead, but listen to the chief and reset.”

Gyu-ri listens for a moment, but then seems to interrupt.

“But it’s all still only circumstantial. Yes, the car was registered in his name, and it was parked
along the mapped alternate path. But so what?”

She waits, and then, she rolls her eyes.

“See? We have nothing on him. Maybe that’s all it was. Some dude’s parked car.”

Sitting up, she adds, “Might not have even belonged to him by that point. Looked like a real
clunker.”

And then she sighs, bothered. “Y’know, every time we rented or bought a car, he always went for
the ugliest ones with the best safety ratings. He kept asking questions about airbags and the
strength of the frame. Always sounded like a dad. Can’t believe he never wanted kids.”

You bite your lip.

And then you see Gyu-ri frown and fuss. “Fuck you, Ahn! I’d make a wonderful mother!”
You look up at Yoongi, and you notice that he’s been watching you closely. Not with judgment. Or
even rage. Both of which would be well-warranted.

But with genuine concern.

The video cuts out as Gyu-ri continues to squabble.

You lean back in your chair and look at Yoongi, dumbfounded.

“Now, please, just tell me what’s really going on,” Yoongi says softly.

But you still aren’t sure if you can.

You take the phone from him and look around your desk. When you spot your cold mug of coffee,
you immediately dunk the phone inside.

“Aw,” Yoongi complains. “That was just mean.”

“How’d you get that video?” you ask, shifting in your seat, but keeping your gun aimed at him.

“Game night,” Yoongi explains, freezing and showing his empty palms to you again. “The escape
rooms. I was in their room with Jin.”

It seems to check out. You’d noticed that the angle of the camera in the video does match what the
vantage point would be from Jungkook and Gyu-ri’s wedding photo. You imagine Yoongi picking
up all those items and asking Jin if they were clues.

And then you imagine him hastily affixing tiny camera after tiny camera to each of them.

“You just happened to have a bunch of pinhole cameras lying around?” you press.

Yoongi shrugs. “Bought a couple from some store online.” He mumbles the rest. “It was a good
deal.”

Nothing odd there, you guess. These cameras aren’t too hard to come by.

“Why did you bug their room in the first place?”

At this, Yoongi grimaces. “You know why.”

The words thump against your thick skull. You feel miserable, and Yoongi feels guilty. What
would that conversation have even looked like? Yoongi would have, what, sent whatever video he
thought he’d get of you and Jungkook to the original group chat? Showed it to Hobi at work?
Played it for Hobi on his giant projector screen?

“I don’t care about that anymore, though,” Yoongi adds, trying to make it right, “given what I just
saw.”

Can you trust him? He can be so hard to read. That, plus his unfailing logic, has made your fingers
twitchy. In fact, you’re kind of glad that you didn’t choose him as your target after all. You would
have been forced to pack your go bag much sooner. Your entire sham marriage would’ve just been
stalemate after stalemate, exactly like this, until the eventual end.

“You wearing a wire?” you ask.

Yoongi rolls his eyes.

“Well, I’m convinced,” you say sarcastically.

Yoongi furrows his brow at the insinuation that he’s been anything but honest.

Raising your eyebrows, you aim your gun a little more seriously now.

Yoongi starts to grumble as he raises his hoodie to show you his bare chest.

It’s not enough to wipe the skeptical look off your face. And when he sees that look still on your
face, he throws off his hoodie and shirt and rotates 360 degrees, arms stretched out at his sides.

You shrug.

“C’mon, really?” Yoongi replies. “You already ruined my phone, and that’s probably what I
would’ve recorded on instead of a fucking wire because we’re in the 21st fucking century. Fuck.
You’re being so difficult.”

“What if I am?” you ask. “Why come to me at all? Why not go straight to the cops? To Gyu-ri?”

“And what? Show them that I illegally recorded them? Interfered with a possible investigation?”
Yoongi asks. “I mean, yeah, I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, but those pigs have locked
people up for much less.” His eyes narrow. “Then again, you’d like it if I got locked up, wouldn’t
you?”

“No,” you answer truthfully.

But it’d certainly solve all my immediate problems, you think.

“How do I know you haven’t gone to them already?” you ask.

“I’d rather die than snitch,” he insists. “Besides, Gyu-ri kinda, well, sucks.”

You smirk, but you shove down the accompanying snort.

Annoyed and frustrated that even that confession about his opinion of Gyu-ri won’t get you to ease
up, Yoongi unzips his pants and furiously steps out of them, doing another, quicker, 180-degree
turn for you. “See? I’ve got nothing on me. So can you please fill me the fuck in?” His voice gives
away his impatience again. “I literally just got this footage. She might even still be on that call.”

Your chest threatens to buckle under the fond laugh you’re suppressing. You can’t help but smirk
at the sight of Yoongi’s spherical ass in a pair of apparently standard Cul-de-Sacks group-issued
Calvin Klein boxer-briefs. He’s got a toned body and impressive build, and there’s something
endearing about the added quirk of his ever-present digital watch strap sitting too long on his slim
wrist. It’s been a while since you’ve gotten to serve the slightly sadistic side of you that keeps you
doing the work that you do. Oddly satisfying, seeing Yoongles in a position like this, you think.

If he wasn’t angry before, Yoongi’s definitely angry now, glaring at you for having the gall to have
any laughter to stifle, given the circumstances. You’re glad he let go of your gun. If he still had it
in his hands, he might’ve shot you with it.

“Are you enjoying this?” he interjects. “What kind of sick fuck are you?”

“I mean, you did jump straight to stripping to prove a point.” A small, amused puff of air escapes
your nostrils. “You’re usually so… I don’t know, neutral?” You gesture lazily with your gun to
Yoongi’s underwear. “Anyway, how do I know there isn’t anything in there?”

Yoongi starts to turn red, though you don’t know if it’s because he’s raging or blushing.

And then he reaches for his waistband.

“Wait, Yoongi,” you chuckle, as Yoongi freezes mid-bend and locks his wide eyes with you.
“Jesus. I was only kidding.”

He straightens. “Stop wasting my time. You know why I’m here. I just want to know that Hobi is
OK. And I’d do anything to make sure of it.”

Yoongi’s eyes start to look a little glassy. Worried.

And then you remember that you have a fucking loaded gun in your hand, you psychopath.

You lean forward in your chair and rub your tired eyes. “Ah, fuck, Yoongles. I’m sorry. Get
dressed. I’ll make some fresh coffee.”

“How do I know you won’t poison it or something?” Yoongi asks, furiously stepping back into his
jeans and, if he’s being honest, feeling a little stupid.

“Poison?” you repeat, chuckling.

“Or whatever secret spy shit is going on.” Yoongi squints at you before quickly pulling on his shirt
and hoodie, rushing to reduce the amount of time he doesn’t have eyes on you to as short of a gap
as possible.

“I’m not a spy,” you say, trying to remember how serious this actually is to keep from laughing at
Yoongi’s resulting static-y hair floof. “Seems like you might fancy yourself one, with all these new
cameras to play with.”

Yoongi frowns at you.

“Fine. Just sit down. I won’t make any coffee. I was just trying to be nice anyway,” you grumble.

Yoongi finishes adjusting his clothes before sitting in the chair that Jungkook usually sits in when
he’s working with you, and it feels weird to be aiming a gun in that direction.

Now, sitting face-to-face, in the middle of another stalemate stare-down, Yoongi notices a little
blue dot flashing in the taskbar on your otherwise blank screen.

“What’s that?” he asks.

You look back to your monitor. “Just a message,” you say blithely, swiveling around to face
Yoongi, grabbing your work phone as you turn. “Let me answer it.”

Instead of checking the message on your computer, you use your free hand to open the message
from Jungkook on your work phone, keeping Yoongi’s eyes clear of any actual information that
would implicate him, and keeping your hold on your gun in case he forgoes your lenience and
decides to try something.

Client 152 (1:03 AM): Almost home.

 Client 152 (1:03 AM): Please still be up.

Client 152 (1:03 AM): And please still be horny.

You smirk again, but then you suck your inner cheeks into your mouth, biting down on all the
tissue that your teeth can pin together. Once you get yourself settled, you sigh and text a quick
answer.

You (1:04 AM): I’m up, but I’m in the middle of something.

Client 152 (1:04 AM): Aw, come on.

Client 152 (1:05 AM): I can put the body suit back on?

You (1:05 AM): Let’s just regroup tomorrow, like we planned.

You look over at Yoongi intending to at least listen to some of his questions, but then you
remember something you’d like to add.

You (1:05 AM): Bring the body suit with you.

As you set your phone back down, Yoongi huffs impatiently.

“What?” you ask, annoyed.

“I don’t know,” he mutters, “I guess I’m just mad that I’m in the middle of this now.”

“No one asked you to come here, or buy spy cameras, or ask questions, or run your fucking
mouth,” you point out, stressed.

Yoongi shakes his head. “I don’t like this. I don’t like that you sound different.” He takes you in,
stooped over, holding a gun, somewhat lazily, as if you’ve been handling guns your whole life, as if
it’s a mere extension of your hand. “I don’t like that I don’t actually know who you are.”

“Is anybody who they say they are?” you ask.

“Don’t philosophize. I need specifics here,” Yoongi replies. He tilts his head. “You’re obviously
not a realtor.”

You stay silent.

“Your name isn’t Sena?”

Again, you stay silent.

Yoongi’s kind heart shudders in its permanent home on his sleeve. “And you never loved Hobi?”

Your own heart aches at the question.

Is that what Yoongi’s concerned about?

Your frame deflates a bit. “I did.” Your smile goes crooked. “I do.” Your smile shoots an
incandescent beam of sunlight into Yoongi’s eyes. “I love him, very much.”

Yoongi seems comforted by your genuine voice and willingness to answer this question. And
you’re starting to think that Yoongi might be more of an open book than his exterior seems to let
on. Even with his cooler demeanor, he’s at least always been honest.

“Then… I guess that’s all I need to know,” Yoongi decides.

You fold your arms and lean forward in your chair.

“You mean you broke into---”

“Technically didn’t break in.”

“---my home, in the middle of the night, just to ask me if I love my husband?” you demand.

Yoongi shoves his hands in his pockets and leans back in his seat. “No,” he admits. He softens a
little. “I meant that was all I needed to know to decide whether or not to trust you.”

You think of Hobi, upstairs, wrecked, probably smiling in his sleep like he sometimes does. Does
he truly know how loved he is? Can he feel it, even with all of the ridiculous acts you’ve been
committing behind his back?

You set your gun down on your desk behind you, next to your work phone. And this seems to ease
the tension straining Yoongi’s face.

“I do have other questions,” Yoongi says, a little warmer now, and bringing you back to the room.

“Won’t answer them all,” you warn.

“Then I’ll take what I can get.” Yoongi folds his lips inward as he thinks about what to ask you
first. “Your past. Obviously, Jungkook is part of it.”

You remain silent and motionless.

“OK,” Yoongi says with immediate acceptance, “well, then, so what’s this thing going on with
Gyu-ri?”

“Dunno,” you reply truthfully.

Yoongi looks a little worried. “I mean, what are we talking about here? She said something about
petty, low-level shit. What does she mean? Are we talking misdemeanors? Felonies?”

You turn to stone, unyielding.

“Are we in any danger?” Yoongi clarifies, his voice weighty.

“No,” you say firmly. “Hobi’s not in danger. You’re not in danger. You’re safe.” And you believe
it. If you were in any real danger, you know that Gyu-ri wouldn’t be asking her team to extract her.
And even before it came to that, you would absolutely take it upon yourself to handle whatever
situation would arise.

“Then why that call?” Yoongi asks. “Who is Sejin?”

You freeze, even holding your breath, unwilling to give anything real away. Not out of
stubbornness. But out of care.
Yoongi settles into himself, and suddenly, he looks exactly like the Yoongi you’ve always known,
and you look like the Sena he’s always known, the two of you now just chatting as good friends.

“You’re trying to protect me, aren’t you?” he asks, tilting his head, the realization equally
frustrating and heartwarming to him. “All of us?”

You do not bend easily, and you certainly will not bend to Yoongi, but you get the impulse to give
him a hug in that moment for finally understanding. For being the only one who understands.

Then again, you are undeserving of Yoongi’s concern. You may be trying to protect them, but
you’re still the one who brought all of this nonsense into their lives.

Yoongi shows his empty palms to you again as he slowly rises to his feet.

“OK. I’m done asking questions.”

He shoves his hands into his pockets, which you already know are empty, from the way his clothes
lightly fell to the floor.

“I’ve got carpool duty tomorrow,” he replies. “Should probably head home and sleep.”

You nod, and then you watch Yoongi walk back up the stairs to leave.

When he gets midway, you find yourself calling, “Yoongi?”

He turns around, his hand resting on the banister.

“It’ll be over soon,” you tell him quietly. “I promise.”

Yoongi watches you, not quite sad, but sad for you. And sad for Hobi. Still unsure of what this
means. And, unbeknownst to you, continuing to worry as he lopes home, through the night.

**

The gun range is empty yet again, but given that it’s so early in the morning, that really shouldn’t
surprise you. In fact, the range doesn’t officially open for another hour or so, but Mr. Hak insists
that instead of waiting together in your parked car, that you and Jungkook both come inside and get
started with whatever it is that you want to do.

“And if you’re doing some outside practice,” a grumpy, sleep-deprived Mr. Hak tells you, “you
can play around with these if you want.”

He hands you a couple packs of fireworks, some as tiny as bang snaps, and one good-sized M-80.

“Are you selling these now?” you ask, as Jungkook’s eyes widen with delight, and giggles dribble
out of his grin.

“Some stupid kids set these off on my porch last night,” Mr. Hak grumbles. “They didn’t all
explode. I’m trying to get rid of them, and I don’t want to put them in the trash in case they come
back for them.”
You roll your eyes. “Fucking kids.”

“I know, right?” Mr. Hak replies as he signs you both in.

You head outside to the outdoor targets, clearly alone for miles. Jungkook runs into the field and
giggles like a child, setting a few of the fireworks off while you’re attempting to put the sniper rifle
together.

“Hey!” you cry out, trying to get his attention before he sets off the entire pack.

“What?”

“C’mon. We’re not just here to shoot. We need to talk.”

Jungkook clutches the rest of the fireworks in his hands and drags his heels on his walk back to you
at the bench.

But his youthful demeanor disappears when you show him the video on Yoongi’s phone.

“Why are there grains of rice stuck to the screen?” Jungkook asks. “And why does it smell like
coffee?”

“Just hang on,” you say, searching for the file, having already broken into the phone and reset it to
its factory settings.

Jungkook’s eyes grow wide when he sees Gyu-ri, and the inside of their master bedroom.

“What the fuck??” Jungkook sneers, furrowing his brow, snippets of your incoherent rambling on
the drive over helping him put the pieces together quickly. “That little shit.”

“I know, he’s really too fucking clever for his own good.”

“He really thought he’d catch us?” Jungkook mutters, teeth clenching. He takes the phone, still in
your hands, but moves it closer to his eyes. “As if we’d be stupid enough to actually fuck in one of
our beds?”

“Well, I don’t know if we’re geniuses,” you point out. “I almost murdered my friend last night, and
you just now found out that your wife is a cop.”

Jungkook turns pink and lets go of the phone. “I---” His mouth curves into a tiny frown. “What was
I supposed to do? Run a background check on her alias? I know it was all just pretend for me, but-
-- I don’t know--- this whole thing is fucking with me--- I don’t even know if Gyu-ri is her real
name?”

“So you can imagine how much this is going to hurt,” you say patiently, taking Jungkook’s hand in
yours and looking at him meaningfully.

You’re feeling nervous, but Jungkook could already tell by the way your breaths are staggered, like
you need to think to breathe. You’ve really wanted to avoid having this heart-wrenching
conversation. You and Jungkook need to discuss your exit strategy, something Jungkook was
always going to have an easier time with, and, after seeing this video, feels completely detached
from now.

But for you…

For you, it was always going to be difficult, and it isn’t until now, now that you’re on the brink of
having that discussion, that you realize how hard leaving the cul-de-sac, leaving Hobi, will truly
be.

“Maybe we delay?” you suggest hopefully. “Just until Gyu-ri’s fully out of the picture? Make it a
slow fade?”

Jungkook looks at you tenderly.

“You said that if we did this, we’d have to move quickly,” he reminds you. “That we can’t hold
onto this info and just stay here. We’re sitting ducks.” He places his hand on your cheek. “I know
this is going to be difficult. But take a second. Think. What’s best?”

You imagine the teams that Sope Industries will soon be mobilizing. Once they clear out all the
noise from the false alarms that your distracting bots triggered, they’ll find the breach. They’ll
know what you took. And if you stay, there’s a greater chance that they’ll find out it was you who
took it, potentially putting Hobi and the group in a different kind of trouble altogether.

Jungkook’s eyes offer a bit of relief, a moment of solitude that helps you catch your breath. It helps
to see his pained eyes, his soft pout, his struggle against the lump in his throat. They tell you that
he knows how much this will hurt you. And they tell you that he meant it when he said he could
take care of you, even if you lost control.

You start to lose a little of it now.

Tears form at your lash line, and Jungkook clicks his tongue as he wipes it away with his thumb.

“I can’t stand to see you like this. God. I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head, able to reel it in. “It’s OK. I know it’s time to go.” You sigh. “I just…”

The fields housing the outdoor targets haven’t been particularly well-maintained. There hasn’t
really been a reason for them to be, the dips and pivots in the land amassing piles of broken shell
casings. But the grass looks emerald green with the sun shining so brightly like this. Like Hobi did
that morning, kissing you awake, apologizing for sleeping after only one round, and letting you
know that though Yoongi and the rest of the guys were waiting outside for him, that the minute he
returns home, he’ll want to start round two.

“…I’ll just miss this story a lot,” you say, heart heavy. “It was a good one.”

Jungkook wants to do so much. He wants to pull you into a kiss. He wants to hold you. He wants to
tell you about all the places where you could start the next story. He wants to remind you how
good they all were when you first set out together. He wants to say how the next town, or the town
after that, could be even better, now that you’re together again.

But instead, he waits. And watches.

And when you’re ready, you take a deep breath, and scoot up to the sniper rifle.

Jungkook smiles proudly as you go through the steps, happy that though this was new and
uncomfortable at first, you’re always game to try. And that though leaving will be hard, you still
trust him. Choose him.

Love him.

“Ready,” you say.

Jungkook scrambles for the binoculars and gets into place.

“Clear,” he confirms for you.

Steady breaths. Focus. Squeeze trigger.

The satisfying sound of a direct hit of metal on metal rings out in the air, resonating with a fullness
you hadn’t been able to achieve before.

Like bells ringing.

And when you happily turn back to Jungkook, you’re met with such a soft, proud, admiring look
that you’d run away with him right there and then.

**

The car door slams, and your fingers claw at Jungkook’s clothes, desperate to rip them off of him.
He lies on top of you, struggling to get into the right position to wriggle out of all the fabric
separating you from each other.

As he pulls your top up to expose your stomach, he notices the remainder of the bruises on your
ribcage.

He kisses them softly, and you smile.

“Wish that hadn’t… Wish I hadn’t---”

“It’s OK,” you say, pulling him down for another kiss.

Your still-growing passion is struggling to fit inside this sensible sedan.

“Maybe we should get a room or something,” you whisper, knees and elbows knocking into each
other.

“Want you now,” Jungkook whines, tugging his hoodie over his head.

You’re not exactly pushing to make your point, but along with the additional bruises that will form
on your elbows and knees, the confused look on your face, plus the laughter that explodes out of
you, makes the point for you all the same.

“Yeah, maybe we should get a room,” Jungkook admits, grimacing.

You run your hand over Jungkook’s torso, giggling at the black, sweaty fabric.

“You wore the body suit?”

“You said to bring it!”

You smile and bite your lip, eyes shimmering.

Jungkook presses into you with his entire body, kissing you sweetly. “You said to bring it, so I
brought it.”

You place your hand on his cheek and gaze at him.

“Just tell me one thing,” he replies.

“Fine.”

Jungkook smirks. “This suit did get you all horned up last night, right?”

You scrunch your face up.

“A- ha!”

“C’mon. Let’s go get that room.”

You both jump out of the back seat, and you hop back into the driver’s seat, as Jungkook scrambles
into the passenger seat.

“So, where are we going?” he asks.

“I know a place,” you say nonchalantly.

Jungkook grins at you.

You pull onto the highway, and you smile as Jungkook turns on the radio, soft music starting to
stream from the speakers.

“Only a matter of time,” Jungkook replies, sighing.

“Yep.” You frown. “Wait, until we fuck?” you ask, making Jungkook laugh.

“Until we do this again,” he clarifies, gesturing to you both. “Move from town to town. Live
different stories, but freely, and always with each other.” He smiles happily. “You know. Our life.”

Our life.

You smile.

“Yeah,” you say, happily.

“But, y’know,” Jungkook says, reaching for your hand, “we don’t have to wait that long until we
fuck again.”

“I know. It’ll only take about 20 minutes to get there.”

“I’m talking even sooner than that.”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry, I thought we---”

Jungkook runs his left hand up your thigh, and you nearly slam on the brake you’re so startled.

He laughs at you, and you turn to him. “Jungkook! The speed limit here’s like 80!”

“There’s no one on the road,” he protests. And he’s right. It’s Friday, but everyone’s just gotten to
work, or have been at work for at least a couple of hours.
“I don’t know,” you say, worried.

“Hmm.”

He moves his hand to your mound, and he feels how warm you are.

“Body’s telling me something else.”

You roll your eyes. “That may be true,” you admit. “But…”

You imagine gasoline spilling everywhere. Small fires. Scraped metal. Rock and sand. Blood and
bone.

“I’m here,” Jungkook tells you, reading your mind. He raises his eyebrows. “Just try it. Let’s
just… see.”

Whatever completely logical argument you’d had brewing is forgotten as Jungkook slips his
fingers into your clothed crotch, pressing hard with his fingers to counterbalance the lack of skin-
to-skin contact. Your breath hitches, and you start to grind against him. You try not to worry as
your hands become shaky, because Jungkook places his free hand on the steering wheel to keep the
car steady.

“That’s it,” Jungkook whispers. “Keep going. Do what feels right.”

“None of this feels right,” you point out.

Jungkook smiles naughtily at you.

“Then keep doing what feels wrong, as long as it feels good.”

You sigh and continue to grind, until you start to feel yourself getting wet. Extremely wet. Way too
wet.

“Th-through my clothes?” you whine, glancing at Jungkook as your grip on the steering wheel gets
weaker and weaker.

“If you want,” Jungkook says, leaning over to kiss your shoulder, though he keeps his eyes on the
road. “Or I could…”

He moves his hand, and you’re about to curse, until he rolls his sleeve up and dips his similarly
too-wet fingers into the waistband of your pants. He undoes your fly with just his left index finger
and thumb, and you wish you could have watched him do it, the sexiness of his skill brought into
technicolor by a peek at his tattoos, and underlined by his forearm and hand-housed veins popping
as he touches himself, showing how hard he wants to work for you. How hard he wants to give it to
you.

“Shit,” you curse anyway, arms going a little limp as his middle finger circles around your clit.

Jungkook laughs a little, smacking his lips. “I can’t wait to get my mouth riiiiiiiight…”

He places his middle and index fingers on either side of your clit.

“…here.”

“Ohhh,” you moan, eyes closing, arms falling completely, everything slightly jolting left as
Jungkook places his tattooed hand on the steering wheel.
“Just focus on your foot,” Jungkook tells you, as your eyes open again, though your vision is
getting blurry. “Keep it exactly where it is now. Alright?” He grins. “Miss Song?”

“Alright.”

You take a deep breath, and Jungkook starts rubbing your pussy lips with those fingers, palm
facing inward, knuckles never surrendering their contact with your clit as his fingers curl up and
back, up and back.

Your head lolls forward, your hair hiding your face.

“Brush your hair back,” Jungkook mutters. “Wanna see you.”

You lick your lips and do as he tells you, making Jungkook hum as you rock forward in your seat
and run your clawed hand through your locks to toss your hair back and get resettled.

“Fuck. Sel.”

“The r-road,” you say, eyes glued shut.

“We’re fine,” Jungkook tells you. “I’ve got you.”

And you know he’s got you, now that the angle at which his voice is hitting you seems to be
pointed toward the windshield rather than the gorgeous sight of you writhing in pleasure.

“Rock forward like that again for me,” he adds.

“Mmm.”

You do, and you sense Jungkook’s fingers feeling you out.

“One more time.”

You do it again, and then again.

And when you do it again the next time, he plunges his index and middle fingers into you, shallow
due to the angle, but welcomed, celebrated even, made better by the base of his palm putting
pressure on your woken clit.

“Fu-hu- huck,” you moan, heating up.

The car starts to speed up.

“Foot, Sel,” Jungkook warns you, laughing. “Ease off the gas.”

You do so, and in your haze, you wait for Jungkook to whisper, “That’s it,” to get you back to the
safe speed that you need to maintain.

It’s not just the sight or touch of you that does it for him, though. Or the sound of you, or even the
emotions you elicit. It’s the way those things change when you’re with him. Just with him.
Watching you trust him like this --- trusting him to give you thrills, when most of what you share
are traumas --- it tells him that you’re not conflicted anymore. Not once have you cut him off, or
made excuses. Not once have you doubted him.

A chill runs down Jungkook’s arm.

It’s so close. The utopia that he’d tasted. The life that he’d been seeking since the day you chose to
leave that simple note.

“Come for me,” Jungkook growls, glancing at you when your thighs begin to twitch.

“Fuck, please, I’m so close,” you mewl.

That’s why the loss of Jungkook’s hand is so cruel.

“Wait, our exit!” Jungkook exclaims, quickly checking to make sure that no one’s in the lane to
your right. “Pump the brake!”

You slow down, regaining control of the car, senses unfairly returning to you, and by the time
you’re at the stoplight at the end of the off-ramp, you’re sober enough to be pissed.

“So mean,” you mutter, gripping the steering wheel with anger as Jungkook howls with laughter.

You figure you should just be glad that you aren’t covered in road rash and surrounded by burning
metal.

Or, y’know, dead.

But as you park in the lot in front of The Buxton, you realize that there’s more to be thankful for.
Years after having years of that exact nightmare, and Jungkook has found some nasty, twisted way
to save you from it.

“Finish me off right here,” you demand, as you pull your keys from the car.

Jungkook grins exactly like the bunny figurine in your entryway when he says, “Fat chance.”

He manages to launch himself out of the car before you hit the locks, and you chase him rabidly
into the hotel lobby.

This motherfucker, you grumble in your head, throwing your purse across your body and getting
ready to run.

“Hi,” Jungkook laughs breathlessly, as he lands at the check-in desk. “One room. One night.”

The desk clerk smiles and says, “Alright, any preferences---”

“Any room. Literally any room.”

His ears perk up at the sound of your contrastingly excruciatingly slow plodding toward him.

“Or, wait! Um, actually, a fancy one. The fanciest one that’s available.”

You catch up to Jungkook and nearly body slam him into the counter.

The desk clerk purses their lips when they see you. “So, two keys?”

You and Jungkook share a smirk.

Typing quickly, the desk clerk gets you all checked into a suite for a cool $992 that you charge to
Jungkook and Gyu-ri’s shared credit card because why the fuck not at this point.

Cackling gleefully, you pocket those key cards and crash into each other in the next open elevator.
“Finish me off right here,” you demand, wrapping yourself around him, your legs cradling his left
thigh.

“Mmm,” Jungkook hums, leaning in to kiss you.

You move your head forward, but he moves his head just out of reach.

“I don’t think so.”

You slam the back of his head into the elevator wall, your lips smashing into his, your hands in his
sweat-waved hair, his hands on your hips and pushing you down onto his thigh.

“Hnnng.”

“Is that a good noise?” Jungkook teases, and as he moves your hips in circles, pressing his thigh
against your mound, you speed up and continue groaning more good noises in choked-off syllables.

You kiss him again, and he bites your bottom lip, tugging it toward him to get you to open up
wider, his eyes brightening when he sees your kiss-swollen lip bounce back, and his mind
immediately forgoing whatever plan it had to focus on doing that again. Instead of just tugging at
your lip, he nearly eats it, sucking and chewing and savoring, almost swallowing before releasing
and seeing it bounce back once more.

“Fuck,” Jungkook whispers, his lips moving against your ear, “how is every part of you so sexy?”

The elevator slows, and you both leap out the moment it stops on your floor, tumbling and tickling
toward each other and toward your gigantic, empty room.

“So unnecessary,” you laugh, staring at all the things you’ll never even touch, before your eyes
land on the only thing that you will.

Jungkook pulls you into him and presses a kiss to your neck before biting it.

You draw in air through your teeth, but you place your hand on the back of his head, cueing him to
start nibbling at you, his tongue following and patching up all wrongdoing.

“So, so sexy,” he repeats. “Fuck. The car? I never thought you’d go for it.”

He leads your hand down your torso, and then he jams your hand down your --- oh god, they’re
still unbuttoned --- pants. He takes your hand and curves your fingers as he curves his, massaging
your clit with exquisitely slow but strong force.

“God,” you moan, leaning against him helplessly.

“What’d you think about?” Jungkook asks, his lips resting against your hairline.

“Just… never felt anything like it,” you purr.

You curl around him, molding to him. Wet, eager clay for him to work with.

He brings your hand up and holds it to his lips. He licks your anticipation from your fingers,
slurping and grunting softly with each swallow.

Looking at him with hooded eyes, “Please finish me off,” you whimper, hips still grinding, unable
to stop.
There’s a twinkle when Jungkook smiles.

He lays you down on the bed and slowly undresses you. You laugh as you kick off your pants,
Jungkook struggling to get them off your ankles.

And when you’re lying there in front of him, naked, and excited, he takes a moment. A very small
moment. Just to enjoy this. To be here, with you. How grateful he is.

You gaze at him meaningfully.

“I love you.”

His beautiful mouth opens, his smile the biggest you’ve ever seen it.

“I mean it,” you say, touched. “I love you.”

“Well, I love you,” he says, his voice low. Gentle. Full.

He slowly kicks off his boots.

He carefully removes his hoodie.

He gently slips his legs out of his sweatpants.

And you laugh softly again at Jungkook in that body suit, each of his rippling muscles seeming
bolder in outline.

You try to feel each muscle of his arms and torso before you stand and move behind him,
unzipping the back and kissing his muscles there as they peek out at you. He giggles as you kiss,
and as the metal buzzes against his skin.

You peel the top of the suit off of him, gaining his glistening, gorgeous body. And then he steps
you back, your calves hitting the tall bed frame, body easily bending exactly how it needs to for
Jungkook to lay you back down as he hovers over you and kisses you hungrily.

He steps out of the rest of the suit and kicks it behind him.

“What is it about that thing, anyway?” Jungkook whispers.

“I don’t know,” you admit. “You just--- you just look so fucking good.”

Jungkook laughs, and you pull on his arm to get him to move into the center of the bed with you.

“Now, hang on, I thought you wanted me to finish you off?” Jungkook asks, pouting in confusion.

You writhe against the mattress as he kneels down, burying himself in your pussy, his broad
tongue dragging up your juicy, succulent folds. He could lie there for hours, drinking goblets of
you, in celebration of you.

Whining at your body’s urgent, pulsing notice that the wall within you will soon snap, you move
your hips, and Jungkook threads his hand between your legs to reach up for your breasts, clawing
at them, desperate to feel them.

Jungkook’s chin digs at your entrance, his jaw moving his mouth so rhythmically that it seems like
he’s speaking you, fluently, fluidly, and fondly. And you love the way he rests his head against
your thigh every now and then, smoldering at you, getting off on the sight of you moaning, and
twisting, and caressing yourself.

He slides his index finger around your entrance, and you rock forward excitedly.

“No, wait,” you reply, sitting up, reaching down to bring his finger to your lips, “I want your
cock.”

He beams at you, thrilled that you want any part of him at all, but especially excited that you seem
so insatiable.

You suck eagerly on that finger as he kneels on the mattress.

“Sit,” you say. “Spread out.”

He smirks as he props himself up with his starfished hands behind him, his legs in a V in front.

You lie flat on your stomach and replace his finger with his slick, stone cock. You take him into
you, one long, hungry slow suck, before you let him go with a loud smack! of your lips.

“So hard for me,” you coo, pressing the tip of his dick to your lips and looking up happily at him.

“Always,” Jungkook breathes.

Here, in this room, it’s just enough. Eyes half-closed, but his gaze just soft enough. His ever-
smiling jaw hanging open just enough to convey his utter happiness, and allow him to catch his
breath at the sight of you. Legs spread apart just enough for you to nestle inside. He’s just enough.
And you realize that he’s always been enough.

It’s a different room, but it’s the same hotel, and the same question.

Why did you ever leave him if he was enough? If any amount of time, and if under any
circumstance, he was enough?

Pointless to unpack that now. You were different then.

Like you told him. You were scared.

You’re so lucky that you’ve changed. That you’ve learned what it means to make some kind of
commitment to someone. And that you’ve learned what you can gain in return. Now that you have
another chance to try it with Jungkook, you’re not giving it up.

He places his hand on the back of your head, each dip that your nose has made toward his hips
bringing him a tingle that turns into a spark that turns into another log thrown into the fire that’s
building inside of him, torrid and raw, threatening to burn the entire place down.

You look back up at him and nod, knowing that he wants to move, needs to transfer some of that
heat back into you.

And when your gorgeous, wanting eyes land on him, he nearly loses it, fisting your tendrils, your
silken locks spilling out of each tortured crevice, a soft, sweet thing to hold onto as he thrusts into
your throat, his precum dripping down and into your belly, each push pressing more pressure there,
fanning the flames that he’s transferred back to you.

It’s not that he’s had enough when he groans, “Fuck!” and lifts you off of him. He’ll never have
enough. It’s that he wants more of himself inside of you, not just his cock and fist, but his tongue,
his lips. He wants more of himself around you, more of himself touching you. His limbs, his skin,
his gut, his soul --- he wants each millimeter of his body to be wrapped up in each scintillating part
of you.

You scramble to give both of you what you so desperately crave, immediately kneeling in front of
him, wrapping your arm around him as he holds up your bent leg, and you reach down to guide his
glistening, perfect cock inside.

Your claret velvet sinks onto him, and you mash your foreheads together, sighing in unison as you
slip down, falling down the rabbit hole, not caring where you land. He grunts with finality when
your ass meets his thighs, bottoming out, and yet still pressing, still pushing, wanting to go deeper.
You both clench every muscle in your body, so much more for Jungkook to do, ripples rolling so
quickly, and in so many places, that even as exposed as you are, you can hardly find them all, can
hardly get your fingers on them to feel his full power.

Shuddering, you toss your hair behind you and wrap your arms around him, kissing him and
threading your fingers through his hair.

And then you ride.

Jungkook’s body stays at a perfect 90-degree angle, no buckling or twitching, even as his hands
come off the mattress behind him to rest on your hips, before surrounding your frame, his
shoulders in your armpits, his lips on your neck, dimples appearing on his cheeks as he forms a
closed-lipped smile, his smile’s focus redirecting from exuding his trademark jubilance to
expressing the determination that he has to stay perfect for you.

That strength.

That stability.

That control.

How had you missed it? How had you written him off?

But maybe he’d learned things in your time apart as well. The covers may have been lies, but the
experiences you’d hand under them still counted for something.

That’s what he’s been trying to tell you.

He’s not scared anymore either.

He might’ve been at first, but who wouldn’t have been given what you experienced. Saw. Buried
inside.

But now, that fear has made way for pure desire.

The only real fear that either of you have is losing each other a second time.

You’d much rather be lost in each other, like you’re about to be, moans rising, Jungkook’s legs and
thighs bouncing you up and down as much as your own legs are, both of you gripping each other
like mad.

Whines in another language. A primal one that you both just understand.

Suddenly, silence.

Everything detaches. Limbs from sockets. Skin from bone. Minds from bodies. You’re left floating
in this negative space, neither light nor dark, pain nor pleasure. Existence is a question. And then a
suggestion.

And then a roar.

All of it.

It all comes roaring back, each synapse connected to each bundle of nerves that you and Jungkook
have been cramming everything into lighting and releasing everything you’ve put into them.

Jungkook’s voice trembles as he cries out, finally giving way, finally lying back in defeat.

And you topple onto him, heaving, spent, combing your hair back with your clawed hand,
smothering Jungkook with kisses and licks, soft moans and growls emanating from your throat.

You lie on top of him, his hands running up and down your backside, both of you trying to catch
your constantly escaping breath.

**

Giggling and smirking, you and Jungkook cuddle a bit in the elevator before you walk back to the
front desk. You feel so safe nestled into his hold, one arm around your waist and hugging you tight,
his hand in your back pocket. The other arm sits pinned to his side, his armpit guarding the black
bodysuit, folded as small as you both could get it.

“I’ll just go check out,” Jungkook says, his voice low and rumbling, before he gives you a kiss.

You reach into your purse and hand him the keys. “You drive. I’m exhausted.”

He chuckles and stuffs your keys in his pocket before heading toward the front desk.

You readjust your purse and keep walking toward the front door when you see Nima and Jang-mi
walking toward you, happily chattering.

The lobby is huge.

There’s nowhere to hide.

There’s no time to, either.

They’re going to see you. They’re going to see you. They’re going to see you. They’re going to---

“Ladies!” you laugh, holding the door open for them and grinning.

“Nice!” Nima exclaims, as all three of you give each other quick hugs. “You got our texts after
all!”

You just smile and follow them into the lobby, quickly scanning the area for Jungkook, and feeling
a mixture of relief and worry when you don’t see him.
“Ah, back so soon. Did we forget something?” the desk clerk asks when you approach her station.

“Huh?” Jang-mi asks, turning to you.

“The room?” the desk clerk replies.

“Oh, no, I---”

“Fuck, are you setting a little something up for Hobi after game night tonight?” Nima asks,
slapping your thigh. “You animal!”

“Was kind of counting on there being a little discretion,” you say pointedly, looking at the desk
clerk.

Luckily, this desk clerk has been working in hospitality long enough to know when to take a hint.
They pin a polite smile to their face and ask, “Can I help you with anything?”

“We’re just here for a late lunch,” Jang-mi replies, glancing over to the restaurant. “Is it still
open?”

“Yes, ma’am, dinner doesn’t start until 6 or so. I can get you seated. Follow me.”

The desk clerk leads you to the restaurant and shoots a look over to the host, who comes over to
help you.

The host leads you to a booth, and Nima and Jang-mi get settled. “I’m just gonna run to the
restroom,” you say, grinning.

“Want us to order you a drink?” Nima asks.

“Just a soda. Be right back.”

A flurry of questions run through your mind. Did Jungkook make it out without being seen? How
will he get home? What texts did the girls mean? Is Gyu-ri on her way to join you?

You scurry into the bathroom and lean back on the door, whipping your phone out from your back
pocket and checking your messages. A couple of hours ago, around the time you and Jungkook
were leaving the gun range, Jang-mi sent you the first of a few curious messages.

But they’re not in the Cunts-de-Sac group chat.

They’re in a new chat --- or, well, technically, kind of an old one. One with just Jang-mi, Nima,
and you.

Jang-mi (11:12 AM): Got some news but didn’t have a chance to text you until now.

Nima (11:12 AM): Everything OK?

Jang-mi (11:12 AM): Yes, everything’s fine. With me, at least. Everything OK with
you?

Nima (11:12 AM): I mean, sure?

Jang-mi (11:13 AM): Sena, everything OK with you?

 Jang-mi (11:15 AM): Sena?

Nima (11:16 AM): Maybe she’s busy. What’s the news?

Jang-mi (11:16 AM): I just ran home to pick up something from my kitchen, and I
saw Gyu-ri getting into a car with another man.

Nima (11:17 AM): WHAT

Jang-mi (11:17 AM): I KNOW

Nima (11:17 AM): Not a family member? You saw them kiss?

Jang-mi (11:18 AM): No -- she got in the passenger seat, and they sat there for a
while, and then she got out, and he drove away.

Nima (11:18 AM): OK, can we talk about this?

Nima (11:18 AM): Like, can you guys do a late lunch today? My Friday’s pretty slow,
and I was planning on leaving early to get a headstart on cleaning for game night
tonight anyway.

Jang-mi (11:19 AM): I could slip away. Is 2 or 3 too late?

Nima (11:19 AM): No, that’s perfect! Where should we meet?

Jang-mi (11:20 AM): Where were you planning on catering dinner from?

Nima (11:20 AM): Jang-mi, you’re so smart. I was gonna try that restaurant at The
Buxton. Wanna meet there, and then I can plan our dinner order while we chat?

Jang-mi (11:21 AM): Perfect. Sena, meet us there at 2 if you can.

You sigh and place a hand on your chest, your heart starting to calm itself.

There are still so many questions, but your mind goes to Jungkook next. You check your work
phone next, taking another deep breath.

Client 152 (2:13 PM): I saw them. I don’t think they saw me. Getting a rideshare
home, but I have your keys.

Relieved, you press the crown of your head onto the bathroom door.

You (2:21 PM): Everything seems fine. They want to talk about Little Miss Perfect.
She was meeting someone. Probably work-related.

Client 152 (2:22 PM): You OK?

You (2:22 PM): Yeah, now that I know you’re OK.

Client 152 (2:23 PM): Hmm. Is this still really you, or have you been compromised?
 Client 152 (2:23 PM): Because that sounds like something someone would say to
someone they care about.

You fight a smile, annoyed that Jungkook’s choosing now to tease you and coming off as cute in
the process.

You (2:23 PM): Focus. Something’s up with LMP. Be careful.

Client 152 (2:24 PM): Be careful?

You (2:24 PM): I swear to god.

Client 152 (2:24 PM): OK, OK, I’ll be care -ful.

You (2:24 PM): I SAID WHAT I SAID IN THE ROOM AND I MEANT IT BUT
STOP FUCKING AROUND THIS IS NOT THE TIME

Client 152 (2:25 PM):

You close your phone and head back to the booth, preparing to play this role one final time. And,
given recent events, a little grateful that you’re about to eat.

“We got a cheese board to start,” Jang-mi tells you, before you’ve even had a chance to sit down.

“Yeah, yeah, we ordered --- I wanna talk about Gyu-ri,” Nima says, cutting to the chase, as you
take a sip of your soda.

“What’s there to talk about?” you ask. “Whatever that is is her business.”

Nima and Jang-mi keep staring at you, and you shrug.

“What?”

Nima clears her throat. “Are you saying that because…”

Jang-mi looks at Nima, thankful that Nima’s taken a pause. Jang-mi shakes her head a little, but
Nima looks resigned in saying whatever it is that she’s going to say next.

“Gyu-ri talked to us,” Nima tells you. “After our walk during the Fall Ball yesterday.”

“OK,” you say simply, sounding just as unthreatened as you hoped you would when it came time
for this conversation.

Nima takes a breath. “Look, I love you---”

“We both love you,” Jang-mi cuts in.

“But Gyu-ri raised some really interesting points about being curious about Jungkook. How he
keeps disappearing. How he doesn’t tell her anything. How much time he spends with you.”

Nima takes another breath.

“So, all that to say that I think it’s pretty reasonable for her, or anyone in her situation, really, to
question you, and not you per se, just someone in your role, not trying to say there’s anything about
you in particular that’s driving this---”

“Are you having an affair with Jungkook?” Jang-mi interrupts.

Nima stares at her, shocked.

“You were taking so long!” Jang-mi exclaims. “It’s torturous, listening to you rationalize it!
Especially because she’s not!” She turns to you. “I mean, you’re not, right?”

“Actually, I am,” you say straightforwardly. “In fact, we just fucked in a suite upstairs. That’s what
I was doing here. I didn’t even know you wanted to meet until I saw you walking toward the
entrance.”

Stunned, Jang-mi and Nima stare at you.

And then they burst into laughter, shaking their heads in embarrassment.

“God, I feel so stupid,” Nima replies, covering her face. “I’m so sorry. Gyu-ri was just so upset and
desperate, and I… Well…”

“It’s OK,” you say, shrugging.

Huh, you think, patting yourself on the back. Honesty really is the best policy.

“For the record, we both told Gyu-ri to stop externalizing and focus on Jungkook,” Jang-mi says.
“We agree with you, Sena. Whatever issues she has should be aired out between the two of them.”

“Though,” Nima replies, “if I ever had my doubts about Namjoon and asked you two about it, I’d
want to know if you saw something sketchy. And I’d want to know what you really thought.”

“Fair enough,” Jang-mi agrees, as you nod.

And then you grin. How kind they are. How worried they were. How concerned they still are, for
you, for Gyu-ri and Jungkook, foreveryone, even when they have so little of the story.

“That’s what we do, right?” Jang-mi chimes in. “We take care of each other?”

Your heart breaks.

“Yeah,” you say, “we take care of each other.”

You smile sadly at the two closest girlfriends you’ve ever had, realizing that you’ll ache for them,
too.

“We keep each other safe.”

**

It’s been ages since you’ve had to break into and hotwire a car, but the steps come back to you
easily. You even imagine Songchul leaning over you, speaking with his gentle, guiding voice.
See? This is why I always taught you to keep a flathead screwdriver handy in your car, no matter
what. Alright, if it doesn’t start, then you’ll have to use the screwdriver to get into the ignition
cylinder. After you’ve done that, clip and strip the red power wires, and clip and strip the brown
starter wires -- but don’t touch any of the ends with your hands! Use gloves if you can to twist the
red wires together, and once that’s done, carefully touch the ends of the brown wires together, and
the car should come to life.

The dash lights up, and the engine roars, like your body did earlier that day.

Memories of Songchul. Days with Jungkook.

You’ve never felt more like yourself.

When you get home, you get in the shower, exhausted. So much to think about. So much to plan.
The steam and water rejuvenates your sore body, and the feeling of lather on your skin and in your
hair rejuvenates your tired mind. As you wash yourself, you smile, thinking about how Jungkook’s
hands were where your hands are now, grazing your breasts, fingers delicate around your nipples…
then, feeling along your sides, hips… just about to reach for---

“Hon?”

It feels like the shower has suddenly run cold, but when you open your eyes, you see the dial still
set exactly where you left it.

“In here,” you call.

Hobi joins you in the bathroom, and he nearly drools at the sight of your naked back.

“Can I join you?” he asks hesitantly.

You stare at the tiles as you try to rid your mind of Jungkook as quickly as you can.

“Hobi…”

“C’mon. I had a long day.”

You sigh, heart heavy.

“Pleeeease?” he begs.

You chuckle to yourself. “Fine.”

Some whoops, jingling, and the shower stall door creaking open and shut, and Hobi’s hands are on
your hips now, dangerously close to your soaked flesh.

“Hi,” he whispers into your ear, hugging you from behind, and resting his chin on your shoulder.
“Mmm. I like you all soapy.”

“Hi,” you laugh, as he places a kiss on your cheek.

“Getting ready for game night?” he asks.

“Mmhmm.”

“Let me help.”
He kisses down your back, and you bite your lip, desperately trying to avoid enjoying this,
especially knowing that it’s about to end.

And then you realize.

This could be the last time that you’re together.

You soften.

“You said you had a long day?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Hobi groans, kneeling and kissing the small of your back. “Work’s been stressful. We’ve
just… had a lot to do.”

I know, you think.

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“No need to be sorry. Not like it’s your fault.”

Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest, caught in guilt’s vice grip.

“Let me make you feel better,” you sigh, reaching down for him.

“No,” Hobi tells you, “I wanna make you feel good.” He bites your plump ass, and you squeak.
“Wanna pick up from last night.”

You smirk. He was so wrecked that you had to shake him to wake him for work.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

You feel his fingers circle around your entrance, and though you’re still sore from Ju--- from
earlier, it feels good.

“You’re so soft,” he observes. “So swollen.” He chuckles. “Were you thinking of me.”

You bite your lip and try to stay in the moment. “That feels good.”

“Hmm.”

He rubs your pussy lips, kissing your ass as you bend forward onto the stall glass, dropping your
loofah and moaning.

As he moves faster, he might expect that you need a bit of warming up, but what’s really
happening is that he’s overstimulating you, jacking up the intensity that was still buzzing there
from Ju--- from before.

“God, tight,” Hobi grunts, his finger barely fitting inside of you.

“Feels good,” you whine, tears forming at your eyes, indistinguishable from the water from that
luxurious shower head.

His middle finger starts to feel around for that familiar ridge, the one you’ve experimented with
before, the one that only Hobi really knows much about. He starts to pulse his finger on it, and
when he can manage to get two inside of you, he starts to poke and push forward against the wall,
willing it to respond to him.

And then, you feel something else.

Hobi’s tongue, tracing each cheek behind you, teeth nibbling and biting.

“Hon?” you ask, wary.

And then you feel his tongue slip between those cheeks, making you nearly slam your head into
the glass.

“Oh, god.”

You start to circle your hips, Hobi’s fingers digging into you in so many delicious combinations, at
so many wonderful angles. And his tongue, fuck, his tongue, the sheer pleasure and madness it
produces, all of Hobi satisfying all of your needs. If Ju--- if earlier was a meal meant to nourish and
sustain, this is the perfect dessert meant to treat and reward.

Perhaps the fact that it feels so vile to be rewarded makes it that much sweeter.

“Hobi, please, more, just---”

Your thighs start to give way, shaking and rumbling.

But Hobi somehow finds a way to keep you steady, his firm hold with his free hand pinching into
your skin, giving you just enough stimulation to remind you to stay standing, to be present for this,
to take what he’s giving you.

You cry out, something between a scream and a gasp, and you give into the overwhelming rapture.
Your body becomes water, fluid, and leaking, and drizzling.

Hobi kisses your ass and presses his cheek against the side of your thigh. And he keeps pressing
into your g-spot, not letting up until he sees the glass in front of you completely doused with your
juices instead of the water from the shower.

You empty out, the resulting flumes stemming from a mix of your oversensitivity and Hobi’s
persistence, trying your best not to bang your head against the tile or crash into the shower stall. It’s
draining in the best way possible.

“Fuck me,” you whine weakly. “Fuck me now.”

Hobi spins you around and lines up quickly, slamming his hard, soapy dick into you, making you
feel even more raw and dangerous, both of you slipping slightly as Hobi’s pace quickens and
strengthens.

“Hon,” Hobi sighs. “God. Wanted this all fucking day.”

“Yeah?” you whine flirtatiously. “You thought about this pussy?”

“Mmm, fuck, it’s all I could think about. Last night? Shit. Why did I fall asleep? Why didn’t you
wake me?”

You moan as Hobi growls and pounds even harder into you.

“You came so good for me, baby,” you sigh, hugging him tightly. “God, yes, please, harder.”
Hobi grunts and pins your side against the tile, the cool surface sending shivers along your bones
and making you giggle and squeal.

“Ooh!”

“Hon. So tight.”

His breaths thin, unable to fill his lungs.

“Come for me again,” you tell him, nearly begging. “Wanna feel you fill me up.”

He grunts, and with his swift, deliberate strokes going even faster, you wonder how you can
intensify it, how you can top last night. If you won’t be able to stay in this world with him, you
want to make this as other-worldly as you can.

“C-close,” Hobi sighs, biting his lip.

You start to feel his cock pulsing, the tip twitching and signaling his imminent explosion.

“Stop,” you say, grabbing his arms and wrapping them tightly around you suddenly, folding him
into you, his lean, defined body strong against your back. “Stop, just hold me.”

Freezing in place, Hobi whimpers in wonder.

But then you tighten, pulsing your walls along with his flesh.

He bends you forward, groaning.

“Oh, god, honey.”

He’s spilling into you, coating every inch of you, making good on your request several times over
because of how much more intense you’ve made it, gripping him tighter than he’s felt in a while,
maybe ever with you, securing him inside of you, and against you, and around you.

The sensation of it, the fullness of it. The warmth. That first stream against your walls, and then
each spurt, just a little weaker. The delectable oozing.

And something else.

He laughs, peppering kisses all over your back before pulling you upright and licking the lobe of
your ear.

“Hobi,” you whisper, tears in your eyes, smiling along with him, “did you… you know what I
felt?”

“Good?”

“Yeah, good, but…” You run your hands over his forearms, which are still around your shoulders.
“I felt your heartbeat. Inside of me. Just now.”

“Came hard,” Hobi admits as he gives you more smooches.

You smile. You’re so glad you were here for this. To feel something like that inside of you. To be
that close.

Sighing, you reach for your loofa again.

“No,” Hobi protests, unwilling to let you go. “Stay here. Stay with me like this.”

You hum, and you sway a little in his arms.

“We should clean up. We’ve wasted so much water already.”

“It’s OK. You made nearly enough to make up for it.”

A flash of heat slaps you across the face. “Hobi!” you whine.

He laughs and kisses the back of your head, his voice starting to sound too dreamy, his hold
starting to feel a little too heavy, and the slippery shower tile starting to feel too dangerous to skate
on under these conditions.

“That felt different,” Hobi says. “Don’t you think it felt so different?”

You nod, humming in agreement.

“What if we…”

“What if we what?” you ask.

Hobi grins. “What if we just…” He kisses your shoulder. “What if we just made a baby?”

You startle, almost slipping.

But Hobi’s hold is secure.

What’s surprising is that you’re fighting to wriggle out of it. Gently, but pointedly.

Hobi quickly lets you go, and you fix your eyes on the opposite wall of the room as he slides out of
you, bringing with him a shimmer of arousal as he drags himself along your still-sensitive chamber.

“I thought we talked about that.”

“I know, but can you just think about it again? Really think about it?”

He spins you around to face you, lock eyes with you, and you’re so flattered at how fucked out he
looks. How blissful he is.

Just so happy.

“Imagine the sound of kids babbling at dinner. Whispering excitedly in their bedroom after we’ve
told them lights out.”

You smirk, trying to evade. “We wouldn’t be able to have shower stall sex like this for a while.”

“Then imagine them laughing at the TV downstairs as we try to sneak in a quick one.”

You sigh, and Hobi runs his hands down your drenched, glistening body.

“Wouldn’t you like that? Wouldn’t you---”

His hands stop at your ribcage, and you can’t believe you’d let your guard down that far.

“Honey--- What---”
As the last of the soap washes away, Hobi can see the faint but visible bruises along your rib cage,
previously kept hidden by your clothes, or the dark of the server room.

“What happened?!”

He looks so terrified, and you aren’t sure how to soothe his fears.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, softly, trying to get your arms back around him. “Nothing, I just---”

Telling the truth here wouldn’t exactly play out well, like it might’ve done with Jang-mi and Nima
earlier. But you don’t want to lie. Not so overtly. Not to Hobi. Not after what you’ve just shared.

“Who did this to you??” he demands.

“I was out, and I just ran into somebody,” you say, trying to stitch together an explanation. “Just
ran into them wrong and---”

“Your ribcage is bruised!”

“I’m really fine, I swear.”

Hobi’s shaking fingers trace their path.

“The bruises are following your bones!” Hobi blinks owlishly and shakes his head, sprinkling more
water on the stall walls. “God, Sena, did you break something?”

“No, Hobi---”

“Are you sure??”

“They’ve practically healed already.”

You finally push past Hobi, step out of the shower, and grab your towel. You need to think, and
being in that stall with Hobi right on top of you isn’t going to help. You need space. You need air.

“Hon!”

You hear Hobi shut the water off and follow you.

He joins you in the closet, as you start picking out clothes for game night.

“How long ago did this happen?”

“I dunno.” Don’t lie. “A couple of weeks.”

“Weeks?!”

“Stop freaking out!” you exclaim, face flushing.

“Why aren’t you freaking out??” Hobi asks. “Someone ran into you? How big was this dude?
When you said ‘dude’, did you mean ‘truck’?!”

“I’m fine,” you say, placing your hands on Hobi’s shoulders. “I’m fine, really. I’m here, standing in
front of you, telling you that I’m fine.”

“But this is not fine!” Hobi protests, shaking you off of him. “Married people tell each other these
things! You should have told me!”
He takes a step back and stares at you. The way that he’s looking at you.

Like you’re damaged.

“Why aren’t you telling me things?” he whimpers. “Why are you slipping away?”

“Hobi, calm down. I’m fine,” you repeat. “And I didn’t want you to worry.”

“But I want to worry,” Hobi explains. “Don’t you get that? I want to worry! I don’t want to calm
down! Damn, Sena, to hide something like this?”

He blinks.

“Do you not… do you not want me to know things?”

No, you realize. He’s not looking at you like you’re damaged.

He’s realizing this whole thing between you is damaged. This perfect, wonderful world is shifting
under Hobi’s feet, and he’s grasping onto anything he can get his hands on to keep from falling
into the hellmouth.

You shake your head.

“Whatever it was, it’s done. It happened. It’s in the past. But you and I have a game night to get to.
Can’t we focus on that instead?”

Hobi watches you desperately. “But…”

His eyes don’t quite know where to land. He’s calculating. How many other bruises that he doesn’t
know about?

You press a kiss to his lips.

“Get dressed,” you say. “It’s the end of a long day. A long, eventful week. Let’s go have some
fun.”

**

“Almost ready?” you call back up to Hobi.

“Yeah.”

He still sounds so subdued.

Coiffed and costumed, you wait impatiently in the living room, knees bouncing as you try to relax
on your sofa.

You’re glad when someone knocks. It gives you a reason to move.

“Hi,” Yoongi replies stiffly, Jungkook standing behind him and nervously grinning, just with his
lips.

Fuck. Something’s wrong.

Your eyes meet Jungkook’s.

What happened? God, Jungkook, what did you do?

“Hey,” you say, confused, taking note of their awkward expressions. “Uh… what’s going on?”

Yoongi shifts his weight. He’s still wearing his work clothes, but his buttons are amiss. “Just.
Wanted. To. See. If. You. Could. Come. Over,” Yoongi says, through grit teeth.

“What?” you ask, glancing at Jungkook.

“Come. Over. Now.”

Jungkook nods quickly. Now, he mouths, widening his eyes.

“OK, well, I guess Hobi can---”

“No Hobi,” Yoongi whispers in panic.

Jungkook clears his throat.

“Just you,” Yoongi tells you, louder.

“OK…”

You really wish you had your Sig on you, but you think about going into the kitchen and getting
your Glock as a backup.

“Hon!” you call upstairs.

“Yeah.”

“Running over to Yoongi’s, be right back, OK?”

“Yeah.”

You step outside, and when Yoongi turns toward his house, you see that Jungkook already has a
Glock, pressed against the small of Yoongi’s back.

You lock wild eyes with Jungkook.

“Is this really necessary?” you whisper, flanking Yoongi in back to help hide the gun from sight as
you walk.

“Was it necessary in the basement last night?” Jungkook mutters.

“Is any of this necessary?” Yoongi demands, raising his hands.

“Don’t raise your hands!” Jungkook whispers. “Namjoon’s coming.”

“Hey, neighbors!” Namjoon calls out to you, as he wheels his trash can to the curb.

“Oh, hey Namjoon,” you say, moving ahead to pull focus.

Yoongi drops one of his hands and turns his gesture into a wave, and Jungkook just keeps grinning.

“Still on for game night tonight, right?” Namjoon asks.

“Yep!” you quip. You jog toward Namjoon and trust that Jungkook is rushing to get Yoongi back
into his house. “Saw Nima today, by the way. At The Buxton, with Jang-mi.”

You want to gauge his reaction. You don’t know how, but Yoongi knows way too much. What
does Namjoon know? What about Jin? Is it too late? Have you endangered them all?

“Nima told me,” Namjoon nods. “Approve of the spread she ordered?”

His smile comes openly and easily, which tells you to backpedal the case you were building.

“Totally, but you don’t need my word,” you reply, lighter. “Jang-mi was there, too.”

“That explains the price tag,” Namjoon groans bitterly. “But then again, if you’re gonna wanna
make sure to get one thing right at an event, it’s the food.”

You laugh heartily. “So true!” you exclaim. “OK, well, I’ll leave you to it---”

“What’cha up to?” Namjoon asks, looking over to Yoongi’s house.

Thankful for an excuse to turn and check in, you see Jungkook and Yoongi closing the door behind
them.

“Oh, I dunno what those two are up to,” you say. “I was just catching up with them on the porch
and started walking back with them.”

“Huh.” Namjoon shrugs. “Well, I’m gonna go attempt to get the children bathed before you all
come over. My target is one out of three.” He frowns. “Nam-gi has been coming home from school
smelling particularly rank lately, and I’m not sure why.”

“Best of luck,” you say, smiling uncomfortably.

You walk slowly and wait for Namjoon to close his door before heading toward Yoongi’s house.

You find them both in Yoongi’s office, blinds closed, lights off, his computer setup and his
woodworking station immaculate save for Jungkook fiddling with some sawdust in a canister as he
twirls his gun.

“What the hell is going on?” you demand.

“Ask him,” Yoongi complains, typing quickly and glancing back at Jungkook.

“Couldn’t you have messaged me?” you ask Jungkook.

“You weren’t answering,” Jungkook says pointedly. “Anyway, this is serious.”

“Yeah, totally serious,” you say, eyeing Jungkook’s Glock spinning around his finger.

“This isn’t loaded,” Jungkook replies.

“What?” Yoongi asks, feeling weirdly betrayed.

“There was never any danger, but we still need your help,” Jungkook says.
“And why do we need his help?” you ask.

“An old friend is looking for us,” Jungkook answers.

Yoongi stops typing, and you take a step back.

“What…”

You scratch your forehead.

“Confirmed?”

Yoongi looks at your face and starts to get worried.

“You said we weren’t in any danger,” Yoongi says. His face morphs from worried and looking at
you to angry and looking at Jungkook. This has to be his fault. The only thing that’s changed since
your conversation is that Jungkook became the one holding the gun.

“Yugyeom,” Jungkook whispers.

“Yoongi,” Yoongi corrects, his annoyed ears collecting sounds like satellites.

“No,” Jungkook says, sighing. He isn’t sure how to have these coded conversations, and Yoongi’s
curious peepers definitely aren’t helping. “Just--- Here. Look.”

He reaches for a pair of enormous headphones that are plugged into Yoongi’s computer.

He nudges the band into Yoongi’s upper arm.

“Please,” Jungkook continues. “I need a minute with her.”

Yoongi furrows his brow.

“You’re not in any danger,” Jungkook replies. “I promise.”

Really hope you aren’t promising something we can’t deliver on there, Jungkook.

Yoongi looks over at you, and you raise your eyebrows slightly.

Apologetically.

He scoffs and takes his headphones from Jungkook’s outstretched arm. When you start to hear
music, heavy on the bass, piping through, you and Jungkook turn back to each other and finally
have the conversation that needs to be had.

“Got this message about a half-hour ago.”

Jungkook stands next to you and shows you his phone.

YY (5:42 PM): X

He clicks the link, and a new window pops up.

CRS Server does not exist.

“The GNS one is down, too. I already checked.”

The fake servers. The fake job. The search for you.

“It’s the signal I had with him,” Jungkook explains. “We agreed that if he ever suspected someone
was on our trail, he’d take them down and tell me before going dark.”

Jungkook nods over to Yoongi.

“Yoongi doesn’t have any context, but I asked him to prop them up again somehow. Nothing
criminal. I asked him if he could do it in a way that makes it seem like he’s working from another
location.” Jungkook raises his brow. “He said something about goofing?”

“Spoofing,” you say. “Geo-spoofing. He’s probably using a VPN.”

Jungkook shrugs. “Well, he’s trying to backtrack Yugyeom’s work.” He sighs. “I don’t know if
that’s how he found us. But I thought it might be good to preserve everything to get the slip on
him.”

You nod. Smart. As long as it’s all away from the cul-de-sac.

“Gyu-ri?” you ask.

“She’s doing her hair and makeup, and she thinks I’m out for a walk.”

You calculate how much time you have left.

With Sejin’s resources, you’ve got a day, at most. But how close is he? Is he in town? Is he in your
literal backyard? Are those his eyes that you feel on your back, as sharply pointed as the target he’s
drawn on it?

“Tonight, then.”

Jungkook hears the ache in your voice.

“I’m sorry. I know you wanted more time.”

You try not to think about the sound of kids laughing.

“Game night’s in a couple of hours. Can you manage?”

Jungkook nods. “Everything’s ready.”

You think of your own go bag, fingers no longer itching, but burning.

“OK,” you say, determined.

“OK,” Jungkook says. He so badly wants to comfort you. His arms are twitching by his sides, and
he’s biting his lip to keep from kissing you.

“After,” you say. “We’ll have so much time after.”

Jungkook nods quickly.

And then you break his gaze and look over at Yoongi, the outline of the back of his head glowing
from the light of his screen. His keyboard clacks speedily. Loudly.

When he’s finally done, he takes a breath, and then he sits back and admires his handiwork.
“Gotta be happy with that result,” he says, smirking. “It looks exactly like the picture you showed
me.”

When he turns around, he finds that he’s alone.

**

Yoongi fidgets uncomfortably, folding and unfolding the scrap of paper in his hands, looking
between you and Jungkook sitting in the middle of Nima and Namjoon’s couch, sandwiched
between Hobi and Gyu-ri on your other sides.

“God, this spread!” Gyu-ri gushes, giggling as she raises an oyster to her lips and slurps.

Much to your amusement, Yoongi frowns slightly as he watches her. But it makes sense that she’s
here at all. You wonder how close Sejin might be.

Whether he’s closing in on you.

Mouth full, Hobi chimes in with a hearty, “Nima, Namjoon, congratulations, I’m addicted to these
thingies,” as he twirls the toothpick that was just recently holding a bacon-wrapped date.

Nima laughs, explains what it is, and mentions that you and Jang-mi assisted in her order from The
Buxton earlier.

“You went without me?” Gyu-ri asks, eyes wide.

Jungkook stifles a laugh.

Yoongi sneers.

You smile to yourself as Hobi picks up another and holds it out to you.

“A bacon-wrapped date, m’lady?”

He’s in considerably better spirits since your conversation earlier. His forgiving heart beats so
madly for you. You remember what it felt like to feel it inside of you. You think you feel it now, as
he wraps his arm around your waist, his fingers resting on your ribs, gently sliding over them.
Telling you that he’s still worried. Telling you that he cares.

You pop the treat into your mouth.

“Mmm.” You hadn’t eaten anything yet. “This is really good,” you say.

“It’s a bit sweet,” Jin says, crinkling his nose. “In a stab-your-tongue-and-give-you-a-sore kind of
way.”

“Hmm. I might be losing any sharp sweetness because that bloody mary was a tad spicy,” you say.
“Anybody else want some wat---”

“Don’t move --- I’ll go get it!” Hobi exclaims, jumping up and running into the kitchen.
You watch him go and try not to tear up as you hear him fussing with your glass.

You turn back to the oblivious group, save for Yoongi’s nervous eyes.

He has so many questions. Why did you ask for his help earlier? What’s this all about? Why is
Hobi doting on you even more than usual?

Why do your smiles seem so sad?

Hobi returns and sets a massive glass of water in front of you. He would have ripped out the entire
kitchen sink for you. Would have given you the ocean.

“Thanks, hon,” you say softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek and drinking appreciatively as Hobi
replaces his hand at your side.

Jungkook wishes he could do the same.

But all he can do is keep his thigh right next to yours, letting you know that he’s still there.

Jang-mi watches as you set your water glass back on the table. She turns to Jin and smiles sweetly.
“Jinnie?” she asks, her cute voice flouncing in the air, and her wedding ring clinking against her
empty wine glass.

“Babe?”

Jin sounds miles away when he answers, still busy writing on his whiteboard, tongue sticking out
of his mouth in concentration.

“Jinnie.”

“Wait, that’s probably not right.”

Jin erases his answer and scribbles something else.

Jang-mi, sullen, just looks at you and Nima, making Nima giggle as she reaches for another mini-
quiche.

Nima holds her nearly empty gin and tonic out to Namjoon, sitting between her legs on the floor in
front of her, tapping the cap of his dry erase marker tip against his dimple.

“Oh, thanks, sweetie.”

He wraps his hand around hers and takes a huge gulp of her drink before returning to whatever
thought he was lost in.

Nima holds up her empty glass and gives a little bow of her head, sarcastically triumphing in
seemingly having the most heedless husband in the room.

Gyu-ri laughs along with you three, but Jang-mi and Nima’s smiles stiffen. You can see the
thought pass through their minds as Gyu-ri happily chatters as if nothing’s wrong, and Jungkook
smiles at her pleasantly.

They wonder if Jungkook should be the one taking the bow.

“Don’t think too hard, losers!” Gyu-ri exclaims, seemingly a little drunk. “Pretty sure Jungkook
and I are killing it, given that we’re the actual newlyweds of the group.”
“Don’t be so sure,” Jin says, narrowing his eyes and turning to Jang-mi.

Surprisingly, Jin reaches for the wine bottle and refills Jang-mi’s wine glass, handing it back to her
from its spot on the table.

Jang-mi brightens and smiles softly at him.

Everyone looks expectantly at Yoongi, and he startles at the sudden wall of attention.

“Right, sorry!” Yoongi replies, his voice a little more high-pitched than you’re all used to. He
looks down at his scrap of paper. “Would your partner rather eat chocolate on pizza or never eat
chocolate ever again?”

“We know the question,” Namjoon says, impatiently drumming on his whiteboard. “We’re ready
to share our answers.”

“Oh, OK.”

“Everything alright, Yoongi?” Nima asks, concerned.

“He’s bored,” Gyu-ri suggests. “I mean, it’s kind of unfair to ask someone without a loving partner
to play The Newlywed Game.”

“Unfair,” Jang-mi says, narrowing her eyes a little at Gyu-ri. “True.”

“No, I’m--- you’re all--- i-it’s fine,” Yoongi babbles, shaking his head. “Just turn your boards
around in 3, 2, 1.”

You all turn your whiteboards around, and you smile at everybody’s answers.

Jin and Jang-mi have both written “chocolate on pizza”.

“Yes!” Jin exclaims, smiling. “We’re both right! Two more points!”

Jang-mi laughs and settles into his victorious embrace. “A foodie married to a chef. We’re not
giving up any flavor profile for any reason, no matter how ridiculous.”

Everybody else has written “chocolate on pizza” for more or less the same reason.

“You don’t have to be a foodie or a chef to know that it would be a sin to give up chocolate,”
Namjoon remarks, erasing his board. “Points all around, and next question, Yoongles!”

Yoongi digs for another question out of the fishbowl and reads the next scrap of paper.

“Would your partner rather run as fast as The Flash or be as strong as Superman?”

You take some time to ponder your answer, smirking to yourself as Hobi covers his scribbling with
his free hand. He looks up at you happily when you’ve both finished, and then he notices Gyu-ri’s
head starting to angle toward your end of the couch.

“Gyu-ri! No cheating!” Hobi tuts, eyeing Gyu-ri’s curious and wandering eyes over to Jungkook’s
board.

Nima does a spit-take, and Namjoon turns around in disgust, wiping the gin-soaked back of his
head.
“Sorry,” Nima confesses, getting up, “I’ll get you a towel.”

Namjoon watches her quizzically, and as Nima passes in front of your laughing eyes, Yoongi’s
fearful eyes latch onto yours.

You try to imbue some of that laughter into his gaze by smiling at him reassuringly, but it’s not
until you rest your head on Hobi’s shoulder that he seems to relax a little.

Nima returns with a hand towel for Namjoon’s head, and as he wipes himself dry, the kids run
through the living room squealing and cackling.

“Not so loud!” Namjoon booms.

The kids quiet down, and you try to look at each of their grinning faces. Precious Jong-soo. Cheeky
Nam-gi and Nam-il. Sweet Na-young.

You notice that Jong-soo and Na-young are holding hands, and you look back into Na-young’s
gaze. You wink at her, and she makes a cute, embarrassed face, pulling Jong-soo into the hallway
with her as they all run back up to the boys’ room, snacks in tow.

“Everybody got their answers?” Yoongi asks, settling into the role a bit better. “OK. 3, 2, 1.”

You all turn your boards around and read each others’ answers.

Gyu-ri, Jang-mi, and Namjoon have correctly written “Superman”. Jungkook, Jin, and Nima are
the type to prefer strength over speed.

You think about Jungkook in a Superman costume. That blue spandex hugging his body. With the
way Jungkook’s wide-open knee in his ripped jeans grazes against yours momentarily, you know
he can tell what you’re thinking. And you know you’re both thinking the same thing.

Soon.

Very soon.

Hobi laughs a little when he looks down at his board. You and Hobi have both correctly written
“The Flash”. Hobi knows that you hate being a slow runner, and you know that Hobi always wants
what you want.

Jin and Nima also correctly write “The Flash”. Jang-mi shares your desire at being faster on her
feet. She doesn’t think super strength is as practical or useful as super speed, which she makes a
very passionate case for, as if approaching the jury.

“I could prevent spills and falls. I could always make it to my favorite bike at spin class. I’d be the
first one out with my groceries before the dinner rush. I wouldn’t have to drive. When am I lifting
boulders or buildings? Speed just makes more sense!”

Jungkook incorrectly guesses “The Flash”, clashing with the cursive “Superman” that Gyu-ri has
written for herself on the bottom of her board.

“Guess I don’t know you all that well after all, huh?” Jungkook needles.

Nima stops herself from taking a sip of her drink, and Yoongi starts to turn red.

“So, the newlyweds are officially losing The Newlywed Game, huh?” Jin chuckles, as you all erase
your boards. “Ironic.”
“Whatever,” Gyu-ri mutters, downing another glass.

“How many more questions, Yoongi?” Jang-mi asks, eyeing the scoreboard that she’s adding
points to.

“Two for this round,” Yoongi says. “Then we start the, uh…”

He looks at the fishbowl with the red scraps of paper.

“Raunchier questions,” Yoongi says delicately.

Nima and Namjoon’s hallway clock chimes the hour down the hall.

You check your work phone.

9:00.

How did it get here so soon?

Jungkook’s thigh presses against you as he carefully readjusts his position.

The group laughs at the prospect of a naughty night, and you place a hand on Hobi’s knee. You
lean into him and nibble on his ear.

“Feeling like you’re ready to call it a night?” you whisper, your voice a low purr.

Hobi smiles. “Wait.” His smile grows bigger. “What are you thinking?”

You grin at your and Hobi’s game night trademark.

“I’m thinking we leave after this round and have our own raunchy round at home.”

One last round.

Hobi chuckles and squeezes his hand over your hand on your knee.

“Maybe we stay this time,” he says quietly. Hopefully. “Maybe we keep things quiet tonight.
Just… y’know. Take it easy.” He smiles. “Be.”

You look at him. Take him in. You hear the sound of the kids laughing upstairs. You hear the
sound of kids laughing from your bathroom.

“Fuck, shit,” Jungkook says suddenly, patting his pockets. “My phone.”

“Next question,” Yoongi says. “Would your partner rather go back to the past and meet your loved
ones who passed away, or go to the future to meet your children or grandchildren-to-be?”

“Interesting,” Namjoon muses, his eyes getting lost in thought as Nima rolls hers.

But to you, the question is so much more than just interesting. It’s inducing. The question
summons pin pricks all over you, as if your entire body had fallen asleep, and the question is
shaking you awake.

“What do you say?” Hobi asks gently, turning his whiteboard over and writing quickly. You
already know what his answer will be.

You look down at your own whiteboard.

You have wanted nothing more than to raise the dead. And you know that Hobi is dying for you to
picture the future.

What do you say?

Jungkook turns to Gyu-ri. “Do you know where my phone is?”

“I dunno,” Gyu-ri slurs. “Pockets?”

Jungkook stands and sighs. “I need it. Fuck, what if I missed work?”

Jang-mi and Nima exchange glances.

“Well, I don’t know, Cookie,” Gyu-ri replies, bored. “Maybe it’s back at the house?”

“Maybe.”

Jungkook crosses in front of you, doing his best and succeeding in not glancing at you as he passes
you.

“I don’t think I know your answer,” Namjoon admits, staring at his board.

Nima laughs. “I don’t think I know my answer either. It’s a weird one.”

Gyu-ri frowns. “You’re really leaving to go get your phone? In the middle of our game?”

“I’ll be quick.” Jungkook turns to the group. He can’t help but smirk a little. “See you in a bit.”

You watch him go.

Your heart is racing.

“I guess, children? But we only have the one,” Jin drunkenly thinks aloud. He squints at Jang-mi.
“But then there’s your favorite grandmother I never got to meet. So, I really don’t know about this
one.”

“You don’t?” she asks, surprised. Her face is open, but scared. Like she was hoping for something,
but now fears it’s out of reach.

Jin’s ears turn red. “Hmm.” He softens. “Scratch that. Now, I think I do know what you’d answer.”
He chuckles. “Wow. I hadn’t thought about it, but… yeah. I think I know the answer.”

Jang-mi smiles softly, impressed that her husband continues to read between the lines, even when
she expects him to lose the plot entirely. “Aw. Jinnie.”

“You know my answer, don’t you?” Hobi turns and smiles at you. “Given our… conversation …
earlier?”

You smile back awkwardly, feeling Yoongi’s eyes on your profile.

“What’s yours?”

The sudden, blinding heat.

Not just the heat rising to your face, lips, cheeks.

But the wall of invisible fire that hits the group as the sound of an explosion next door rattles
everything around you. Namjoon and Nima’s family portraits and tsotchkes rattle in place, some of
them slanting askew, some of them falling and breaking.

Hobi instinctively wraps you up in his arms, as everyone exchanges glances of terror and confusion
with each other.

“Fuck!” Namjoon cries out. “What the fuck was that!”

“Joon!” Nima exclaims. “The kids!”

But Jin and Namjoon are already storming upstairs, massive clouds of smoke catching the
streetlamp light as they crawl past the big, open window.

They’re coming from the end of the cul-de-sac.

“Wait, that’s from… that’s coming from…” Gyu-ri mumbles to herself.

There’s more light. Not an invisible fire. A real fire. One dancing in the street.

“Kookie?” Gyu-ri asks softly, jumping to her feet and bolting outside.

You have the same inclination, but Jungkook’s name catches in your throat, and your legs feel too
heavy to move.

“Hon?”

You blink, tears forming at the sound.

You turn from the window to Hobi.

“Hon, are you OK?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say weakly, “I---”

You hear Gyu-ri screaming outside, and Jang-mi trying to get her attention.

You, Yoongi, Nima, and Hobi run out to join Gyu-ri and Jang-mi in the middle of the cul-de-sac.
You all find the old Victorian blown to oblivion, a massive inferno engulfing its bones and raging
up into the night.

“Jungkook?” Gyu-ri wails, dropping to her knees. “Jungkook??”

Jin and Namjoon join you outside, though Namjoon stands in his doorway, all the kids huddled
behind him.

Hobi wraps you up in his arms again and turns your head away from the destruction, pinning your
chin to his shoulder and cradling your head in his hand while his other arm encircles you tightly.

You cling onto him, weeping, mind temporarily blank.

“Shit,” Hobi sighs, and if you could see his eyes, you’d see them glistening in wonder and fear at
the horrible aftermath. “Fuck, how could this have---”

Something creaks. Like the wood in the attack creaked. Like your bones creak when you’re
anxious.
And then, there’s an awful groan.

The balcony that Jungkook so loved spending time in, spending time with you in, crashes to the
ground. The roof follows right after, tiles and wood crumbling as they land in the grass of the
straw-like lawn that is threatening to catch fire.

“Back away!” Namjoon exclaims. “The yard! It’s dry! It’s all gonna---”

More flames whoosh as the yard in front of the Victorian starts to catch.

“Oh god!” Gyu-ri shrieks, as Jang-mi holds her back from running into the flames, and Nima
desperately tries to dial emergency services, her fingers and her phone shaking.

“Our house!” Jin yells. “The girls! The kids!”

It’s so hard to hear him. It’s all mixing together. The blaze. The screaming. The crying. The
horrible sound your heart is making, not just beating, but thudding, in your ears.

But then you hear the sirens. Distant, but approaching.

“Home,” you tell Hobi, tugging his shirt.

“OK,” Hobi says quickly, following you as you break off from your crowd.

As he’s running toward Jin’s front door, Yoongi turns and watches you and Hobi run into your
house. Though the space between you grows, you feel his still-curious eyes on you.

When you look back, you raise your eyebrows.

Apologetically.

Yoongi lingers in Jin’s doorway, holding onto the doorframe, gripping it so tightly as he looks at
you sadly.

And as Jin forces him inside, you catch Yoongi chewing on his lip, eyes worried.

Hobi slams the door behind you and stares at it as you both linger in the doorway.

As if that will stop any danger from following you.

Hobi still doesn’t know.

You are the danger.

You take a deep breath, fresh sobs building in your chest.

“Hon?” Hobi asks, “Are you sure you’re OK---”

You pull your work phone out of your back pocket and, eyes blurred with tears, you squint and
type as you start the script.

“What are you---” Hobi screws up his eyes. “Your work phone?”

You shove the work phone into your back pocket, drag your forearm across your eyes and let out a
sob, and you head to your spice rack. You pull out your Glock from its hiding place, and you
quickly stuff it under your shirt, into the back of your jeans.
Just like Jungkook.

“Hon??” Hobi asks. “Is that--- Was that a gun??”

You run upstairs, Hobi following quickly, tripping on a couple of steps but catching up to you soon
enough to see you flipping your mattress and pulling out your other Glock. You stick that one into
your left jacket pocket and zip it up for safe keeping.

Hobi gawks at you, completely flabbergasted.

“Wha---”

You push past him and run downstairs to the basement.

You pull out your Sig Sauer and jam it into your right jacket pocket.

You grab your laptop and the Sope Industries USB drives, everything already wiped clean.

And then you reach for your go bag.

You hesitate when your fingers near the handle. As if the handle will sting. Burn.

Then you rip the bag open and stuff your laptop and USB drives inside, along with everything
you’d already packed. Essentials. A couple of changes of clothes. All the rest of your ammo.

You turn to go, but then you notice something.

That picture, of Hobi and you, on your desk.

You let out another sob, staring at his smiling face.

You grab the picture and stuff it into the bag, zip it up, and then look up at a pale, shocked Hobi,
looking woozy.

“What’s going on??” he demands.

You sniffle and drag your forearm across your face again, though no matter how many times you
try, you won’t be able to rid yourself of the flood of tears.

“H-hobi,” you say delicately, voice heavy. “Oh, god. Honey.”

“What---”

Your chest is heaving for breath. “I h-have to go.”

Hobi looks at you incredulously.

“Go??”

“I don’t kn-know.”

“You---” He shakes his head. “What are you--- Where could you possibly---” He looks back up the
stairs, and then at you, unable to understand what you’re saying. “There’s a fire?? There was an
explosion?? You think I’m just gonna let you---”

He steps toward you.

“What the hell are you doing with guns, Sena??”

“I have to go,” you repeat, voice a little firmer now. “You won’t see me again.”

“What the fuck?” Hobi asks.

You think of his heartbeat. How wild it must be right now.

“I can’t explain,” you say. “I can’t even begin to---”

You start to weep, all the things left unsaid coming out of you only as tears. He hasn’t seen you
like this, not since the last time you were saying goodbye to someone so tragically.

“Hon? You’re scaring me?”

His voice is frail. So frail that it surprises you, how much he towers over you when he holds you.

You squeeze him tightly, not caring that your ribs ache just a bit.

And then, you pull him into a passionate kiss. One that oddly reassures him. That though he’s
confused, and scared, of the situation, and a little of you, that everything will ultimately be OK.

You pull away from him, and you gaze into his eyes.

“You don’t know things about me,” you whisper. “I have to keep it that way. So I have to go.”

You reach down into your chair for your go bag, and you pull it onto your shoulder.

“Go?” Hobi asks.

He reaches for you as you move toward the staircase, catching you by the strap of your bag.

“Don’t!” Hobi cries out.

He doesn’t know why you’re doing this. Acting like this. Even if he did, he still wouldn’t want you
to go. You know, deep down, past the enigmas, buried in the part of you that is the most certain,
the part of you that knows that you should’ve left, that now, you must leave, that even if he did
know everything, even if he had every single detail about your life, and the things you’ve done,
and the lies you’ve told, he’d still want you to stay. You know that he believes that he could live
with it. Figure out a way to live with you. Keep this secret for you. Be with you.

But you also know that you can’t risk it. Not with him.

You could never forgive yourself if something happened to him.

Placing a hand on his cheek, you say, “I’m so grateful to you. This life. It was perfect.”

“What are you doing?” Hobi asks, tears forming in his eyes and starting to run down his cheeks,
down his jaw, collecting at the bottom of his chin, dripping and splattering onto the staircase below
you when he dares to blink. “Why are you---”

“Remember me,” you say, crying too, taking a moment to hold him in your arms. “This was real.”
These words feel strange to say instead of write. “We were real. And I loved you. I always will.”

He’s latching. He’d hold onto you forever.

So you reach into your pocket for your Sig Sauer.

You take a step back and aim it at him.

Weeping, you watch as Hobi retreats to his knees, utterly destroyed, white-knuckling the banister
because he can’t get any words out through the block in his throat.

“But I have to go,” you whine. “I’m so, so sorry honey. I have to go.”

Hobi watches helplessly as you run up the stairs and burst through the front door, the sirens even
louder now, their lights starting to pierce the air above the cul-de-sac.

You’re going to get blocked in.

You drop your car keys on the porch and bolt the other way, behind your house.

You run for as long as you can go.

And then, when you get to a quiet street, feet aching, you look around.

You’ve only been in this part of the neighborhood a couple of times, during your runs with the
girls.

Everyone’s cars are tucked away for the evening, but there’s a two-door sedan parked on the
street.

You look around cautiously to make sure no one can see you.

As you jog over to it, you dig for your screwdriver in your go bag.

You smash the window in, eyes darting around to see if anybody’s noticed you.

And then you throw your bag into the passenger seat.

You snake your way through the window and jam your screwdriver into the ignition, turning the
engine on, and easily unlocking the door.

You sweep and kick the glass out of the car.

You get inside.

And then you put the car in drive.

**

ONE TOWN SINCE

You sigh. Hobi’s picking the wrong flowers, again. They won’t match the vase in the living room.
Longer would’ve been better. Longer ones you could at least trim and shape. These are much too
short.

Marbles might help. Those glass marbles. Cat eyes. He’d probably like those, the swirls catching
his attention as you give him a couple to roll around on the table to distract him and make him feel
like he’s contributing while you switch the bouquet out. You’ve done this pretty often. Has he
really not picked any of that up?

He heads inside.

And then you remember what you’re here to do.

“Alright. Make the first drop when you can.”

“Who, me?”

You roll your eyes.

“Yes, you.”

“Sorry, I just wasn’t sure.”

You shake your head. “Make the first drop when you can, Mr. Hak.”

Standing by, he follows your instructions, his quick and gentle hands working silently. You’re glad
that you’ve got a partner for this. It would have been a lot of work, but for various reasons, it
would’ve been impossible to do yourself.

“Alright, Miss Song, it’s done,” his voice confirms in your ear.

“Copy. Get into position.”

Again, he follows your instructions, just like you’d practiced. You see his frame pop up on the
camera feed on your work laptop, his keen eyes scanning his environment before his back is
turned, his hands shoved into his pockets, head covered by a baseball cap, and his face hidden by
the upturned collars of his huge, beige fishing jacket.

“I’ve got eyes on you,” you say. “You’re clear. Make the second drop when you can.”

He places a hand on the underside of the display case and squeezes. If you didn’t know to watch
for it, you would have thought that he was simply leaning on something so as not to lose his
balance.

“Done.”

“Target still in the area?”

“Yep.”

“OK, then. Crash and last drop on my mark.”

“Copy.”

The old man tilts his head from side to side, and you mute yourself to let out a snicker after, “3…
2… 1… mark!”

Upon your cue, the old man swings around and elbows the top of a huge pyramid of honeydew,
toppling them over and spilling them onto the ground. They roll in all directions, causing a
gigantic, frustrating mess.

“Ahh!” he calls out, his voice low and rough.

It’s not as dramatic as the last explosion Hobi’s seen.

But it is just enough to catch Hobi’s attention. Hobi’s the only other person in the produce aisle,
leaning on his cart and tapping the stack of coupons that you’ve mailed to him against his chin. He
startles at the crash of melons on the floor, and he frowns when he watches the old man shuffle
away without cleaning up, before sighing to himself.

Sweet, good-natured Hobi pushes his cart over just like you knew he would. He bends down to
clean up the mess without saying anything or involving anyone else, and you see the old man make
the last drop in Hobi’s cart.

He lingers in the bottom corner of the frame, Hobi and the old man’s backs turned to each other as
Hobi kneels down to collect the potatoes.

You unmute yourself. “What are you doing?” you whisper. “Get out.”

“Just need visual confirmation,” he whispers.

You watch him scan the room quickly, and then his eyes soften. “OK. I’m out.”

The old man turns on his heel and disappears.

“Let me help you with that!”

A woman steps into frame, parking her cart next to Hobi’s and kneeling down next to him.

“Oh, that’s OK, I’ve got it---”

Hobi rises slowly, and he and Hei-ran stare at each other. The mic that the old man planted on the
display case picks up both of them clearing their throats nervously.

You can’t believe you got such a great deal on these mics. Four for just $35. It could be a promise,
or a simple recommendation, but you can always trust Yoongi at his word.

“Oh, hi,” Hobi replies.

“Hi,” Hei-ran says, grinning.

She’s a little late, based on the schedule you’ve built while trailing her. But you’re glad she’s there.

Hei-ran and Hobi stare at the melons on the floor, making eye contact every now and then, before
shying away from each other again.

You’d say that the silence was deafening, but your mics are picking up the sounds of other store
patrons passing and chatting, and the awful muzak playing on the store’s sound system.

You can’t help but ache a little for adorable Hobi, seeing him stand there, shifting a melon in his
hands, undoubtedly tamping down the impulse to put it at his chest and pretend it’s a boob,
attempting to move this conversation forward in more of a mature way. You don’t chastise yourself
nearly as much as you used to, but one quiet, sorrowful should’ve left flashes in the front of your
brain before you remind yourself that you’re trying to make up for it now.
“Where’s Hyun?” Hobi suddenly thinks to ask, eyeing Hei-ran’s childless cart.

“Oh, she’s with her dad and grandparents today,” Hei-ran explains with a soft smile.

“Aw. Always love seeing her at Nima’s events,” Hobi says.

His words deepen pleasantly surprised Hei-ran’s gaze on him. She bends down and picks up a
melon. She smiles and places it in the display case. And Hobi smiles back.

The car door opens, and the old man plops into the passenger seat. You smile at the sight of the
disguise that he had insisted on wearing: the fishing jacket that the Sope Industries Geek Squad got
him for their fishing trips, high-waisted old-man slacks, a pair of cheap sneakers, a baseball cap,
and a gray wig.

“Why did you wear the cap and the wig?” you ask.

“I needed to get into character.”

Makes sense, you think.

Jungkook did have to be extremely convincing.

Hobi would’ve simply ignored the situation if it hadn’t been instigated by an elderly person.

Plus, there’s also the heart attack Hobi would have had in seeing Jungkook risen from the dead.

Though, Jungkook has had plenty of experience rising from the dead, and this time, with your help,
the group was masterfully played.

As soon as Jungkook got everything he needed, he let you know that he was able to set up the rest
of Mr. Hak’s fireworks in the gas oven in that old Victorian house. Cutting the gas line was easy if
not a little scary, and it took fewer than the five or so minutes you and Jungkook agreed upon for
him to get far away enough for you to run your simple script and blow your improvised charge
remotely, just like you did to take out Jimin and Taehyung.

He really is such a fast runner.

With Jungkook’s wedding ring being the only thing of interest that they could find, the city’s
formal investigation had to close.

You don’t know what happened to Gyu-ri’s wedding ring, though.

You never found out if Gyu-ri ever discovered how close she got to figuring out your involvement
with Sejin before she claimed to leave town and go to her mom’s to deal with the “grief”. And
you’re not sure if she was dealing with the grief of “losing” Jungkook, or the fact that after being
undercover for years, it was a junior agent named Cho who got the arrest after working in
conjunction with the Sope Industries cybertheft team, identifying Sejin as the recipient of a top
secret defense contract worth $2 billion, and locating him based on old server activity.

All you know --- and care to know --- is that the cul-de-sac is completely safe.

At least, that’s what unfailingly honest Yoongi’s last coded message back to you told you. The last
ones that you both promised to send before Yoongi destroyed everything on his end.

The cul-de-sac is safe. And everyone is just fine.

Hobi is just fine.

“I bet you’re secretly into this look,” Jungkook teases. “You have an old man kink, don’t you?”

“Maybe you do, going the extra mile like this.”

Jungkook leans forward, folding his lips over his teeth and pretending-gumming your cheek,
making you squeal and laugh. And then, he softens as his gaze lingers on you a moment, before
asking, “So. How’s our guy doing?”

Our guy.

You smile at Jungkook, touched by his words, and angle your laptop so that both of you can watch
the events unfold.

“Awful lot of coupons there,” Hei-ran points out as they work to fix the display, her eyes glancing
over to the stack of coupons that you’ve successfully faked, and that Hobi’s still inexplicably
holding onto.

Self-conscious, he shoves the coupons into his pocket, some of them falling to the floor. “Oh,
yeah,” he says, getting more embarrassed by the second. “Can’t resist a good deal. My stuff never
seems to be on sale, so I thought I’d stock up now.”

Hei-ran tilts her head. “What stuff?”

“Toiletries. A moisturizer.”

Hobi reaches into his pocket and pulls one coupon back out to show her the brand that he means.

Jungkook chuckles. “Funny coincidence that we use the same face cre---”

He stops in his tracks when you look at him knowingly.

You’ve shared how, in the beginning, you’d tried to bring Jungkook back from the dead by
yourself. Dressing Hobi in things that he’d wear. Buying Hobi colognes that smelled like him. The
face cream was the first thing. If you could lather Hobi in that face cream, you’d heal yourself of
Jungkook’s scar. But it backfired. All you would think about was Jungkook’s flawless baby face,
and seeing that jar in the shower stall at the warehouse. The actual funny coincidence was that you
didn’t need to do all that to bring him back; he was on his way back to you all along.

“So,” Hei-ran says carefully, “I, uh… I don’t know if this is too personal, but I’ve heard. About,
um… Sena.”

She says your name so quietly. Cautiously. Like it’s a curse.

Hobi nods slowly. “Right.”

“I hope that’s OK. I saw Nima and Namjoon at the open house recently, and I noticed she hadn’t
been around. So I asked where she was.”

“Hmm.” Hobi fights a laugh. “Do they happen to know where she is?”

Jungkook laugh-snorts, glancing at you.

You rascal, you think happily, feeling weirdly proud of Hobi.

Hei-ran smiles. “No.”

“What did they tell you?”

“Don’t wanna rehash the details, but suffice it to say… your group cares about you a lot.”

Hobi smirks, which Hei-ran takes to mean that he appreciates their care. But you know that Hobi is
actually thinking about you. He’s spending a couple of seconds wondering where you are, like he
often does. He wishes you could see and hear what’s going on right now. If you could tell him,
he’d appreciate the irony.

“And, y’know, since your group is so close, you probably don’t need to, but…”

Hei-ran pauses to let her words work themselves out, the idea getting stuck in the cogs.

“Anyway, I wouldn’t mind listening. If you needed someone to talk to.”

Hobi looks a little confused at first, but he’s thrown by how admittedly adorable Hei-ran looks
when she’s blushing. Jammed thoughts. Pink, flustered face. Like a printer that’s overheating.

“I mean, well, because I’ve been there,” she blurts out. “Divorce, that is.”

“Yes, of course,” Hobi realizes, nodding quickly now, and then rushing to say, “I mean, not of
course, but I mean, n-now I get why you brought it up, and, uh…”

You start to feel Hobi’s nervousness in your own bones. “He’s so bad at lying,” you mutter,
making Jungkook giggle. You appreciate the warm, fond look on Jungkook’s face when he agrees
and says, “He’s just too pure-hearted. But that’s a good thing, don’t you think?”

Clearly not for your and Jungkook’s purposes. But yes, a good thing, at its core.

A good, everlasting, unruined thing.

The realization feels like a silver lining.

Hobi clears his throat nervously. “Anyway. Yes. I’d, uh, I’d like that. To talk. Y’know. If you’re,
um, willing to chat about it.” He gulps. “Um, maybe over a dinner of some sort?”

Hei-ran chuckles at how much Hobi’s sweating.

“Sure, of some sort,” she replies.

They finish fixing the display, and it looks even better than the half-assed attempt than the original

Hei-ran holds out her palm upturned. Expectantly.

Hobi slaps her five. “Good job.”

A genuine, kind laugh escapes her, and she snorts a little, making Hobi smile. “No,” she giggles.
“Your phone? I’d like to give you my number.”

“Oh!”

Hobi reaches into his back pocket and hands her his phone. He pauses for a moment when he
realizes that his lock screen is still a picture of you. But he bites his tongue and soldiers on,
unlocking the phone and handing it to a giddy Hei-ran, who starts entering in her information.
She smiles and hands Hobi’s phone back to him before resting her hand on her cart handle.

“In your own time,” she reassures him, when Hobi seems to want to say something.

He takes a deep breath and smiles. He looks the most relaxed you’ve seen him in a while.

“See you later, Hobi,” Hei-ran says, turning and squeezing the cart handle with both hands.

Hobi grins. “Thanks for the melons!” His eyes widen in horror as he hears what he’s just said. “I
mean, uh, helping me clean up the, uh---”

“Just be more careful,” Hei-ran chuckles as she walks away. “So clumsy.”

A soft smile grows on Hobi’s face, and you crumble a little. It’s the same look he gave you at the
cafe, when you first met, tube of lipstick in hand. Your nostalgia doesn’t change your mind,
though. You know you’re doing the right thing. It just stings more than you anticipated to see him
give that look to anyone else.

“Need to stop?” Jungkook asks carefully, somehow sensing the growing weight in your chest, and
setting the pads of his fingers on the back of the laptop screen.

“No,” you say delicately, reaching out to stop him from closing it. “Just a little bit more. I wanna
see if he…”

When Hobi turns to his cart to go about the rest of his day, unknowingly his true last day with you,
he notices something that wasn’t there before.

A red spatula.

Hobi frantically scoops up the spatula, still in its packaging from the cookware aisle that he hasn’t
been to yet, and whirls around, looking for any trace of you. So many emotions dance across his
face, morphing before they settle into any one recognizable expression. But then, slowly, he just
smiles to himself. He looks down at it and laughs a little. He places it back in the cart, handling it
gently, as if it were a piece of you.

He places it in the cart.

And, just as gently, he presses on.

“So… that’s how he was with you,” Jungkook observes, his eyes lingering on the screen as Hobi
steps out of frame. “When you thought I had…”

“Yes,” you say. “He took really good care of me. Right until the very end.”

“Good.”

Jungkook looks back at you. He seems lighter.

Chipper.

“But now, it’s my turn again. To take care of you. OK?”

“OK,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. “And just how long do you think your turn will last?”

Jungkook closes your work laptop and sets it in the backseat, along with all of your collective
belongings. He takes both of your hands and places them on his cheeks. You laugh again at his
disguise, just now noticing the light wrinkles that he’s drawn on with what looks like your
probably now-dull eyebrow pencil.

“Until I look like this for real.”

Heart full, you laugh and use your sleeve to clean off those wrinkles as best as you can before
running your fingers through his hair, shedding the gray wig and baseball cap to reveal his long,
black, wavy locks.

You pull him into a kiss, and you find it remarkable that with everything you’ve been through, he’s
holding onto you tightest now.

Pulling away from each other slightly, and then reconnecting for more pecks and kisses, you gaze
into each other’s’ eyes. Now that you’re officially done with this town, the excitement of a new
adventure is finally settling in.

“Ready?” he asks you, with a glimmer in his eye.

You grin at him.

You put the car in drive, and you look back at him.

“Yes. I’m ready.”

Finally, you think.

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