3-spinning wheels
"In light of recent incidents in Sector 9, we remind all citizens of Seoul that in spite of the suppressors placed on their abilities, those who have been Marked are still dangerous, and capable of large amounts of destruction. Please continue to report any suspicious activity to city police. There will also be a heightened security presence in the outer sectors while we deal with the aftermath of these incidents. All Marked citizens, please be aware that your curfew has been shortened to seven p.m. for the time being. Failure to comply will result in sanctioning."
- Excerpt from a government radio broadcast to all Seoul sectors
_ _
Two years ago
Taehyung doesn't think he's ever run this fast in his life. His lungs are screaming for air as he skids around another corner, following Yoongi through the maze-like streets. This close to the city walls, most of the buildings are dilapidated and crumbling, making traversing through them dangerous. Which is exactly why Yoongi's brought them here.
Ahead of him, Yoongi twists to the right, vaulting through a broken window into what used to be an apartment building. Taehyung scrambles after him, gasping when Yoongi's hand fists the front of his shirt.
"Climb," Yoongi says, shoving him towards the rickety staircase. "Don't stop."
Taehyung's been out here less than Yoongi, but he still knows what steps to avoid. To ignore the ominous creaking and groaning beneath his feet and keep moving towards the roof. Below him, he can hear Yoongi and the shouts of city police. Beyond that is a distant perimeter alarm - set off by their haphazard trespassing into a condemned zone. Normally, Taehyung can disable it in two minutes.
Today, they didn't have that kind of time.
The access door to the roof looms before him, loose on its hinges, and he shoulders his way through it back out to the frigid winter air. His panting breaths billow in clouds of mist in front of him and he pauses for a precious moment, trying to suck air back into his heaving lungs.
"Keep moving," Yoongi snaps from behind him, urging him forward.
The police might not be brave enough to try the steps, but they can't take any chances.
They stay low, out of sight. The perimeter alarm usually means drone surveillance, but they're harder to operate in weather this cold. Plus the fog hanging over everything is going to make visibility a challenge.
Of course there's still infrared to contend with.
They reach a narrow gap between two buildings and hurl themselves over, landing clumsily. Taehyung catches himself with gloved hands and grits his teeth against the flash of pain, staggering back to his feet. Yoongi's already moving, heading for the next jump. A few of the buildings sag and lean into each other, moving between them easier. Presuming they don't give way and send you plummeting to your death.
The second gap is wider, requiring a fast sprint and all the power Taehyung can channel into his legs to make it across. Jungkook can clear these like he's walking through the park, but Taehyung doesn't have his stamina, agility, or muscles. It's even harder for Yoongi, who lands in a rough-looking roll, tumbling across the slanted roof to crash into the concrete ledge. Pieces break loose, falling into the fog-covered void below, but the part supporting Yoongi holds.
"Hyung," Taehyung still gasps in alarm.
"I'm fine," Yoongi mutters, standing. He's got a bloody scrape high on his cheekbone and across the bridge of his nose, visible above the mask still secured on his face. "Keep going."
Crossing another roof and then a third and final jump places them near the edge of the condemned zone. Since the alarm was already triggered, they should be able to slip back through unnoticed, especially since it seems they've lost the police.
Yoongi guides him back down to ground level, carefully picking his way through debris and rubble. Some of the stairs have broken off completely, forcing them to hug the wall and shuffle carefully across the narrow ledges left. Taehyung's heart is hammering so hard, he's amazed it's still in his chest. He's never been a daredevil like Jungkook, or even Jimin. He'd rather be somewhere safe with his computer, not picking his way through ruined buildings, inches from a nasty death.
But this is his fault, so he can't really complain.
Finally, they're climbing out of another shattered window and into what used to be an alley. No sign of the police.
They still stick to the shadows as they approach the boundary - a towering fence covered in flashing warning signs. Fortunately, the government doesn't have the resources to electrify it like they probably want to, meaning it's a relatively simple climb up and over. Yoongi urges Taehyung up first, then scrambles after him, landing in a crouch in the quiet street beyond.
It's almost completely dark now - only a few hours until curfew - and they head towards the bus stop in silence. Board in silence and take their seats in the back. Fortunately, their driver is a Marked, so they don't get overcharged. The bus is also empty except for a woman and a small child near the front. The child is crying and the woman - his mother, Taehyung guesses - is trying frantically to shush him.
"I'm sorry," Taehyung whispers, just audible above the noise.
Yoongi takes off his ratty baseball cap and runs a hand through his dark hair. He doesn't yell, Yoongi never yells, but his voice is cold when he asks, "what the fuck were you thinking?"
Taehyung cringes, old fear bubbling in his belly. That this is going to be the last straw - that Yoongi is going to throw him and Jimin out of the apartment they've been lucky enough to call home for the last two years.
Sorry, we don't want this kind of trouble in our family anymore. Get lost.
"I was just trying to help," Taehyung says. "The delivery schedules changed. You needed to know when to intercept."
"We have people we bribe for that, Taehyung," Yoongi snaps. Taehyung - no nickname, no familiar "ah." He's really in deep shit. "You didn't need to try to hack the fucking government. You're lucky you didn't set off more alarms and special forces didn't fucking descend on us."
Taehyung winces again. It had been a stupid idea, he'll admit that. He'd been overconfident. Sure of his skills. Thought he could help Yoongi gather information for the smuggling network, stalled over the last few weeks because of raids and schedule changes. Winter is critical - people need extra goods to survive. He hadn't anticipated that the government would be able to track his signal to his location. Hadn't anticipated getting Yoongi - who believed Taehyung was just doing routine surveillance from their hiding place while he spoke with a contact nearby - caught up in it, too.
Lucky for them both, Yoongi's an expert at shaking the police.
Still, it had been far too close of a call. And Taehyung's equipment probably would have led the police back to the others, too, meaning sanctioning for all of them.
"I'm sorry," Taehyung repeats, hating that he's close to tears and his hands are shaking. "I'm sorry, hyung." Please don't kick me out.
Yoongi looks away, shoulders tense, and Taehyung bows his head. They spend the rest of the journey in silence. And Taehyung wasn't going to say anything at all - feels pathetic about groveling even though that's what he wants to do - but as they approach their apartment building he can't help blurting, "are you gonna kick me out?"
Yoongi, two steps ahead of him, freezes in the middle of the street.
"Because,"Taehyung continues, "it should just be me. Don't punish Jimin for this, too."
Even if Jimin would probably come with him in solidarity.
Yoongi turns around. All Taehyung can see under the fizzling streetlights are the wounds on his face and his dark eyes. They're both still wearing masks, but even without one, Yoongi's always felt like something of an enigma.
"Taehyung-ah," he says quietly. "Why would I kick you out?"
"Because I fucked up," Taehyung mutters, scuffing his boot along the cracked asphalt.
Yoongi sighs. "We all fuck up. Hoseok nearly caught the apartment on fire yesterday. And Jungkook was two minutes away from being arrested last week."
He closes the distance between them. Taps Taehyung's chin up. "I'm mad at you for being careless, but that doesn't mean you're not still family. When I asked you and Jimin to stay, that offer was permanent, kid. Nothing you do would ever make me revoke it."
"And if I got us sanctioned?" Taehyung whispers around the fear still knotted in his throat. "Got you sanctioned?"
"Then I'd try to protect you," Yoongi replies without hesitation. "And if it was just me..."
"I'd find you," Taehyung interrupts. "I swear I would."
Yoongi's eyes have softened. "I know," he says. "Even if I wouldn't want you to." He squeezes Taehyung's shoulder. "Just ... be more careful, Tae-yah. I don't want to lose any of my family."
Family, he's family, and even though he still feels bad for what happened earlier, warmth is slowly diffusing through his veins in place of the fear.
"I will," he promises, and means it, in that moment.
Yoongi nods, then gestures towards their building. Towards home. "C'mon, the others are probably worried."
He sets off, a brisk pace, but like always Taehyung is content to follow him. Knows that Yoongi does his best to look after them and -
Now
- a pinging alert on his computer startles Taehyung from his thoughts. He jerks upright in his chair, quickly silencing it.
He's back in the condemned zone, right on the edge, because no one looks here and it's easy to piggyback off the government's wireless. He's afraid of making any place permanent - too much risk - but he's got some equipment stored on the third floor of this long-abandoned office building, along with a blanket and some spare food. Outside the filthy, cracked windows, the rain has turned to snow.
His computer is still flashing. He's been trawling through auction house records for the last few days and fuck, there's finally, actually a hit. A good hit. The government does what they can to erase sanctioneds' former identities, but they usually don't have Taehyung to contend with. He figured out Yoongi's and Jungkook's chip numbers months ago, but there are over a dozen auction houses in the city, with hundreds of sanctioned moving through them, and records aren't kept for long. Meaning, actually finding evidence of them is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Of needles.
But this is Yoongi, he's sure of it. The chip number matches, as does the physical descriptors and the blood type. This is Yoongi and he was sold five days ago. To -
Oh fuck.
Taehyung's stomach crashes down to the vicinity of his shoes. He's seen this name before, in records and underground chatter, always with a level of fear attached to it. Like it belongs to a monster instead of a man.
Kim Namjoon.
From a lesser branch of the Kim family, one of the Eight. Responsible for transportation and energy throughout Seoul. But no one cares about that. It's the dark rumors that swirl around him - the ones that whisper about how Kim Namjoon kills companions. How no one bought by him is ever seen again, or resold.
He murders them, the whispers say, brutally.
Sometimes, it can apparently take him months to slowly torture a companion to death, until they're begging to be put out of their misery.
And he's bought Yoongi.
Taehyung slams the laptop closed and shoves it in his backpack with timorous hands. Hides everything else.
Then runs towards the bus as fast as his legs can carry him.
_ _
Kim Namjoon is still a mystery.
He lives, by all accounts, a very boring life. Gets up at seven on the dot just about every morning. Dresses in a suit for his mysterious job he never talks about. Has cold noodles for breakfast, or sometimes a banana. Leaves at exactly 7:45 a.m. and locks the door behind him. Returns at exactly 5:30 p.m. and disappears into his locked wing of the house to change into softer clothes and don his glasses - musses up his hair as he reemerges and sighs, like he's coming unstarched piece by piece. Reheats dinner or calls in for takeout. (Which, Yoongi thought that was a myth - restaurants that will actually bring food to you - but it's apparently common in Sector 1.) Reads for a few hours. Then goes to bed.
But a week in, and he's also kept his word - hasn't touched Yoongi except to change his bandages, has provided him with more than enough food, and doesn't seem interested in restricting his movements around the apartment. The clothes Yoongi is wearing (after Namjoon took his measurements and disappeared for an afternoon) are soft and expensive. There are more in the dresser in his room and Namjoon lets him pick whatever he wants, says nothing when Yoongi makes sure as much of him is covered as possible. In fact, he seems content to mostly ignore Yoongi apart from a few stilted conversations.
But the clock is ticking. Busan, Namjoon said, as soon as Yoongi's wounds healed. They almost have, nothing but faded bruises and scabbed over sores now, and Yoongi is running out of time.
Hurry, Hoseok whispers to him almost daily. You have to hurry, love.
So far, though, a search of the apartment hasn't turned up any evidence of Namjoon's intentions. He was expecting a room hidden somewhere, maybe, or tools. Records of past companions. Photos.
More than likely, it's all in Namjoon's office or bedroom - beyond the passcode locked door - and Yoongi hasn't been able to crack that yet, either. He watched, surreptitiously, one evening as Namjoon opened it to retrieve something and it's a six digit code, but he wasn't close enough to make out the numbers.
Today, he's pulling books off the wall to wall shelves in the living room, ignoring the way his bruises twinge as he stretches to reach the higher ones. His first master had a hidden room only accessible by a button on his bookshelf, so maybe that's a trend among elite. Yoongi isn't taking any chances.
He's got two sections finished - no luck - and has started on the third when the front door clicks open. Shit, Namjoon's back almost two hours early and there are books dumped haphazardly all over the sofa. Which Yoongi is balanced on the back of, in the middle of wrenching several more off the shelf as Namjoon rounds the corner and sees him.
He pauses. Blinks.
Yoongi swallows down fear and excuses. Keeps himself still. This would be ridiculous, even funny, if Namjoon didn't have the power to hurt him.
"What ... what are you doing?" Namjoon asks after an excruciating moment of silence.
He sounds more baffled than angry, but moods can flip easily and abruptly. Like a sudden shift in the current of the wind.
"Rearranging," Yoongi blurts, trying to keep his own voice calm. He doesn't want to think about what a normal master would do if they caught him in this position. "I was ... I was bored, I'm sorry, ma-Namjoon."
Namjoon's brow furrows. "But they're already in alphabetical order?"
Shit fuck.
"I'm-I'm sorry, I didn't realize-" Yoongi stammers, trying to play up the empty-headed companion stereotype. "I'll put them back."
"Please do," Namjoon says, still without any detectable anger. He loosens the tie around his neck. "And please don't rearrange them again. I like them how they are. If you're bored, maybe try reading them?" He freezes. "Wait ... can you read?"
"Yes," Yoongi mutters, then kicks himself. It probably would have been better for Namjoon to think him illiterate. But he still has some pride and he worked hard , teaching himself to read and write when the orphanage refused to provide any kind of education.
Namjoon actually blushes. "Oh. Right. I'm sorry."
He apologizes so easily. Yoongi hates it - the burst of warmth it gives him.
"I'll finish putting these back," he says, ducking his head. He still manages to catch Namjoon's nod in his periphery.
"I'll go change," Namjoon says. "Then we should have a look at your bandages."
Normally, this is an evening ritual of theirs and Yoongi's trepidation at the change in routine must show on his face because Namjoon smiles grimly. "I have a dinner tonight. So we have to do it now."
Oh. Right.
Yoongi nods and bows for good measure, just in case Namjoon is still upset about the books. Namjoon shakes his head but doesn't say anything else, retreating behind his locked door. Yoongi breathes into the stillness of the living room for a long moment, trying to soothe his jangling nerves. His fingers are still trembling slightly when he starts stacking books back on the shelves, careful to keep them in alphabetical order, but he ignores it. Fear sometimes leeches out of his body in ways he can't control and it's something he's grown used to.
Too soon, Namjoon returns to the living room and beckons him down the hall to the now very familiar bathroom. Yoongi strips, shoving the usual extra rush of terror down deep, and Namjoon carefully checks his various bruises and welts.
"They're healing a lot faster than I thought," he says, fingers skimming gently over Yoongi's ribs. "I actually think we can move up the timetable."
Fuck.
"What..." Yoongi ventures carefully, "what does that mean?"
Namjoon rubs some cream onto the bruises, keeping his touch light. "It's better if you don't know too much right now, but I'll explain everything soon. We should be ready by the middle of next week."
Five days. That's five days from now.
Yoongi keeps his face blank as he dresses again. Namjoon smiles, but it mostly looks hesitant and a little pained - washed out in the glow of the bathroom lights. "Everything will be okay. Trust me."
Unlikely, Yoongi thinks darkly, but he merely nods. Says nothing as Namjoon putters around the apartment, getting ready for his night out.
"I should be back pretty late," he says, shrugging on a dinner jacket made out of what looks like midnight blue velvet. His hair is messy, but artfully so, and in another universe, Yoongi might feel a rush of attraction.
In this one, he just wants to slit Namjoon's throat.
"So don't bother waiting up, okay?" Namjoon continues, securing a very expensive-looking watch on his wrist. "And of course feel free to help yourself to any food."
Yoongi nods again. "Have a good evening," he murmurs.
Namjoon's smile is a little brighter now, showing off his dimples. Yoongi hates that someone so cruel wears innocence and kindness so well. "You, too. See you tomorrow."
And then he's gone. Yoongi waits a for a minute. Five. Just to make sure Namjoon doesn't suddenly return. When the door remains closed and the apartment empty, he moves, darting over to the only locked drawer in the kitchen.
The knife drawer, but this one Yoongi can pick easily. And he doubts Namjoon, who only uses the kitchen to reheat food in his fancy microwave, will notice if one goes missing.
It takes him three minutes to spring the lock, using a safety pin from a different drawer full of random junk. And bingo. Lots of knives, all of them sharp and gleaming.
He pulls out the largest one - a wicked-looking steak knife - locks the drawer again.
Plan B, Hoseok's voice says, grim and determined.
He has five days, he thinks as he slides the knife under his mattress. That's enough time to strike first. And once Kim Namjoon is dead, he'll be free to run.
_ _
God, he's tired. A bone-deep exhaustion that hit when he took over the smuggling network and hasn't abated since. It's hard, without Yoongi. The identity of Agust was designed to outlive him, but though Jimin has the moniker and the cap and the mask now, he's missing Yoongi's authority - the larger than life quality of his presence. And then of course, the increased raids - courtesy of their lovely new king - means the network has once again stalled and Jimin doesn't see a quick or easy way to restart it.
With winter fast approaching, he can't help feeling as though he's failed. People need goods, and Jimin can't deliver them.
And he misses Yoongi beyond that. With Yoongi at their head of their makeshift family, it was easier to believe that anything was possible if you fought hard enough. He can almost see Yoongi across the table from him now, leaning forward to flick his face. Saying in that gruff, affectionate tone of his stop beating yourself up, kid.
A hand lands on his shoulder and squeezes tight. Hoseok, who is trying so hard, too.
"You should eat," he says quietly, nodding towards Jimin's untouched bowl of stew.
It's dark outside and there still isn't any sign of Taehyung. Jimin's trying not to panic - not to think about the fact that he'd go mad if he lost Taehyung, the one constant in his life, on top of Yoongi and Jungkook.
"I need to go back out soon."
Being out after curfew is dangerous, but it's the only time his contact was willing to meet. Heechul is paranoid even on a good day, and with police eyes everywhere he's only gotten worse. Soon, he probably won't be willing to pass information on to Jimin at all.
There isn't a lot you get out of helping a Marked.
"I wish you wouldn't," Hoseok grumbles, like he doesn't spend half his days making illegal radio broadcasts.
"Desperate times," Jimin says and shovels a spoonful of stew into his mouth. It's too salty. Hoseok isn't the cook Yoongi was, even if that thought makes Jimin feel horribly guilty.
He's halfway done with the salty stew when the door opens so hard it nearly comes off its hinges and Taehyung barrels into the apartment like the city police are on his heels. Jimin jolts to his feet and Hoseok pauses in the middle of gathering laundry to hang up on the wires strung across the ceiling.
"Tae?" Jimin asks as Taehyung pauses to catch his breath, yanking his face mask down, and closes the door against the frigid air now rushing in.
His eyes are bright, almost manic. "I found Yoongi," he gasps out and it's like a bomb going off in the middle of the apartment. "I found Yoongi-hyung."
"What?" Hoseok demands when his shock wears off, marching over to grab Taehyung's shoulders. "Are you serious?"
Jimin is still frozen by the table, trying to comprehend this. They've gotten close to Jungkook once, but they've never been able to locate any trace of Yoongi - not even a cold trail.
"Yeah," Taehyung says, kicking off his boots and dropping his gloves on the table. "He was sold five days ago. Sector 1 elite."
Hoseok deflates. "So there's nothing we can do," he whispers.
"Are you kidding?" Taehyung asks - and god, he used to be the most timid of them, content to hide behind Jimin and his machinery, observing the world from a distance. What would Yoongi and Jungkook think, seeing him on fire like this?
"We're gonna rescue him," Taehyung continues, finally dumping his backpack on the floor with a loud thud. "As soon as possible."
That's ... fuck that's crazy. If Jimin didn't know Taehyung, he would think this is some kind of sick joke. They barely managed to make it to an auction house in Sector 4 and even then they still were too late for Jungkook. Rescuing someone from Sector 1? Where Marked are strictly forbidden to go and is crawling with the best security in the city? They'd probably be dead before they got two feet inside the boundary. That is if by some miracle they managed to make it past the checkpoint.
"Rescue him?" Hoseok repeats with the same disbelief Jimin is experiencing. "Taehyung-ah, that's impossible."
"It's difficult," Taehyung counters. "It isn't impossible."
"Difficult is an understatement," Jimin grumbles.
"They'd do it for us," Taehyung says, crossing his arms over his chest. "You know they would."
Of course they would. Yoongi would move mountains, shake the earth, rattle the fucking stars to keep them safe and Jungkook has always been too willing to risk his own life for the few people in this world he considers precious. But fate or cruelty or the universe - whatever you want to call it - took the best of them. Jimin, Taehyung, and Hoseok don't have that kind of power or strength or determination.
"Taehyungie," he murmurs, trying to figure out how to explain all that without sounding like he's giving up.
"We have to try, Chim," Taehyung says, leveling him with look so fierce that for a moment Jimin swears he's looking at Jungkook. "We owe it to them to try."
"And if we get caught?" Hoseok presses. "Killed? What good are we, then? We should wait until he ends up back at an auction house and-"
"There won't be another auction house," Taehyung interjects.
"What?" Jimin asks, horror twisting his stomach. Taehyung couldn't mean the boarding houses. If Yoongi or Jungkook were sent to one of them, there wouldn't be enough left to save.
"I've heard of the man who bought him," Taehyung says. "He's ... he kills his companions. It's why he buys them. No one ever comes back alive. Not in years."
"Fuck," Hoseok hiccups, scrubbing a hand over his face, then raking it through his dark hair. "Fuck."
"So we have to try," Taehyung says, glancing back and forth between them with a mixture of desperation and determination. "You know we have to."
"Fuck," Hoseok repeats and sinks down into the chair. It groans beneath his weight and Jimin shifts to rest a hand against his back. It was Hoseok and Yoongi before any of them, and the love that Hoseok holds for Yoongi is a different kind than what Jimin and Taehyung have. A dangerous kind, because it hurts far too much when it ends - when it's cut short.
Just looking at him, Jimin knows he's going to say yes. No matter how terrified, he is. No matter the odds stacked against him.
If it's this or let Yoongi die, there isn't really a choice at all, is there?
"Okay," he says to Taehyung with far more bravery than he feels. "We need a plan."
"How long do we have?" Hoseok asks, pulling his head up. Familiar fire is slowly replacing the fear and despair on his face.
"I don't know," Taehyung says. "A month? Maybe two? Rumors say he likes to take his time."
Jimin's heart quakes at the thought of Yoongi in the hands of such a monster. Even though Yoongi's the strongest person he's ever known, there are some things that are impossible to fight.
"Fuck," Hoseok says a third time. "Okay. We need to start moving."
He gets back to his feet and he's Hope now - the resistance figure who keeps defying the government, no matter what they try to throw at him. "Jimin-ah, talk to Heechul tonight, we'll need papers to get us past the Sector 1 and 2 checkpoints. I have some ration cards saved away, so offer those if you need a last resort. Taehyung-ah, find out everything you can about Kim Namjoon, especially where he lives. I'll talk to Jisoo about train passes. We have to do this fast, but the plan needs to be airtight or we're all dead."
"On it, hyung," Taehyung says, picking his bag back up. He'll probably go to one of his usual boltholes with supplies and good wireless. He's been known to hide out for days sometimes, until the worry gets to be too much and Jimin finds him and drags him home.
"Stay in contact," Hoseok says, nodding toward his contraband cell phone sitting on the kitchen counter. They all have one, but use is normally reserved for emergencies.
Well. Jimin supposes this probably classifies as an emergency.
"We will," he promises Hoseok.
God, they're actually doing this.
With that thought clanging around in his head, he follows Taehyung out into the night.
_ _
Every few months, Namjoon dines alone at a five star restaurant in the heart of Sector 1. A place so upscale a dinner jacket is required for all male patrons, and an evening gown for all women. A live pianist draws haunting notes from the ostentatious piano in the center of the circular dining room and one entire wall is a curved fish tank full of the most exotic fish money and limited natural resources can buy.
Namjoon's table is always in the corner, close to the tank. He positions himself so that his watch and silver earrings catch in the light, reminding everyone of his wealth and status, and makes sure to keep his most imperious mask on as he orders wine and steak from a flustered waiter. He picks this table because it's fairly out of the way, but also because he identifies with the fish swimming behind him, also caught in a glass cage.
Maybe that's him being melodramatic, but really he hates this place. The sparkling crystal chandeliers and plush red carpet and pristine tablecloths. The dazzling and shallow patrons who laugh over luxurious food and make plans to stab each other in the back as soon as dinner is done. He'd much rather be reading at home, or sitting in a quiet, hole-in-the-wall noodle place. But it's important to make public appearances every once in awhile and this is the place Jackson chose for deliveries.
Probably because he knows just how much Namjoon hates it.
He always times it perfectly, too - a waiter breezing up to deliver a glass of champagne just as Namjoon is about to take a bite of his steak.
"Compliments from table seven," the waiter says and sets the glass delicately down by Namjoon's plate.
Namjoon nods and stands, fishing the packet of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. "Watch my table for me."
"Of course, sir," the waiter says and positions himself like a sentry, probably hoping for a tip for his efforts. (Which - Namjoon would tip regardless, always does, but he isn't about to let the man know that and risk him slacking off.)
Namjoon exits the restaurant, lighting his cigarette as soon as he steps outside. He hates smoking, too, but it's a good cover. The best reason he could think of to be ducking into the alley next to the restaurant. There's a skip parked here, nearly full, and Namjoon takes one last drag of his cigarette before lifting the lid in a show of dumping it and the pack inside.
A familiar manila envelope is tucked in the corner, on top of a garbage bag - a heart scrawled across the front because Jackson is also ridiculous - and Namjoon tucks that into his suit jacket. In the empty cigarette box is a chip with money loaded onto it that Jackson will collect as soon as Namjoon's back inside.
It's a system they've had in place ever since Namjoon started this little operation. Jackson's one of the best forgers in the city and Namjoon's fortunate to have known him since childhood.
He salutes the shadows where he knows Jackson is probably watching the drop and heads back inside to finish his steak.
_ _
Later, in the safety of his car, he opens the envelope and pulls out the documents inside: a new ID card, new birth certificate, travel papers that will get Yoongi from Seoul to Busan, an assigned apartment for when he makes it to the city, a work permit so he can find a job - everything needed to start a new life. There's a second set as well, for Seokjin's companion.
If everything goes according to plan, Yoongi will be Namjoon's thirty-fifth relocation in the past three years.
It's far too small a number.
Namjoon sighs and thanks the driver when the car slows to a stop in front of his apartment building. He pauses outside, shivering in the winter chill, and dials Seokjin's number.
"Everything go okay?" Seokjin asks as soon as he picks up.
Namjoon hums. "Yeah. Jackson always comes through. I have documents for you, too."
He can hear the sigh of relief that Seokjin lets out. He trusts people far less than Namjoon does, which is probably a good thing, in the long run.
"How's your guest holding up?" Namjoon asks.
"Fine," Seokjin says. "She's skittish, but I think she'll be fine relocating. She's still got fire in her."
They always try to go for the fighters - you have to be one, to be willing to live a lie in a new city in exchange for a measure of freedom.
"Yours?"
"About the same." He thinks of Yoongi's constantly averted gaze, the hunted bend of his shoulders and spine, the way he flinches sometimes when Namjoon gets too close - not even aware he's doing it. But then he was clearly searching through Namjoon's books today and blatantly lied to Namjoon's face about it, so that's a good sign. "He's going to leave earlier than expected, though. Heading out next week."
"Oh, I see," Seokjin says, sounding a little surprised. "Well mine will be staying until the week after."
They usually try to stagger relocations by a few weeks, safer that way, and normally they talk about it before deciding who goes first, but Namjoon feels uneasy with Yoongi around. More so than the normal awkwardness of keeping a companion and having to act like a master. He's used to his skin crawling and the guilt that haunts his sleep, but with Yoongi there's an itch in the back of his mind that he can't rid himself of. Almost like he's missing something.
As crazy as that sounds.
"Keep me posted?" Namjoon says instead of trying to convey all of this to Seokjin on an unsecured phone call. "I'll run the papers over to you in a few days."
"I will. Take care of yourself, Joon-ah."
"Always do," Namjoon says softly. "You take care of yourself, too, hyung."
"Always do," Seokjin parrots and hangs up.
He never says good-bye. Insists it's bad luck.
Namjoon shakes his head and pockets his phone. The night guard nods in greeting when Namjoon enters the lobby and swipes his card on the elevator. It's glass, allowing the occupant to see all of Seoul spread out beneath them as they ascend. Namjoon's always liked the lights of the city at night, even as he wonders what the stars look like. He's seen picture of them, in books and online - Old World research documents still floating around from an era where mankind supposedly walked among them - but never in real life.
He thinks they must be breathtaking.
The elevator dings, dragging him out of his thoughts, and he presses his thumb to the pad on his door. The apartment is quiet, but he's surprised to see Yoongi on the couch, a book open in his lap. The Calamity, about the supposed death of the Old World.
Namjoon's always hated it - the unfounded accusations it makes against the Marked in particular - but he doesn't believe in throwing away books. Especially ones most elite are expected to own.
"Welcome back," Yoongi says. He rarely raises his tone above a whisper and tonight is no exception.
"Thank you," Namjoon murmurs, softening his voice to match Yoongi's volume. He takes off his watch and the itchy dinner jacket. Rubs at his gelled hair. His contacts are starting to burn, too, and he wants nothing more than to go stand in a hot shower for at least twenty minutes, but he feels bad just ignoring Yoongi. "Liking the book?"
Of all the companions Namjoon's had, Yoongi is certainly the boldest. Most usually prefer to stay hidden in the guest room as much as possible. A few have insisted on trying to serve him in spite of his protests. One had selective mutism and wouldn't speak at all in his presence. And sure, none have been the damaged wrecks that Namjoon sometimes sees in the houses of other elite, but Yoongi....
Namjoon gets the feeling that Yoongi's observing him, sizing him up, trying to get under his skin and behind his armor to see what he's hiding. It's unnerving and Namjoon doesn't really know what to make of it, or if it's all just in his head.
Seated on the couch with his legs tucked up under him, Yoongi hardly seems threatening. He's small and delicate-looking - black hair falling messy across his forehead and around his ears, drowning in almost three layers of clothing (Namjoon bought everything a little big on purpose, sensing that Yoongi found comfort in it), auction house issued earrings glinting in his ears and swaying whenever he turns his head.
But people are rarely what they seem. Even companions.
"Are you going to bed?" Yoongi asks. He keeps halting awkwardly at the end of his questions, like he wants to tack on "master" out of reflex and has to stop himself.
"Yeah," Namjoon says. "You should get some rest, too."
Yoongi nods, amenable as always, and maybe Namjoon is being paranoid. It'll all be over in a few days, anyway. Once he gets the go ahead on a train ticket from Jackson, he'll explain everything to Yoongi and send him off to Busan to hopefully find a better life.
"Goodnight, Yoongi," he says.
"Goodnight, Namjoon," Yoongi replies.
Namjoon heads for his bedroom door. Quickly enters the passcode for the lock.
He can feel Yoongi's dark eyes on him the whole time, boring into his back like twin daggers. He swallows at the strange chill that runs down his spine and closes the door hard behind him, only breathing again when the lock beeps.
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