Archive of Our Own ^beta

It’s always a good idea to visit an underground fighting ring. It’s one of the best places to spot talent and it’s always not hard to find. Just look at the digital leaderboard hanging exactly above the rint and see whose name is on the top. Then take a look at the stats beside that name: the wins and losses. Or if you have bad eyesight, just pay attention to which name the audience around you is muttering. Then you’ll pretty much get the right idea who’s winning the game.

This time, it's not a good idea.

The ring Namjoon visits instead of going grocery shopping is called the House of Cards. It’s one of the biggest underground fighting rings in Seoul that has worldwide recognition, and it’s just a few blocks away from the market. The ring is right where the territories of multiple notable gangs (including the Brotherhood, unfortunately) overlap, which makes it the best place for all the best fighters from those gangs to compete.

Right now, on the top lane of the leaderboard is JK, with a total of 4278 wins and . . . zero losses. Namjoon’s eyebrows shoot up into his fringe; that’s really fucking impressive. JK must be some kind of professional boxer or something.

Namjoon used to come here too, when he was a trainee. They came here four times a year as some kind of physical ability assessment, mostly because it’s convenient. Here, when two people face off, they literally die until one of them can’t get up anymore. Slapping the ground three times doesn’t save you; it only riles your opponent up and hits you harder. No weapons are allowed, and that’s literally the only rule of the game. And because this is a world-class fighting ring and because no rule says you can’t kill people here, losing almost always means dying. The reason why it’s convenient for his father to bring trainees here is that he won’t have to deal with the body afterwards. Yoongi and Kyungmin were really good fighters, but Namjoon? He was average.

“Sheesh,” A guy beside him says, his eyes staring straight ahead at someone in the ring. “That guy’s hot.”

The second guy shakes his head. “Too young. And too scared. How did he win that many times, anyway?”

The third guy hums absentmindedly. “That’s simply not possible. Bet he got some dope in his head. How else are you gonna explain how a kid beats all the best fighters around?”

The first guy shrugs. “Don’t know, don’t care. He’s cute. Period.”

The third guy punches him a bit playfully. Namjoon raises an eyebrow; that hit looks kind of hard, but the first guy hardly flinches. “And why is the kid here anyway? I thought he only fought at night. Probably still in college or high school. He’s still a kid.”

Namjoon looks up and squints at the big screen under the leaderboard and frowns. The person standing in the ring is just a fucking kid. Jet black hair matted to his forehead and sweat bleeding down his face, the kid still has the boyish features like he hasn’t even graduated high school. Big round nose and even bigger eyes that look more scared and exhausted than anything like he hasn’t slept in days. Soft lips half parted and bunny-like front teeth poking out just a bit. Thin body hunched and hands raised in a protective stance A kid. And he looks suspiciously like a trainee.

He better not be a trainee. Namjoon knows what being a trainee does to a kid: it basically destroys everything you can call a normal childhood and forces the kid into maturity way too young. Imagine a ten year old slitting an adult prisoner’s throat with a butterfly knife, and whatever you see in your head is literally what happens in the Brotherhood training program. If this kid is a trainee, Namjoon’s going to kill the motherfucker that is his father. He does not need another dead body of a kid to haunt him.

On the other side of the ring is a man taller, broader, and more muscular than the boy, with a more intimidating face and more confident aura. If Namjoon had to bet, he would bet that the man is the infamous JK.

The thousands of people watching the match start screaming as soon as the match starts. The muscular guy charges at the kid, who dodges the first punch and lands a punch of his own. Even through the constant screaming, Namjoon seems to be able to hear a rib or two crack. His eyebrows shoot up.

Then the kid uses the muscular guy’s thick arm as a leverage and pulls himself up into the air, climbs up the muscular guy’s shoulder, and places one foot against the guy’s ear and the other foot on the shoulder. The guy screams as the bones in his neck pop, tilting sideways just the direction the kid wants him to fall to and falling right into the sharp edge of the post of the fighting ring. The edge cuts right into the guy’s head and drives through his skull.

When the kid walks down and trips over his own feet, the muscular guy is already dead, his face unrecognizable and a bloody mess.

“Holy shit,” Namjoon mutters under his breath. That’s the weirdest match he’s ever seen but undeniably the best, too. Should he try to recruit him? That’s definitely a talent Namjoon wants in his team. So far he’s lacking the physical strength (Yoongi doesn’t count because he’s tiny. Don’t tell him that) in his team and this kid, who’s obviously JK, is perfect.

Half the crowd roars and the other half boos. It’s clear who’s lost the bet. The three people beside Namjoon are swearing. Ha.

Namjoon watches as the kid stumbles, the fearful expression still plastered on his face, over the ropes that surround the ring, and to a man wearing a suit. The man ruffles the kid’s hair with one hand and takes money from reluctant losers with the other. Unfortunately, Namjoon recognizes that man.

That’s the leader of the Syndicate, another pretty big gang that rivals the Brotherhood. Not big enough to be a threat to the Brotherhood but big enough to lone gangsters like Namjoon. Shit, so JK is taken. Should Namjoon give up recruiting him?

Not in a million years. But he still has to get groceries first; Seokjin’s wrath when he finds out Namjoon gets distracted again during grocery shopping trips is one of the scariest things ever, and that’s saying something coming out of Namjoon’s mouth.

All he can think about when he shops is JK, JK’s boss, and how small and scared JK looked when his boss was touching his hair. Is that abuse? Because it looks a lot like one. It’s no secret that the Brotherhood trains trainees, and naturally smaller gangs pick it up and train their own although they’re never as successful as the Brotherhood is. The Syndicate is obviously one failed example because how will you ever get a perfect warrior if you’ve nearly killed your prodigy already?

Namjoon absentmindedly pays for the groceries and wanders out of the store. He turns a corner and is about to go back home through the small alley when someone bumps into him hard enough to knock the groceries onto the ground.

A quick scan sends a wave of annoyance through his brain. The apples he had chosen so carefully are now bruised and rolling around. Seokjin is so gonna kill him.

“Watch it!” Namjoon shouts after the person he bumped into, who doesn’t even turn back to apologize. The person is running but a second later he’s thrown off his track by another person.

Namjoon watches with a dropped jaw as the three people he remembers back from the fighting ring slams the person into the wall much harder than necessary, considering how the person isn’t trying to fight back at all. Then their hands move quickly, roaming under the person’s clothes and slipping under the person’s waistband.

Namjoon can’t believe his eyes. They’re trying to rape the person right in front of him, a complete stranger, like they don’t even care that they have a witness. And when Namjoon’s eyes move to the defenseless person, he almost throws up his breakfast.

It’s JK, whose eyes are squeezed shut and whose bunny teeth are peaking out again between his parted lips. Tears are streaming down his pale face and when Namjoon sees closer, he’s trembling like a leaf. He looks so tired he might as well be a zombie.

Fear fills Namjoon’s every single brain cell and he snaps.

“Stop!” Namjoon screams, launching himself into the scene and grabbing the first guy by his head with his uninjured left arm. He smashes the head against the concrete wall with a force much more powerful than he can ever anticipate and sees the pieces of skull that shoot out of his scalp. The other two jump at the sudden death of their friend, but they’re still too slow. Namjoon unsheathes a throwing knife he stole from Yoongi earlier and slits their throats with one clean slash.

He’s panting heavily, body too heavy to move. JK is still leaning against the wall limply like a doll. Namjoon doesn’t have the strength nor the courage to face him. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget what an almost-raped person looks like if he faces JK.

Holy shit, he almost saw JK get raped. Even the Brotherhood isn’t that terrible. They beat people and kill people, sometimes even their own, but never rape. That’s so fucked up in so many levels.

“Fuck,” Namjoon repeats and his fingers loosen, the knife clanging to the ground. Now Yoongi’s going to be mad too because he loves his knives, but Namjoon will worry about that later. He runs his fingers that are miraculously clean from blood through his hair and starts pacing around. He does that whenever he’s stressed. “Fuck, I’m sorry, that’s so . . . that’s sick. I’m sorry. Did they hurt you?” Namjoon pants, his words directed to JK.

When only silence follows, Namjoon takes a deep breath to muster up the courage and turns.

JK looks relatively unharmed except for the wrinkled clothes that result from the three motherfuckers’ dirty hands. He’s stopped crying, but he doesn’t make a move to wipe off the tears either, like he’s so used to having tears on his face that he forgets that they exist altogether. He’s sitting on the ground with his back pressed against the wall and his legs drawn to his knees, but he’s staring up at Namjoon with those wide, glassy eyes like a little kid.

JK shakes his head slightly, his face contorting a bit to look like he’s frowning. He’s saying he’s okay and he’s trying to act tough.

That’s bullshit. Both of them know it’s bullshit. You don’t just be okay after almost being raped. But Namjoon’s not gonna push him now.

Namjoon’s head whips around when he hears the sharp screeches of the police’s siren. JK jumps too, a new fear filling those big eyes and Namjoon considers screaming at the top of his lungs at the unfairness of it all (JK, of all people. Why is it happening to a kid this young?), but then JK would really be traumatized so he thinks better of it. He knows from somewhere that rape victims absolutely hate and fear physical contact, so he keeps a safe distance from JK.

“We have to go,” Namjoon says to himself, then repeats louder for JK: “we have to go. They’re coming after us.”

He walks briskly back to JK, who visibly flinches. Namjoon bites back another apology because they really don’t have time. “You got anyone I can call? Except for the Syndicate who obviously failed to protect their own?”

A fresh wave of tears wells up in JK’s eyes and Namjoon panics, trying to look as friendly as possible and hide his urge to chop off the three rapers’ dirty hands for making JK so sad. “Shit, I’m sorry. You wanna go back? I’ll take you back to your leader, wait no, I’ll beat the hell out of your leader first then . . .”

A hand shoots up to grab Namjoon’s wrist. Namjoon almost instinctively recoils at the physical contact, but he freezes when he realizes that it’s JK’s hand holding onto his wrist in a bruising force. A desperate look sweeps across JK’s face. It’s a silent plea that Namjoon doesn’t have the heart to deny.

Namjoon’s gotten weak. A heartless leader is a good leader, but Namjoon’s now sympathizing with a kid he doesn’t know and is sure as hell a professional killer instead of abandoning the kid like any logical person would. What’s happening to him?

On the bright side, his “good chemistry” policy seems to be working, albeit a bit too much. JK’s immediately attaching to him and trusting him blindly despite the kid almost got raped, which is concerning and comforting at the same time. Namjoon, in turn, has this protective urge he only saves for his crew for JK already. He just really hopes JK doesn’t turn out to be some kind of spy or bait, or else it’ll be a huge shame to kill him.

The police’s siren gets closer. JK’s hand squeezes tighter around Namjoon’s wrist. The scared look increases exponentially by the seconds. “Fuck it.” Namjoon curses and leans back, pulling JK up to his feet. JK is just a little bit shorter than him, but his fluffy hair accounts for a few centimeters that make him look almost the same height as Namjoon.

“Let’s go.” Namjoon tugs JK gently forward to prompt him to follow him. JK nods and ducks his head, his legs trembling profusely as he stumbles forward. Namjoon slows down, ignoring how his mind is screaming at him to go faster, the police’s going to catch them, leave the kid if he has to.

Just a block away from where they are now is a downtown street that Namjoon never goes to because he avoids crowds. But now, the big crowd can disguise and hide them from plain sight. And if they act normal enough, the police will hopefully pass them through.

He’s never that lucky. Namjoon has to suppress the urge to immediately turn around and walk away because his eyes immediately fix on that one guy in casual clothes but is obviously watching the crowd like he’s looking for someone. Then he sees another one leaning against the streetlight and reading some newspapers, but his eyes are wandering. Then he sees a couple more, hiding in plain sight like wolves hiding amongst sheep. If Namjoon has to guess, these people are from the Syndicate looking for their precious fighting champion.

“Don’t look up,” Namjoon whispers to JK without looking back because he knows from how JK’s palm starts to sweat that JK sees the sentries too. Namjoon breaks free from JK’s grip for a second, heart clenching at the scared whimper that draws from JK’s lips, and takes off his jacket to put it onto JK. “Just pretend they’re not there. I’ll keep you safe.”

JK’s hand finds Namjoon’s wrist again and his grip tightens even more as they walk straight into the crowd, heads down and movements as casual as they can. Namjoon remembers taking a class back in the Brotherhood, where the trainees had to walk from one side of the street to the other while their professionally trained sentries handpicked by his father tried to spot them. It’s about hiding and keeping a low profile and blending in, and Namjoon’s pretty good at that. So maybe he can pass through without any trouble.

Namjoon glances backwards and sees JK curling inwards, literally flinching every time he touches someone. Namjoon pulls the kid closer to himself subtly. JK takes the hint and immediately hugs Namjoon’s entire arm to his chest that’s rising and falling rapidly, pressing his body to Namjoon’s side. Namjoon has to stop his heart from beating so quickly for JK.

“You okay?” He says loud enough to let JK hear without turning his head. JK’s breathing has picked up, which doesn’t sound okay.

Think, Namjoon. He whacks his brain to come up with some workable plans.

Yoongi is supposedly out of town and looking for his client, but he never really listens well to orders or sticks to plans to begin with. Even Namjoon can’t keep him under control. It’s hard to know if he’s available and even Namjoon’s high IQ can’t predict his reaction to this seemingly pretty vulnerable kid’s addition to the team.

Hoseok’s probably going with Yoongi. They’re a perfect pair; Hoseok’s mastery of close-distance combat and Yoongi’s skillfulness as a sniper and knife-thrower work extremely well together. While Hoseok is bubbly and overly disciplined if Namjoon says so, Yoongi is aloof and reckless at times. They’re the exact opposites, and perhaps that’s why they’re attracted towards each other that easily.

Then there’s Seokjin.

Seokjin.

Namjoon quickly digs out his phone with his free hand and taps on Seokjin’s contact. “Joon?” Seokjin’s voice appears after the first ring.

It’s always good to answer your phone as quickly as possible when you’re in Namjoon’s line of work, because you never know how long the person on the other side of the phone will last. Namjoon doesn’t know how long he has until the police catch them or the Syndicate sentries see them.

“I need a ride. I’ll explain later.” Namjoon says, eyeing the road and the cars going by. If Seokjin is quick enough, then he can just drive by and they’ll get in before even more cars start streaming in. Then Namjoon pauses. “I’ll get the groceries tomorrow.”

Luckily, Seokjin knows his priorities and doesn’t scold him for losing the food. “Gotcha. Be there in one.”

Namjoon stuffs his phone back into his pocket and looks straight forward, his eyes never staying on a person’s face for more than a second. Think, think, think.

Then, like God has actually sent an angel to help him, he sees her, a lone woman standing in the middle of the crowd, facing Namjoon and staring straight into his eyes from meters away. She’s dressed like a normal businesswoman, with a suit on and all, but Namjoon knows she’s living a life far more dangerous than that. Namjoon doesn’t know her, but he knows that face.

The sentries obviously don’t think she’s a threat, or she’ll be out already. Because what kind of dumb gangster would stand in the middle of the street and not expect to be suspected? But this woman isn’t a gangster to begin with.

Namjoon’s heart rate picks up.

Namjoon takes slightly bigger strides towards her and pushes some people around, pulling JK with him, until he stands directly in front of her. Their eyes never leave each other’s, and only until they’re standing face to face with less than one meter between them that Namjoon dares to blink, too afraid that the woman would disappear when he’s not looking.

The woman gives him a small smile and JK a slight nod. Then her familiar eyes return to Namjoon’s.

This is so out of place. What’s this woman got to do with anything they’re doing now?

“Jung Jiwoo,” Namjoon says her name, because how can he not know? She looks exactly like Hoseok, with those sharp cheekbones, the sharp nose, and the same lean build like an athlete’s. Only her eyes are less expressive and more guarded. “Nice to finally meet you in person. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Enough.” Jiwoo holds up a hand to silence him and his flattery like a military commander, until Namjoon remembers that she actually once was a military commander and now a high-ranked police. She radiates power and demands attention, and Namjoon realizes that Hoseok is too. It’s a miracle that Hoseok isn’t fighting for Namjoon’s leadership. “I’m not here to arrest you, but my men are. And I’m sure the Syndicate won’t hesitate to kill you to have their baby back.”

JK’s arms around Namjoon’s arm tighten infinitely. Namjoon doesn’t move. He waits for Jiwoo to finish, because she won’t be here if she’s just here to tell him this.

Jiwoo digs out a phone from her pocket. It’s the rather useless but convenient kind of phone, not expensive at all and disposable. Namjoon used many of these when he was still living on his own.

“I can’t say anything here, but I’ll call you once you’re safe.” Jiwoo hands the phone to Namjoon, who pockets it immediately. Jiwoo’s eyes move to somewhere behind Namjoon; it’s the first time she breaks eye contact. “And I’ll cover you. Run.”

She says it so calmly that Namjoon almost doesn’t react. A second later, he hears men shouting and he doesn’t need to turn around to know that the sentries have found them. He still turns, just in time to see one of the Syndicate sentries point his gun to him.

Namjoon dodges that bullet easily and starts running, pushing the panicking crowd away. JK lets go of his arm and starts running too, and Namjoon’s glad that the kid is a pretty good runner. Jiwoo is nowhere to be found, but there’s another gunshot and the guy who fired at them doesn’t fire another shot.

Seokjin better be quick. Namjoon thinks, not stopping to say sorry to the group of teenage girls he bumps into. JK is at his side, his face red from exertion and looking like he’s close to passing out from exhaustion.

A car honks. Namjoon glances at the road and sees Seokjin’s Lamborghini Urus SUV (Namjoon only memorizes the name because Seokjin, a car lover, forces him to). “Get in!” Seokjin shouts from the inside.

Namjoon practically throws the kid into the car and climbs in himself before closing the car door behind him, almost chopping off his leg in the process. Seokjin lets out a breathy laugh and his eyes twinkle in the rear mirror. The car’s speaker is playing Imagine Dragons, the hard beats doing nothing to calm Namjoon’s heartbeat. “We have a guest?” He says as he steps on the accelerator pedal to the end.

Namjoon inhales deeply and glances at JK, who squeezes himself against the car door on the other side, not bothering with the seatbelt or how his shoes are on the seat the way he pulls his knees to his chest. “Yeah,” he replies, his voice tight.

They’re speeding way past the limit, but no one’s caring at this point. Namjoon might have if there wasn’t a trembling kid in the car, because he actually gets a bit nauseous whenever he sits on something moving too quickly. Namjoon might not even care if Seokjin accidentally runs over someone.

The car chase is eventful, to say the least. Seokjin has to literally take out a pistol and shoot down a Syndicate member on a bike with one hand and drive with the other. Namjoon, as smart and leader-like as he is, is pretty useless when it comes to car chases since he can’t drive and can’t stay completely level-headed. His brain’s just not wired to drive or be in a speeding car. He can speak fluently in more than twenty languages and crack any code you give him and guide an army to win any battle, but he just can’t drive. So he lets Seokjin do his work.

“Fuck!” Seokjin swears when another car smashes into their car, jostling JK who doesn’t have a seat belt on and scaring Namjoon who’s too busy staring at JK. “Joon, get down!”

Again, thanks to Namjoon’s quick reflex, he drops himself against the floor of the car and drags JK down with him just a split moment before continuous gunfire tears through the car’s windows, raining tiny pieces of glass over them. Namjoon winces when a piece of glass cuts through the skin on his cheek, but the pain is mostly unrecognizable. JK looks okay except for the panicked state he’s obviously in, his hands protectively covering his ears and knees tucked to his chest. Namjoon risks a glance to the front, where Seokjin flattens his body against his thighs and drives with one hand on the steering wheel.

“Those fuckers have machine guns!” Seokjin, alive and well and definitely not with his eyes on the road, shouts back to them. “You guys okay?”

“We’re fine!” Namjoon shouts back, his voice overpowering the gunshot.

The Syndicate people stop firing. They’re out of bullets, at least temporarily. Namjoon risks looking up and sees another SUV right beside theirs, bumping into their car once in a while and completely ignoring the screaming bypassers. Namjoon cranes his head a little to see a lot of turned-over cars with bullet holes littering across them. They’re Syndicate cars, all taken care of. Did someone shoot them?

Then, without the sound of gunshots, Namjoon can clearly hear the sound of helicopter blades swiveling. Namjoon squints up at the sky to see a police helicopter flying away innocently like it didn’t just blow up enough cars to pile into a mountain in the middle of the street.

He’s going to thank Hoseok for having such an amazing sister later.

Just then, the music from the speaker stops, replaced by white static. Namjoon swallows, knowing what’s coming from the telltale sign of a hacker attack.

Just as he predicts, a voice sounds through the speaker, an unfamiliar one.

“Hello, kidnappers.” The voice says. Male, and Namjoon will guess he’s in his 30s. Confident, and evil in Namjoon’s opinion. “And hello to you too, Jungkook.”

JK’s head snaps up so quickly at the name Namjoon can hear the bones pop. His face is paler than Yoongi’s, which is saying something since Yoongi is already paler than a ghost. “No,” A whisper barely leaves the boy’s (Jungkook’s) lips.

“Yes.” The voice says cockily. Apparently he can hear them through some kind of microphone system Namjoon can’t figure out. “I don’t even have to tell you my deal, do I? You know the rules. Fair trade, eh?”

Namjoon turns to the curled up ball of a kid. “Jungkook,” he says sternly, and Jungkook flinches visibly, his face still hidden in his arms. “Listen to me. They’re not going to get you if you don’t want to go with them. We’ll protect you.”

“Yeah,” Seokjin pipes up a bit cheerfully from the front. “Our leader here doesn’t bullshit about that kind of thing. He’ll kill himself before he betrays you, kid.”

That does little to calm Jungkook down, though, because if anything Jungkook is curled tighter inward, rocking himself a little bit and stifling the scared little sounds that escape his lips. Namjoon’s heartstrings are tugged.

“Listen to whoever you wanna listen to, Jeon Jungkook.” The voice cracks through the speaker. “They’re going to open fire soon, anyway. I wonder how many bullets it’ll take for them to blow up your car.”

Jungkook’s tightly squeezed eyes shoot open, and it’s honestly just as terrifying as some horror movie with those cursed dolls blinking awake. Those eyes are bloodshot and puffy, but they’re wide and hollow and there’s another thing Namjoon can’t name. Namjoon frowns in confusion, but he should’ve used that time to do something else, like ducking, because a second later Jungkook is lunging forward and slamming Namjoon’s back into the car door in the confined space on the floor of the car.

Jungkook’s tight grip closes around Namjoon’s throat, successfully and immediately cutting off his airway. Namjoon gasps just in time to get a lungful of air before Jungkook pushes his entire weight against Namjoon. Jungkook might be shorter but he’s made entirely of muscles. He’s heavy.

Jungkook is breathing hard, almost to the point of hyperventilating like he’s not even sure what he’s doing, and glaring maddeningly at Namjoon with his face just a few centimeters away from Namjoon’s and quick breaths fanning Namjoon’s opened mouth. He doesn’t say anything, just staring at Namjoon and holding him there, watching him suffocate. Tears stream down freely and drip onto Namjoon’s shirt. His lips are open and trembling hard. He looks more like a scared victim than a vicious predator, even though that’s exactly what he is.

“What the fuck are you doing? Let go of him!” Seokjin yells from the front, but his voice is a little muffled in Namjoon’s mushy brain. The lack of oxygen is getting to him already. Seokjin’s hand flies to get his gun again, but another bump sends the gun flying to the gunshot seat and out of his reach. “Fuck!”

Namjoon wraps his hands around Jungkook’s wrist at his throat and keeps his gaze fixed on Jungkook. He can struggle and he can fight back, but he doesn’t. He knows a thousand ways to escape a choke, but he chooses the stupidest way out: he’s waiting to die. Exchanging his life for Jungkook’s trust. Blindly hoping that somewhere in Jungkook’s killer heart, there is faith.

It’s probably the dumbest thing Namjoon’s done in his life. He knows full well that the chances of Jungkook re-discovering his conscience is unpredictable and that chances of him dying is dangerously high. He knows he could’ve looked for other ways, safer and less deadly ways, to gain Jungkook’s trust. But no, Namjoon’s not your average leader.

He starts seeing stars. His legs twitch involuntarily and his heels dig into the floor painfully. He’s dying. Jungkook’s dark eyes have something flashing over them.

“That’s it, Jungkook,” The Syndicate boss encourages Jungkook over the speaker, and Namjoon almost doesn’t catch what he’s saying. His head is pulsing and his lungs feel like they’re being stabbed over and over. “That’s it, kill him. Kill him like you killed the thousands of people in the ring. Kill him.”

Namjoon blinks slowly, his eyes never stopping to stare into Jungkook’s eyes, questioning the boy through his gaze alone even though he can hardly keep his eyes open. Is that the life you want?

Jungkook’s hands recoil from Namjoon’s neck like Jungkook is electrocuted, leaving Namjoon coughing and gasping for breath. The terrified realization is apparent in the boy’s eyes that are now staring down at his own hands. Namjoon knows what it feels like; he had to kill the most people when he was still in his trainee days because his father had to make sure his men were perfectly fine with bloodbaths and massacres. For some time all Namjoon could see in his hands was the blood of his victims. Namjoon had kept count of the lives he took, but he gave up a short time later because there was no point. Too many people had died in his hands and they were going to haunt him for the rest of his lives.

Jungkook, still young and childlike, has thousands of people’s blood on his hands. He’s terrified, and he’s rightfully so. No one should be okay with killing people. One person is already one too much.

“I will not.” Jungkook whispers and gulps. His voice is small but Namjoon hears it loud and clear.

“Care to repeat that?” The voice says in a dangerous tone.

“No, fuck you,” Jungkook spits, his trembling voice surprisingly intimidating with the venom coating it. His teary eyes are directed at the speakers. “Fuck you. I’m done killing people.”

Done killing people. Namjoon thinks faintly as he leans against the car door like a limp doll. A jolt of the SUV sends his head lolling.

The Syndicate guy tuts. “If that’s what you want. You either kill or be killed, Jungkook, I thought you understa-”

There’s an even louder static that sounds suspiciously like gunshot from the other side of the speaker. Namjoon and Jungkook freeze, holding their breaths and listening intently to what’s happening.

There’s men yelling, a few bumps and at some point the microphone sounds like it falls to the ground because then there’s a static so sharp Namjoon has to raise his trembling hands to his ears. Then the static dies and someone clears their throat.

“Alright, fuckers, listen up.” Namjoon’s eyes light up at the voice. It’s his Yoongi hyung. “I killed your incompetent leader. If you don’t turn around now and leave my friends alone this fucking instant, I’ll shoot your face so hard the police will think you died faceplanting into the blending machine.”

Then, after a few moments’ pause, Yoongi adds: “Oh, and Jungkook? New kid? The doofus you nearly choked to death wasn’t lying when he said he got your back. Sit back and watch the show. It’ll be great.”

That’s both insulting and assuring, but Namjoon lets it slide for once. Yoongi can never keep his mouth in check anyway. “Thanks,” he mutters and sighs.

Their SUV’s windows are ruined, so Namjoon can hear a bit of the heated argument between the Syndicate members in the car beside theirs over the howling wind. They look worried (no shit) but when the guy in the back seat . . . the one with the machine gun . . . shows Namjoon his middle finger (to which Namjoon just raises an eyebrow), it’s clear they’re still going to make things difficult.

“Thank fuck you’re still alive,” Seokjin says, spinning his steering wheel to dodge a few more cars. From the rear mirror, Namjoon can see the professional racer grinning. They’re somehow driving the wrong way on a fucking highway so Seokjin really has to take the wildest and most sudden turns.

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, not quite catching his breath yet. He sends Jungkook a weak and awkward thumbs-up. “Thanks for, not, killing me.”

Jungkook just stares at him, not responding. This time, Namjoon looks away.

“Alright, time’s up.” Yoongi announces through the speakers. “You have chosen death. Hobi, you’re up.”

The moment Yoongi finishes talking, a loud thud can be heard from the Syndicate car. A man wearing a familiar black Puma hoodie with his sleeves rolled up is kneeling on the hood of the car, his dark brown tousled hair even more of a mess thanks to the howling wind. In his gloved hands is a rifle pointing right at the windshield.

It’s Hoseok. A grin spreads across Namjoon’s face. God, he really has the best friends ever.

Hoseok gives the shocked Syndicate people a smirk before opening fire, pointing at the driver but angling his gun so when some of the bullets bounce off the apparently bulletproof windshield, they don’t hit himself. The Syndicates shout in panic and the one on the shotgun seat even extends his hand to shoot Hoseok, but he quickly learns his lesson when he finds his hand penetrated by one of Hoseok’s bullets.

Cracks that look like spider webs bloom over the bulletproof glass. The driver looks pretty close to passing out, twisting his steering wheel and trying to shake Hoseok off. Hoseok seems to have perfect balance, though, because he’s still on his one knee and shooting at the glass steadily.

It takes only a few seconds for the rapid fire to break the glass. It takes less time for him to kill all the Syndicate members.

JK is staring at Hoseok in awe, like he’s some kind of god. Namjoon would agree if it was the first time he saw Hoseok do that.

Hoseok shifts on the hood and faces Seokjin’s SUV. The Syndicate car is still going at full speed, but it has lost direction and it’s going to crash soon. Hoseok frantically waves at Namjoon, who gets the hint. “Jin hyung, we have to get closer!” Namjoon shouts.

Seokjin doesn’t need any more elaboration and steers the SUV closer to Syndicate’s car as Namjoon opens the car door. Namjoon stretches his hands out, trusting Hoseok to know when to jump.

Hoseok leaps just one second before the Syndicate car crashes, his slim fingers grabbing onto Namjoon’s wrist as Namjoon swings Hoseok into the SUV with all his might, grunting as he supports all of Hoseok’s weight with his arm and almost passing out. Hoseok’s not heavy, but Namjoon’s just as strong as a corpse right now. Hoseok grabs the door’s handle and closes the door as he collapses into the SUV, safe and sound.

“Thanks,” Hobi manages a grin as he regains his breath. Namjoon scoots over so Hoseok can join him and Jungkook on the floor of the car. The seats have dangerous little pieces of glass so they're not an option at the moment anyway.

“You there, Hobi?” Yoongi’s voice sounds through the speaker again. “Everyone okay? Is the kid okay?”

Namjoon and Jungkook’s gazes meet. Namjoon offers him a hand to hold, and Jungkook takes it with no hesitation. The boy squeezes it hard, but Namjoon doesn’t care.

“Everyone’s okay,” Namjoon reports, his bones going liquid as he collapses backwards against Hoseok’s chest. All the events that happened today rush back into his brain all at once, so he closes his eyes to work through his swirling storm of thoughts and unidentified emotions. He distantly remembers squeezing Jungkook’s hand back. “We’re okay.”

Seokjin parks the SUV in front of Yoongi’s apartment, which they use as their makeshift headquarters. None of them make a move to leave the car, all fallen deep into their thoughts.

What have they become? The Namjoon a month ago wanted to gather an elite team and overthrow his father’s gang. He wanted his men in a tightly packed group that acted on his command with zero hesitation. The Namjoon right now isn’t so sure; he feels like he’s organizing a commando with the most unorthodox combination of people. And he’s definitely not supposed to feel so emotionally tied to his team: he almost let himself die to save a kid he didn’t even know.

“Thank you,” Jungkook’s youthful voice breaks the silence. Three heads look up at once, and Jungkook visibly blushes at the intense attention. The boy avoids Namjoon’s eyes and squeezes his hand a little. “I never wanted to go back.”

Namjoon sends Jungkook a small smile. “You’re stuck with us for now. Unless you don’t wanna.” Of course he hopes Jungkook stays, but the other half of Namjoon isn’t sure if he’ll give what Jungkook really needs. Jungkook should live a normal life and cut ties with blood and death. What Namjoon is going to do is the opposite of what Jungkook would want.

Jungkook remains silent for a few heartbeats. “I have nowhere else to go.” Then he says in a quieter tone, “You saved my life. I want to go with you.”

“You said you’re done with killing.” Namjoon deadpans, closing his eyes back when he sees Jungkook wince at his brutal honesty. It’s better to be honest now than to disappoint the kid later. “That’s literally what we’re going to do. You have to be a hundred percent sure.”

Jungkook is quiet for some more time. Namjoon tilts his head as he studies Jungkook; the kid is gnawing on his lower lip and frowning deeply.

“Don’t worry,” Namjoon reassures Jungkook and squeezes his hand lightly. “Take as much time as you need. You’re one of us before you decide, yeah?”

Jungkook nods slowly and hesitantly, probably at the ridiculousness of everything that happened today because Namjoon feels him too. He gives Namjoon a small smile, and this makes everything worth it.

Bonus:

Namjoon’s eyes snap open when he hears the phone ring.

He stares up to the dark ceiling that’s just a bit illuminated by the moonlight through the blinds and tries to calm his irrationally quick heartbeat. The blanket engulfing him is twisted between his legs like he’s been tossing and turning. There’s a layer of cold sweat on his forehead and he feels a bit faint. He didn’t have a nightmare, so why is he waking up to cold sweat and trembling hands and complete darkness?

There’s no one screaming. He remembers tucking Jungkook into bed. No gunfire. Hoseok isn’t screaming. Absolutely nothing is wrong.

Namjoon sits up and grabs his phone on the bedside table. Squinting at the too-bright screen, he realizes that it’s not even his phone that’s ringing. Not this one, anyway.

The phone rings again. Now that he’s much more awake, Namjoon can identify the ringtone: it’s a catchy song that’s trending on YouTube. It sounds a little dumb but Namjoon’s mind doesn’t stop wandering. Come to think of it, his phone doesn’t even have a ringtone.

Then Namjoon remembers the phone Jung Jiwoo gave to him earlier that day. He climbs out of bed, wincing as his muscles almost give up, and grabs the jacket he abandoned at the foot of the bed and finds the phone in the pocket. It’s vibrating. An incoming call.

Namjoon presses the accept button and raises the phone to his ear.

“I have news.” Jiwoo’s voice sounds directly into Namjoon’s heart, making it beat even more rapidly. “You might not like it.”

“Spill,” Namjoon says, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

The other side of the line stays quiet for a few seconds. “I found new leads on that day you faked your death. The police never stopped investigating that case, you know, because new leads are coming up constantly. There’s more to that day than you think.”

Namjoon doesn’t speak. He waits.

“We just identified all the deceased, all two-hundred-and-thirty-six of them. Your sister was not among any of them.”

All Namjoon sees is black. Complete darkness, without the moonlight that was shining on the window moments ago. He blinks rapidly to clear his vision, but the darkness never fades. His heartbeat picks up and suddenly it’s hard to breathe. Like Jungkook is back, choking him with his incredible grip.

“Today at House of Cards, my source in the Syndicate told me that a woman had talked to their leader and convinced him to put Jungkook up to the ring. Right before you went in. You don’t know this, but Jungkook never fought that early in the day. He always waited until nighttime, when there was less audience because they made him nervous.”

It makes sense, it makes perfect sense, and Namjoon hates it. He hates it so much his hands are trembling more violently now. He needs something, anything to prove Jiwoo wrong. Anything.

“How do you know it’s her?” Namjoon whispers, not wanting to wake up the others in other rooms.

“It’s her, Kim Namjoon.” Then Jiwoo’s voice softens. “I’m sorry, but it seems like you’re not the only one with a plan to set the world aflame.”

With that, Jiwoo hangs up. Namjoon’s arm falls to his side lifelessly.

Kyungmin is alive and well. And she planned for Namjoon to notice Jungkook and take him under his wing. Namjoon’s not sure if it’s a good thing that he’s doing what Kyungmin wants, because he has no idea what Kyungmin wants. Why did she want him to find Jungkook? How did she know that he’s going to go into the House of Cards?

Too many questions, so little answers. Namjoon tosses the phone to his bed and makes a move to the door. He won’t be able to go back to sleep anymore anyway, so he’s going to find the answers himself and he’ll need coffee for that.

When he opens the door, though, a person is standing right in front of him.

“’S me,” Yoongi’s heavily accented and sleepy voice comes out. Namjoon squints and sure enough, it’s Yoongi’s small stature and half-lidded tired eyes. The hacker unplugs an earphone, which sets off an alarm in Namjoon’s head.

Yoongi’s been listening in on his phone call.

“Hyung, what the fuck?” Namjoon whisper-screams because he still has his conscience. His other friends deserve to have their sleep undisturbed by Namjoon’s fury. “You can’t just eavesdrop like that!”

“Yeah, sorry ‘bout that.” Yoongi sighs, looking not sorry at all. Then he pauses. “Is it true? Kyungmin is alive?”

Namjoon runs his fingers through his messy hair. Now that he’s going to talk it out loud, he feels a bit emotional. “I don’t fucking know, hyung. But it sounds like her. It sounds so much like her, hyung, I don’t want to believe Jiwoo.”

Yoongi hums, like he’s not sure what else to do. His hands are awkward at his sides. “What’s so bad about Kyungmin being alive? Doesn’t matter which side she’s on right now. She’s going to come back to you in the end. She’s always like that. And you know she won’t hesitate to bring down the Brotherhood with you. Not even after all these years.”

It was actually Kyungmin’s idea to destroy the Brotherhood in the very beginning. Then when Kyungmin died, her ambition died with her; Namjoon had been drowned so deep in grief that he could barely keep himself alive. When Yoongi found him, Namjoon was barely hanging on. He got better, yes, but then Jiwoo calls him to tell him that Kyungmin’s alive all along. His life shatters all over again, this time not with grief but with fear and confusion.

What does that even mean? What does that mean to Namjoon?

Namjoon opens the door wider, a silent invitation for Yoongi to come into his room, and collapses on the bed with his hands covering his face. He feels Yoongi sitting down on the edge of the bed beside him. “She’s going to hate me,” Namjoon mutters. “She took that bullet for me so I could complete what she couldn’t. I failed her.”

Yoongi hums again. “Do you think so lowly of her and of yourself, Joon? Because if you ever think like that I’ll make sure you’ll live the rest of your life regretting hating yourself.”

That doesn’t make sense, but it brings a tiny smile to Namjoon’s face.

Yoongi lies down carefully beside Namjoon, like how he did when they were trainees and the heater broke down in the middle of the winter, or when one of them had an especially rough day. Skin against skin, hearts beating in sync. Namjoon feels something like nostalgia, except he only misses the childish dependence the two of them have on each other.

“Names.” Yoongi starts quietly. Namjoon doesn’t look at him. “I found names in the Brotherhood’s record. The most recent one. Our names aren’t crossed out like we thought they were. They’re circled, underlined, and highlighted with a red pen.”

It means they know we’re alive. The words go unspoken but it’s clear as glass.

“We’re going to really start doing something before they come and hunt us down,” Yoongi continues.

Namjoon remains silent. He closes his eyes. He’s suddenly feeling exhausted. Like he can hibernate and stay asleep for a year that kind of exhausted.

“I, I think I need a minute. It’s too much. Kyungmin’s alive. Jungkook almost got raped and now he’s trusting me with his life. We’re still learning to trust each other.” At that, Yoongi turns his head to stare at Namjoon with a hurt, confused look that Namjoon didn’t even think Yoongi was capable of making. “Fuck, I feel responsible. I don’t even know what I want now. I don’t know if I can do this. And you know how it’ll work for me if I don’t.”

It’s an easy question. What happens if you no longer know what you’re doing, who you are in this world? The normal answer would be You still got time to explore and figure out, don’t sweat it, but in the mafia world it’s You get preyed on. An indecisive man is a dead man. Both Yoongi and Namjoon know that.

“Then fuck whoever's going to mess with you, Joon-ah.” Yoongi sits up abruptly and glares down at Namjoon like he wants to physically whack Namjoon’s brain and pump in happy, cheery thoughts. “You said we don’t trust each other yet. That’s bullshit and you know it. You already did so much to make us trust you and you know we’d take a bullet for you too, but why don’t you trust us?”

Namjoon opens his mouth, but Yoongi makes a zip it motion at his lips to shut him up. “So you better fucking trust me when I say this, Kim Namjoon: I will be right beside you every goddamn second and give up both of my lungs if you crush yours because I know you’ll do the same for me. The others will too. If we can share our pain, we won’t have all the bullet holes in the same person. We’ll make it, I promise.”

Promise is a beautiful word that’s too pure and innocent for this world. It’s the word faithful believers sing in churches and mothers whisper in their children’s ears. It’s not made for people like Namjoon. It almost sounds polluted coming out of Yoongi’s mouth, but it’s a tiny ray of light that penetrates Namjoon’s hard and dark exterior.

“We’ll make it.” Yoongi repeats stubbornly and lies back down beside Namjoon. Together, they stare up at Namjoon’s dull ceiling.

We’ll make it.