Chapter Text
The club beneath Seoul could have represented the Mariana Trench of South Korea: everyone who mattered knew about it, and everyone who mattered knew they had to follow its rules if they wanted to get out alive.
Phones slid across polished counters into numbered drawers. A single permitted gun, a symbol of status rather than a tool meant to be used. If anyone had dared to draw their weapon inside the club, they would have been eliminated instantly by the unobtrusive but unmistakable armed guards standing along the perimeter, no questions asked.
It was the only neutral ground everyone in the Country recognised as such, despite having an owner.
Bosses sat alongside heirs, some already blooded, others still dealing with their ambition. The balance was delicate, maintained by mutual interest and the unspoken understanding that violations here would be met with retaliation elsewhere.
The elegant velvet drapes absorbed the sound of conversations, although nobody spoke too loudly. The ceiling was low and the lighting warm but dim, casting long shadows across the tables and the men and women seated around them, catching on glassware and expensive rings and jewellery. The air held the faint scent of tobacco and expensive liquor, the former clinging to clothes, the latter carried by the breath of those speaking.
The game was already underway.
Nobody really gambled for money. What moved across the table were favours, leverage, and future alignments. The game was merely a language they all spoke fluently, pretending it was entertainment. Chips clicked as they were stacked and restacked, cards slid across the felt with a rustling that competed with whispers. No one here was careless. Peace in this place existed because the rules demanded so, and because it was mutually profitable for everyone present to pretend, for a few hours, that their thirst for power was quenched.
At the head of the main table sat the owner of the club.
Jeon Jungkook, boss of the most powerful and feared clan in Seoul, and implicitly in the whole of South Korea. Young by any standards, yet no one, not even the most seasoned of bosses, would ever dare to doubt the power he represented, or the ruthless way he would show it to anyone who dared to underestimate him just because he had not yet reached 30 years old.
The men at his table angled their bodies toward him without realising it. He hadn’t spoken in several minutes, yet the rhythm of the game seemed to follow him all the same. Bets, bluffs, and confidence itself shook under his attention, even those who were not playing with him holding their breath while he considered his hand.
His suit was black and impeccably tailored, immaculate and unadorned. There was no jewellery aside from the silver piercings shining at his lower lip and at his ears, no excess. The only visible tattoos peeked behind his ear, left uncovered by his short black hair, which was pulled back, leaving his forehead free of obstructions except for three thin wisps that caressed his right eyebrow, and on the elegant, manicured hand that held the cards in front of his contemplative face.
And that face attracted the attention of many pairs of eyes, men and women alike. The contrast between the full, delicate curves of his cheeks and nose and the sharp lines of his jaw, accompanied by full lips that could be equally devastating curled into a smirk or protruded into a disappointed pout, had left more than a few of those present either longing to trace them with their fingers or regretting they could no longer do so.
Round eyes that would have looked innocent on anyone else instinctively raised as the doors to the room opened to grant access to a new arrival, always careful to have everything under control in their kingdom. The guards parted smoothly, and Jungkook's eyebrow shot up instinctively, a gesture that did not escape the gazes always on him and immediately shifted the room’s attention to the new presence.
Kim Taehyung walked in with the assuredness that came with his right to be there.
There was no hesitation in his stride, no uncertainty in the way he crossed the threshold. He wore a three-piece ensemble tailored to perfection, silk and lace sliding over every curve of his body as if they had no other purpose in existence, enhancing them for the eyes of those who would inevitably end up desiring the long legs, the small waist highlighted by a vest with a neckline so low that it looked like a bodice, the broad chest and shoulders. And this was before even seeing the devastating beauty of his face, softly framed by brown hair parted to the side, caressing his cheekbones and highlighting the strong line of his nose.
The newcomer did not pause to take in the room. He scanned it once, dark eyes cataloguing faces and positions.
Jungkook knew who he was. Everyone did. The heir of the Kims of the Southeast had been a fixture at public events for almost two decades: elegant, composed, always half a step behind men who spoke for him. Jungkook had seen him from a distance more than once: at galas, at ceremonies, at events, presented as something untouchable.
They had never spoken.
Different territories. Different concerns. Jungkook had never had reason to cross his path directly, and Taehyung, for all his visibility, had always remained curiously out of reach. Never alone. Unattainable.
Until now.
Taehyung moved deeper into the room, and while everyone’s attention followed his every move, Jungkook noticed two more men entering, just as legitimately: the two heirs of the Han clan of Ulsan. Their movements were relaxed, blending seamlessly into the environment, but their eyes never stopped tracking Taehyung’s position, betraying a subtle tension.
Jungkook didn’t miss the way Taehyung’s gaze flicked above his shoulder, clocking the men behind him. Then his eyes landed on Jungkook, his mismatched eyelids making the almond-shaped gaze even more charming and mysterious.
Taehyung changed the direction of his steps without breaking stride, approaching the head of the table unhurriedly. The silk of his clothes rubbed softly with each step, the sound barely audible but strangely noticeable in the silence that followed him, along with every pair of eyes in the room.
When he was close enough for Jungkook to notice the sheer veil of transpiration on his forehead, Taehyung turned and lowered himself deliberately on Jungkook’s lap. One knee pressed into the space between Jungkook’s thighs before he adjusted just enough to sit comfortably. An arm followed just as smoothly, sliding around Jungkook’s neck until his fingers rested lightly at the base of his collar as if it were a daily occurrence, while he leaned in.
The room held its breath, as an heir sitting in another man’s lap was not unusual in this room, but sitting in Jungkook’s lap was something else entirely.
“I’m going to need you,” Taehyung whispered, taking advantage of the murmurs that had started in the room, close enough that his lips brushed Jungkook’s ear, “to act like you’re in love with me for a few days.”
The words were light, almost playful, but not their implication.
Taehyung shifted slightly, settling more fully into Jungkook’s lap. The fact that the boss had yet to react seemed to reassure him enough to make his acting bolder. Taehyung’s second hand rose to Jungkook's chest, fingers dragging lightly down the lapel of his jacket in a way that felt almost indecent, given how deliberate it was.
“Or maybe longer,” he added, the faintest hint of amusement expressed by a soft huff between words.
Jungkook studied the man in his lap. Up close, he could feel the tension beneath the silk, the way Taehyung was refusing to show fear, how his pulse jumped beneath the honeyed skin of his neck.
Jungkook’s hand remained on the table, fingers relaxed over his hand of cards. The young boss knew he could easily take up the gun resting beneath his jacket, snug against his ribs. He also knew that Taehyung was perfectly aware of its presence. Jungkook quickly realised two things: first, that Taehyung had intentionally left him free to access the weapon, rather than sitting on the side that would have blocked his hand from reaching it. Second, that Taehyung was not armed, which was unthinkable for the heir of a clan.
Jungkook slowly turned his head until he could observe the two Hans. They had stopped near the bar, but their eyes darted between Jungkook and Taehyung perched so boldly in his space, brows furrowed in uncertainty. It was clear to Jungkook that the two had a specific interest in the other heir, and his instincts told him that it was not harmless.
So Taehyung hadn’t acted out of recklessness. He had calculated his odds and played his own game of chance in the face of danger.
Interesting.
Slowly, deliberately, Jungkook retracted his hand from the table and circled Taehyung’s waist, his grip proprietary, firm enough to send a clear message to anyone watching. He drew the man closer, fingers settling at his hip as if he had done this a hundred times before.
Taehyung relaxed against him instantly.
“Problems?” Jungkook asked coolly, keeping his gaze on the Hans.
The effect was immediate. The two men exchanged glances, seemingly weighing their options, and quickly lowered their gazes, muttering their denials.
This was neutral ground with its rules.
Jungkook’s rules.
And Jungkook had made his position clear.
The two Han heirs bowed respectfully, though stiffly, their gazes too conspicuously avoiding Taehyung, and headed for the exit.
The guards closed the door behind them once they were out, and poker resumed as if on cue. Chips clicked again, the sound almost hypnotic against the constant murmur of resumed conversation. Taehyung remained where he was, relaxed against Jungkook as if he belonged there, his breathing finally evening out.
Jungkook was acutely aware of the curiosity that forced the players to split their attention from the cards in their hands to the pair at the main table. Everyone here knew how to read intention, and Taehyung’s had been crystal clear. And yet, the collective effort – Jungkook’s included – was aimed at understanding what had made a choice that would normally have been tantamount to self-destruction, the one with the greatest gain.
And above all, why the most isolated heir of all the clans in the country had shown up alone and chased.
“You’re look comfortable,” Jungkook murmured, his voice low enough that only Taehyung could hear.
The corner of Taehyung’s lips curved upward in a barely-there smirk. “I learn quickly.”
Jungkook kept his arm around Taehyung for the entire time it took him to finish the poker game, even though his attention had already wandered away from it, to the point that his loss didn’t even trigger his natural sense of competition.
When Jungkook stood, Taehyung rose with him fluidly, smoothing his jacket and adjusting his cuffs as if he had been waiting for nothing else. Jungkook watched him for a moment, taking the subtle grace of his motion. Taehyung exuded confidence even now, even after publicly claiming what most men and women would just dream of touching.
“Come,” Jungkook said.
Taehyung slipped his arm under Jungkook’s and splayed his other hand on his forearm in response, and the boss let him.
They moved through the corridors in the reserved area together, the hum of the club fading behind them, the guards following but keeping their distance until they reached the private elevator that would take Jungkook to his private garage above. Only then did Jungkook dismiss the guards with a nod. They bowed respectfully, finally leaving the two men alone for the first time.
“You came here on purpose,” Jungkook said, tone even, freeing his arm from Taehyung’s hold with firm calm.
Taehyung tilted his head while his arms returned to his sides. “Yes,” he replied, his deep, warm voice audible for the first time.
“You knew you were followed.”
“Yes.”
“And you chose me intentionally.”
Taehyung met his inquisitive gaze, and for the briefest moment, the mask that had remained flawless throughout the evening faltered.
“My clan was wiped out tonight,” he said calmly, almost detached, dropping the information like a stone into still water. “I’m all that’s left.”
His voice carried neither plea nor self-pity. Jungkook's brain assimilated the words, and though he knew that they meant a shift in the balance that would require his immediate consideration, his attention remained focused on how Taehyung’s posture and attitude implied that the shock of possibly being the last of his clan probably hadn't hit him yet.
“They’re after me now.”
Or maybe it had, and Taehyung just knew he had no choice but to try to survive.
Jungkook studied him in silence, feeling something unfamiliar settle in his chest. Somehow, beyond his normal calculations and weighing the pros and cons of every choice, Jungkook's instinct had already stretched out its greedy claws on the man who had chosen to place himself directly in his lap, in his reach, in his space.
“You’ll stay with me,” Jungkook heard himself say, his voice expressing neither request nor negotiation.
“Of course.”
And even though Jungkook knew the other had no choice, Taehyung still managed to make it sound like his decision.
Jungkook pressed the elevator button to open its doors, and he gestured for Taehyung to enter first. As the elevator doors slid shut around them, Jungkook realised something that unsettled him far more than it should have.
He had had disruptions in his life before, but this was not one.
This was a man who had made a deliberate choice.
And Jungkook, without fully understanding why, had chosen him back.