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It doesn't begin with fireworks or happenstance. Joshua stumbles into his life quite literally, swaying and staggering his way out of a back-alley into the main street, shaking his head like a dog in the heavy rainfall and hiding his bruised and bloody knuckles into the sleeves of his windbreaker. Jeonghan is waiting for him, watching him from under his umbrella, bracing for impact.
It's calculated, expected. They've tracked him for a while, until Jeonghan's patience dried up, and he decided to be at the right place at the right time.
Once Joshua's shoulder collides into his chest, Jeonghan stands his ground easily and watches how Joshua falls on his ass into a puddle. The river of people on the street wash past them, parting just enough to leave them a bubble of their own. Joshua looks up at him in surprise.
His eyes are just about the prettiest thing Jeonghan has ever seen, and something in his head and heart decides, yes. Yes. He should have him.
He helps Joshua up, hand like a sure vice on his arm. Joshua glances at it.
"I'm sorry, sir. I uh, I didn't—"
"It's quite alright," Jeonghan tells him, smiling gently, the rain tapping onto the umbrella and making the noises of the city sound so muted in turn. Joshua looks at him like he's the first friendly face he's met in ages. There's an openness that oozes from people like him when met with kindness or even politeness, the kind that makes Jeonghan almost laugh out loud, because he can tell that this kid is lonely as all hell. It's that loneliness that makes Joshua follow him, he thinks, however slow and unsure, as he leads him along the main street towards a restaurant he knows well.
"It's nice to finally meet you, Joshua. We should talk."
Joshua opens his mouth in shock but nothing comes out. Instead he moves, like a cornered animal he tries to make a run for it, and his reflexes are good. Young. Live. But Jeonghan is practiced, moving and overpowering have become a habit to him with age, so he trips Joshua's feet up so he loses balance, grabs him by the collar and neck of his wet clothes and slams him into a wall with ease. Joshua stares at him, stunned, breath coming and going quickly.
"I mean it," He says slowly. "We really should talk." Jeonghan can see Joshua eyeing him and the restaurant in turn with confusion sticking to his expressions like rainwater. His doe-eyes, his worriedly furrowed brow. After thinking about it carefully, he speaks up.
"Are you with the police?"
Jeonghan laughs hard enough for it to throw his head back a little, and Joshua looks uncomfortable, young and embarrassed. Jeonghan smooths his collar for him, lets him off the wall.
"If I was," Jeonghan reassures him, low and conspiratorial, "I wouldn't be here offering you a job."
Joshua's surprise seemingly overtakes his doubt. And as soon as Jeonghan lands a hand on the small of his back to herd him in through the doors of the restaurant Joshua goes pliant and steps in. Jeonghan smiles.
He can work with a guy who just needs a little push.
—
The kid eats like he hasn't had a proper meal in ages. Jeonghan watches him house a hot bowl of 150,000 won soup until his cheeks and nose get pink. His unattractively spiky short hair sticks together in wet clumps, the light brown color looks lifeless under the elegant light of the restaurant. Jeonghan takes out a business card from his wallet and places it on the table in front of Joshua.
It states nothing but 'Yoon Jeonghan', in golden letters on a cream background.
It's a suit and tie place, smart casual at the very least. Joshua stands out like a sore thumb, sopping wet in his windbreaker and stained trainers. Jeonghan isn't sure if they started out as white or if they're supposed to be that certain hue of gray grime. Even for Jeonghan, in this part of town, it was tough to get the kid in at all. He can see Joshua avoiding the scornful looks from other tables, shoulders hunched, hovering over his food with unease, feeling the target on his back. He eyes Jeonghan's name on the card with barely any interest.
"You eat well," Jeonghan states, pulling up the sleeves of his suit jacket and dress shirt before he begins eating. Joshua eyes his watch. Jeonghan pretends not to notice.
"I'm not picky," Joshua answers him after swallowing. His accent isn't as thick as Jeonghan had anticipated.
When Jihoon told him about the American roaming the streets, beating the shit out of petty criminals before robbing them blind, Jeonghan was far from impressed. It's not the first case of dog-eat-dog he's seen; small-fry lowlifes going against one another, the grimy underbelly of Seoul cannibalizing itself. But the profile on the guy that Jihoon put together did make him wonder.
Graduating early from both high school and later college with a degree in criminal justice with a minor in the Korean language, followed by a two year stint working as a court officer, getting a black belt in Judo, taking any other self-defense courses he had time for and then applying for the FBI, he makes it through the screenings and applications, all the way to the academy in Quantico, and then —
Nothing. Joshua Hong never formally finishes the academy, drops off the face of the earth, and resurfaces in Seoul a month and a half later, stealing from thieves and leaving them halfway dead.
Jeonghan studies him, in his ratty drenched jacket and stupidly baggy jeans, his cheap bleach-job, the cuts and bruises on his face, slurping soup and wine like he's convinced someone is going to take it away from him if he doesn't put it away fast enough. Jeonghan knows a mess when he sees one.
The thing about messes is that if you clean it up well enough, you can start fresh. It'll never be a blank canvas, sure, but sometimes it's more efficient to create something when there's already some texture in place. With Joshua, there's plenty of texture. Some Jeonghan might even need to sand down.
"What's your Korean name?" Jeonghan asks, and smiles in a way he knows is charming, approachable. It isn't quite the fatherly trust-me-with-your-life smile Seungcheol can whip up, but he thinks it'll do. Joshua purses his lips. Takes a sip of wine.
"Jisoo. Hong Jisoo."
"Did you finish your training in Quantico, Jisoo?"
Joshua frowns and stares at him, possibly trying to work out how much Jeonghan knows about him. How much has been of interest.
"I didn't graduate or anything," Joshua answers him. Jeonghan presses:
"Did you finish your training?"
A moments hesitation, then; "Yes, sir."
Jeonghan muses a "Hm," and nods. "Don't call me sir."
The thing that pinged Jihoon's attention initially was the odd precision in which Joshua's targets were dealt with. Every wound and injury was mainly superficial but temporarily debilitating enough to allow his escape. It isn't exactly how the Bureau would train their agents to deal with threats— but it is something someone with a strong enough conscience would take away from the training. A way to neutralize targets non-lethally. That kind of strong conscience can be a problem, so the thing Jeonghan asks next is:
"Could you kill someone for me, Jisoo?"
Joshua almost drops his spoon, smiling weakly and breathing out a nervous laugh.
"Uh, I don't know what you—"
Jeonghan waves a dismissive hand, leaning against the backrest of his chair and leveling Joshua with a serious look.
"This isn't a joke, Jisoo. If you can't, then that's fine. I'll pay for your meal and let you go on and continue whatever it is you're doing with your meager little life, picking pockets and playing vigilante." Joshua lets out a sound of indignation, a choked up huff that isn't followed by words, so Jeonghan keeps going. "But if you don't think you're above the life of a mercenary, I do have use for you."
He leans forward, hands on the table, fingers intertwined. There's a whirlwind of thoughts behind Joshua's eyes, he's teetering on the edge of something, and Jeonghan is confident that he can tip him over to a place that's beneficial for both of them. He tilts his head just so, digging his gaze into Joshua's eyes.
"Do you want to be of use to me, Jisoo?"
A silence follows, filled only by the low chatter from the other tables, the clinking of silverware. Joshua seems to sag a little, with his belly full and body warm, there's a give to him. Jeonghan doesn't need to let the silence press against him for long until he opens his mouth, and the truth comes out, weak but eager:
"I could try."
"Brilliant," Jeonghan beams, getting back to his food. He cuts off a piece of his sweetfish, and places it on Joshua's plate. He resumes eating the rest. "How have you liked Seoul so far?"
Joshua eyes the fish on his plate for a moment, before he takes a stab at it with his spoon.
"It's expensive."
Jeonghan hums, gathering sauce on a piece of fish before bringing it to his mouth. Joshua eats slower now, savoring each bite. Jeonghan can't help but wonder if it's his first time in a place like this, with elegant ambiance, a chandelier, a dress code.
"You must have known that before you got on the plane. Why here?" Jeonghan leans his elbow on the table and watches Joshua closely. There's a tremor of irritation in his face as he scoffs and laughs a dry laugh.
"Why not here? It's not like I had anywhere else to be."
"You sound bitter."
"I am bitter." Joshua spits out. He goes quiet, lost in thought, before he blinks his eyes and chances a glance at Jeonghan, considering. He speaks softly, like he's admitting something forbidden. "I always wanted to come here. When I…" A lick of the lips, a nervous glance to his left. "Lost it, at the academy." A pause. "This was the first place that came to mind."
"Lost it," Jeonghan parrots, and digs out his phone from his pocket, taps and scrolls until he finds what he's looking for. "By lost it, you mean - " Jeonghan reads the report " - had an epic panic attack at a meeting with your supervisor, who in turn advised you to reconsider the program, so you threatened to kill him in his office with your Bureau-issued sidearm?"
Joshua stares at him in stunned silence, but Jeonghan can detect the rage mulling underneath his surface, waiting to burst. It can be a grueling ordeal. Being known, that is.
Everything that went hand in hand with Joshua's success-story came up after Jeonghan asked Jihoon to dig a little deeper. The depressive episodes, the anxiety and the panic attacks, the cocktail of medications he's been juggling since he was fifteen. Jeonghan's not sure if the pressure came from his parents, teachers, or just from Joshua himself, but by the time he was close enough to taste victory, he just didn't have the spine to bear it with.
He finishes off his meal, places his silverware down.
"Are you still homicidal, Jisoo?"
"Fuck you," Joshua grits out through his teeth, eyes striking and sharp. Jeonghan laughs, and it only makes Joshua angrier, his jagged edges grinding together until his rubbed raw and ready spin and bite at anyone who'll get close enough. Jeonghan quite likes the look of him. He gestures a waiter over, hands her a credit card.
"It's not a problem if you are, trust me. Me and my associates are very interested in having a man with your background and tendencies on our payroll," Jeonghan tells him once they're alone. Joshua crosses his arms, shoulders hunched up to his ears as he considers something.
"And… what would this job entail?"
Jeonghan tries not to look too pleased.
"Everything, anything. Intelligence. Assassination. Kidnapping. We tell you to jump, you ask how high."
Joshua barks out an empty laugh, taking a hand through his damp hair, making it stick up. Then he asks the right question:
"Why? Why should I?"
"Because this is it, Jisoo. It's either this, or doing petty theft until the other shoe drops. You shouldn't have left those guys alive. They'll talk. Be it to whoever is above them, whose money you actually took, or worse. The cops." Joshua freezes in place, staring at the table cloth. "But we can protect you."
The silence they sink back into is a carefully crafted one. Jeonghan watches as Joshua goes through many stages of grief, over and over again, until he realizes the only road in front of him is a dead end no matter what. He deflates, sags into his chair, staring at the table in front of him with his mouth in a tight line, hands in his lap.
So Jeonghan does him a kindness, and pulls out the envelope in his breast pocket, lays it on the table. Joshua takes it carefully and looks through the contents, finding a debit card and a piece of paper with an address and a security code on it.
"Your starting bonus. The checking account is loaded with 20 million won, and your new apartment is paid for for the next year," Jeonghan explains. "You get paid by assignment. If you work, you eat. It's that simple." The waiter returns with his card, which Jeonghan puts back in his wallet, gathers his things, and stands up. Joshua is still staring down at the envelope.
"You think you can buy me?" Joshua asks in a shaky voice, and Jeonghan breathes out a laugh. With his umbrella in one hand and his coat thrown over his arm, he steps in, and squeezes Joshua's shoulder.
"I know so, Jisoo," He says gently. Joshua looks hurt, like he can physically feel whatever is left of his pride being trampled down into nothing. He looks pretty like that. Jeonghan could get used to it. His thumb smooths over Joshua's shoulder, and he swears he can feel Joshua tremble in response. Maybe in fear, maybe anger. "We'll be in touch soon," Jeonghan promises.
Joshua doesn't say a thing as he walks away.
—
"So? How was he?"
The offices are mostly empty at this hour. Jeonghan doesn't jump at the sound of Seungcheol's voice though.
"Pathetic, mostly." Jeonghan's shrugging off his suit jacket by his desk, and doesn't need to turn around to see Seungcheol in the doorway of his office to know he's smiling. He throws his jacket onto his desk, pours himself a glass of Scotch, and collapses into a chair with a deep sigh. The rain falls heavy and cold outside the windows, the view of Seoul from up this high looks foggy and unwelcoming. Jeonghan tilts his head to stare at it.
"You like them pathetic," Seungcheol prompts, and Jeonghan snorts.
"Yes, well. We will have to test him out. If he's too pathetic, I'll cut him loose."
Seungcheol walks in, looking like he's been working a real job with real people for a change while Jeonghan was out, and hated every second of it. As much as the company actually belongs to him, he hates working it. Maybe because Jeonghan is so much better at it than him. Maybe because he cares too much once he starts giving a shit. His tie is crooked and Jeonghan feels a nagging need to fix it, but the lazy tiredness wins him over, keeps him in his seat. He just points at it and laughs. Seungcheol looks down, and huffs in lieu of actually fixing it.
"And by cutting him loose, you mean…?"
Jeonghan gives him a look. Seungcheol crosses his arms. Jeonghan rolls his eyes and takes a drink.
"No one in the country will miss him. His family back home probably already think he's suicidal. Just saying." Jeonghan shrugs, and looks outside once more. The city is drowning somewhere at the foot of the skyscraper. Joshua too, possibly. Jeonghan thinks of his eyes, lost and full of anger.
Seungcheol sighs, but doesn't argue. He taps a folder on Jeonghan's desk with a finger.
"I left these for you to look over. From Wonwoo."
"Mm." Jeonghan's phone vibrates, and he checks the message from Jihoon. "It's your husband," Jeonghan tells him magnanimously, and Seungcheol rubs his face like that'll smooth out the wrinkles and five o'clock shadow and make him look refreshed and in time for dinner.
"Yes, well, fuck. Tell him I'll be home soon?"
Jeonghan doesn't. He's staring too intently at the capture Jihoon has sent him with the regards: 'he is in. don't make me do this creep shit if you're going to keep him.'
"I'll get going. See you around," Seungcheol tells him as he leaves. Jeonghan makes a noise that hopefully registers as a goodbye. He smiles against the rim of his glass.
CCTV footage from the company-owned apartment complex loops on Jeonghan's screen, again and again. A drenched Joshua Hong stands in the stairwell, tapping in the security code of his new apartment. He looks up into the security camera for a prolonged moment, like he's telling whoever is watching to fuck off and leave him alone, before slipping in through the door.