genre ↠ mafia AU — romance/action (angst, fluff, smut)
summary ↠ Blood, business and betrayal is all that Park Jimin has ever known, but when you cross paths again, the stakes are raised even higher and he finds himself battling his conscience, and his heart.
word count ↠ 8.6k
18+ | warnings ↠ drinking, explicit sexual content, violence, all sorts of crime (please see the series masterlist for a complete list of warnings).
taglist is open – dm/comment/send an ask to be added <3
notes ↠ please enjoy and share and tell me your thoughts this fic is by far the most difficult for me to write xoxoxox
The kitchen hums with warmth and quiet activity. The wooden countertop is lightly dusted with flour, and bowls of ingredients sit neatly arranged as you knead the dough, hands moving with ease as your muscle memory takes over. Across the counter, Ara and Iseul work on peeling apples, the rhythmic sound of knives gliding over the fruit filling the space.
“You’ve got a good hand for this, Miss Y/N,” Iseul says, her tone soft but teasing. “You’re working like someone who knows their way around dough.”
Ara glances over, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“I hope so,” you reply, her smile light as her hands move steadily. “My café wouldn’t have lasted long if I didn’t know how to bake.”
Iseul dusts the surface with a bit more flour. “Ah, a café. That makes sense. You’re good.”
“Lots of practice,” you chuckle.
“What was it like? Your café?” Ara asks, curiosity evident in her tone.
You pause briefly as you roll out the dough, a smile playing on your lips. “Busy, but I loved it. The mornings were my favourite — setting up before the rush, the smell of fresh bread and coffee, the regulars who’d come in for the same thing every day… It felt like I was a character in Gilmore Girls or something.”
“Sounds like hard work, but the good kind,” Iseul says thoughtfully, slicing another apple. “You must miss it.”
“I do, sometimes.”
Ara exchanges a glance with Iseul but doesn’t press further. Straightening, you dust your hands on your apron. “Since it’s autumn, I thought we could use some seasonal flavours. Maybe apple and pumpkin pastries?”
“Good choice,” Iseul says with a soft smile. “They’ll bring a little warmth as the air cools.”
They settle into a steady rhythm — Ara mashing the pumpkin filling, Iseul peeling and slicing apples, and you shaping the pastry dough. As some time passees , the kitchen fills with the quiet clatter of utensils and light conversation.
Ara wipes her hands on a towel, smiling as she watches. “I’ll leave you two to finish up. There’s some work I need to check on.”
“Thanks for helping, Ara,” you say, glancing up.
“It was a pleasure,” Ara replies with a small nod. “I’ll come back to try one later.”
After Ara leaves, Iseul heads to the drawer to fetch some cinnamon.
“I think everyone will be very happy with your choice,” she says as she returns. “Jungkook was in here a while ago, asking about the pastries I’ve been buying for breakfast.”
“I hope so,” you reply, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I should probably ask them what they want. It’d be nice to try new things.”
“It’s good to see you enjoying this,” Iseul says after a moment, her tone warm but reflective. “You seem at ease here in the kitchen.”
“It’s familiar,” you say with a smile. “I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until I started baking again.”
Iseul nods slowly, continuing her work. “There’s something grounding about it, isn’t there? The rhythm, the smells… It makes everything feel a bit more settled.”
“Exactly. Back at the cafe, I used to say baking felt like a kind of therapy. No matter what was happening, I could lose myself in it for a little while.”
“It’s a good thing you’ve found your way back to it, even if just for a moment,” Iseul says with a thoughtful sigh. “Things feel tense around here lately, more than usual.”
You glance at her, curious but silent, prompting Iseul to continue.
“Even the boys… they're usually always laughing, full of energy. But lately, they’ve been different. A bit more serious, more on edge,” Iseul says quietly.
Your brows furrow slightly. You haven't been here that long but even you can tell how sometimes everyone seems tense, falling silent the second someone's phone rings and exchanging concerned glances at any new updates.
Iseul notices the change in your own mood now and she smiles. "But that’s why moments like these matter. They remind us there’s still a little sweetness in life, even when things get rough. “Besides,” Iseul says with a playful glint in her eye, “who’s going to keep these boys fed if we don’t?”
You laugh softly. "That's true. Maybe we should get them to help us sometimes."
"Now that's actually not a bad idea," she agrees, before glancing at the pastries in the oven, their edges beginning to turn golden as the scent of warm apples and spices fills the air.
The warm, buttery aroma of freshly baked pastries fills the lounge as Jungkook leans back on the couch, a blissful expression spreading across his face. “These are insane,” he mumbles through a mouthful of pastry, holding up another piece to inspect it. “I could eat these forever.”
Hoseok grins, reaching for a second one. “Right? It’s like heaven in your mouth.”
Namjoon, who is chewing thoughtfully, nods in agreement. “You’ve got a gift, Y/N. These are unreal.”
You smile, pretty chuffed as you lean against the arm of the couch. “Glad you like them. I can make them again, it didn’t take too long and Iseul helped me.”
Hoseok laughs. “You make it sound so casual. These are next-level.”
Jungkook nods enthusiastically, crumbs at the corner of his mouth. “Seriously, I could eat these all day.”
Namjoon leans forward, tapping his chin. “You know what might be an interesting flavour? Mango and white chocolate. You should try that sometime.”
You tilt your head, considering it. “Hmm, mango and white chocolate? I’ll see what I can do.”
“I’m already sold,” Jin says, reaching for another pastry.
Just then, the door opens, and Yoongi strolls in, hands in his pockets. His sharp eyes take in the scene of the boys lounging with plates of pastries. “Hey,” he says, his tone casual. “What’s going on in here?”
“Yoongi, you’ve gotta try these,” Hoseok says, holding up a pastry like a prize.
Yoongi wanders over, plucking one from the plate and taking a small bite. His expression remains neutral as he chews, nodding slightly. “Not bad,” he says, his voice cool.
The room erupts in laughter.
“Not bad?” Namjoon repeats, chuckling as he shakes his head. “You just can’t give a compliment, can you?”
Yoongi shrugs nonchalantly, but there’s a faint twitch at the corner of his lips. “Don’t want anyone getting a big head.”
You roll your eyes, smiling. “Don’t worry, I’m immune to your backhanded praise.”
The boys laugh, still devouring the pastries. You turn to Yoongi, your tone softening. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Yoongi’s brow rises slightly, but he nods. “Alright.”
He gestures toward the veranda, and the two of you make your way outside. The cool air greets you as you step onto the wide stone terrace, the estate gardens stretching out before you. You ease into one of the cushioned outdoor sofas, Yoongi settling across from you.
“Everything okay?” he asks, his tone low and steady.
“Yeah, all good.” You look at him, hesitating for a moment. “I want to see Jaeho.”
Yoongi’s eyes narrow slightly in confusion. “Jaeho?”
You nod. “He was my dad’s friend and trainer. He trained me, too, when I was younger. After my parents died and we moved to Namwon, he’d still cpme by every week to keep training me. I haven’t seen him since I came back to Seoul.”
Yoongi leans back, studying you. “Sure, but why now?”
You glance out at the gardens, watching the distant figure of a gardener pushing a mower across the vast lawn. “Honestly, I kind of miss him.” Your voice softens as you continue, “Over the years, he started to feel like family. And being here, it just reminds me a lot of my dad, of how things were when I was a kid.”
Yoongi nods slowly, following your gaze. “Makes sense.”
You look back at him, relieved by his understanding. “I don’t know if that sounds stupid.”
“It doesn’t,” he says simply, a small smile tugging at his lips. “We can go, whenever you’re ready.”
“Thanks. I also want to go back home—I have some things I need.”
Yoongi’s brow furrows. “We cleared everything out for you.”
“I know, but there are some things I kept locked away — personal stuff, my ID, some firearms. I didn’t want to go back until it was safe. It should be okay now, right?”
Yoongi’s lips press into a thin line, and he seems hesitant. “I’m not sure, Y/N.”
“Please,” you say softly, your eyes searching his.
He sighs, giving in. “Fine. But at least wait until your leg is fully healed. If something happens, I’m not carrying you on my back.”
You smirk, leaning forward slightly. “Good. I don’t trust you not to drop me.”
Yoongi chuckles, shaking his head. “We’ll take someone with us anyway, just to be safe.”
“Good idea.”
“How are you finding everything?” he asks, his tone more sincere now.
You pause, thinking carefully. “It’s... fine. It’s not like it’s completely new, but at the same time, it is.”
He nods in understanding. “It’s nice having you here, though. You’ve definitely joined the family easily.”
You smile, the warmth in his voice making you feel lighter. “It does feel like a family.” Your gaze drifts to the garden again. “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt like this.”
The distant hum of the gardener’s mower is the only sound as you lean back, the cool breeze brushing against your skin. For the first time in a long time, you allow yourself to bask in the unfamiliar sense of belonging.
The gravel crunches softly beneath your shoes as you walk through the garden, testing the weight on your injured leg. There’s still a pull in the muscle, but it’s better than it was. You exhale slowly, determined to get back to full strength.
You’re itching to feel normal again. To move without thinking. To fight without hesitation.
The sun hangs low in the sky, brushing the estate in soft amber light. It’s peaceful, but not quiet — birds call from the trees, and off in the distance, the steady hum of a lawn mower breaks the silence. You’re not tired, not after the long nap you took earlier.
“Side effect of the meds,” Jin had told you with a wave of his hand. “You’ll be drifting in and out.”
You turn a corner, walking slower now, careful of the strain on your leg. Ahead, you spot Ara walking side by side with the gardener, chatting quietly as he guides the mower along a strip of lawn. She notices you and pauses, offering a kind smile as she approaches.
“Y/N,” she says gently. “Out for a walk?”
“Figured I’d test out the leg,” you say with a small smile.
She nods, eyes flicking down briefly. “How is it feeling?”
“Better,” you answer honestly. “Still healing, but a lot better.” Your eyes drift past her to the familiar wooden arch a few feet away, wrapped in ivy and faded by time.
“It’s not locked anymore?” you ask, gesturing toward it.
She follows your gaze and shakes her head. “No. It's been open for a couple of years now. Jimin didn’t want it locked.”
You glance back at her. “Can I go in?”
“Of course,” she says gently. “It’s always open now.”
You smile at her. “Thanks, Ara.”
She gives you a warm nod before turning to rejoin the gardener, her voice fading as she walks away.
You take a step toward the arch, fingers brushing over the vine-covered handle. The ivy resists slightly, but the gate swings open with a soft creak, and you step inside.
The stone path beneath your feet winds between half-wild rose bushes and lilies, their petals faded but holding on. The grass has grown a little long. A weathered bench rests beneath a fruit tree, its bark worn from time but everything in here is still alive. Though it’s imperfect, it still feels peersonal, like a memory.
You move slowly, your hand trailing along the leaves and low-hanging branches. You remember the few times you came here with Jimin and his mother. It looks almost exactly the same. And yet somehow, it feels heavier.
You stop in front of the fountain. Just as you remember, though time seems to have passed here too. The statue in the centre is draped in stone cloth, one hand resting over her chest, her face tilted downward, sorrow etched into every line, looking wearier.
She always reminded you of Jimin’s mother. Quiet, elegant, and always carrying the burden of something you couldn’t name.
You never knew what happened to her, not really. But you could tell — she’d suffered. And Jimin had, too.
He must’ve been so lonely.
You think back to your own childhood. Even when you were in school, you weren’t allowed to go out much. Friends were limited. Schedules were strict. The walls around you weren’t physical, but they may as well have been.
It made you distant. Guarded.
After Jimin, you didn’t let anyone else get too close. Not until Yoongi.
Meeting him in your late teens felt like stepping out of a shadow, a release. Not comfort exactly, but a sense that you weren’t as alone as you’d thought.
You imagine Jimin must’ve felt something similar. Being home-schooled was worse, under constant scrutiny. Taemin was all he had, but that must’ve been its own kind of pressure -- living up to a friend who existed only to please his father.
You sigh and look away, a dull ache settling behind your ribs. The sky is deeper now, streaked with purples and soft blue, the last of the light sinking behind the trees.
You turn back toward the path, still feeling the weight of something you can’t name, and oddly, you find yourself quietly hoping Jimin might be somewhere nearby.
You make your way toward the house, past the hedges and across the back lawn. The estate feels still, hushed. You pass through the door and into the hallway, where only the occasional housekeeping staff move quietly from room to room.
You figure Jimin’s probably in his office, you’d rather not disturb him.
Still not tired, you make your way downstairs, down the long corridor and into the basement.
Time to run through what Jungkook and Taehyung taught you.
The ache spreading from your shoulder is familiar, even comforting, compared to the sharper pain in your leg. A thin sheen of sweat coats your skin as you raise another knife, exhale slowly, and let it fly.
The blade slices through the air and lands with a soft, satisfying thud — right in the centre. A slow smile pulls at your lips. It’s not perfect, but it's clean. Focused. Precise.
That clean landing sends a wave of satisfaction rolling through you, so much so that you want to do it again, and again, and again. You love this. Always have. Sparring, shooting, training — there’s something in it that balances you.
With each throw or pull of the trigger, the chaos in your head quiets. Every blow empties you of everything that weighs you down — anger, grief, guilt. All of it dissolves into the echo of metal and gunpowder.
It’s the closest thing you have to peace. Your own kind of equilibrium.
You move through another set — throw, land, breathe. It isn’t perfect, but it’s progress. Taehyung says it’s your leg slowing you down, that once you’re back to full mobility your stance will sharpen again. You believe him. Still, your frustration has kept you in this room more than usual.
You've also spent time getting comfortable with unfamiliar firearms, pushing your recovery with everything you've got. It's not about speed right now. It's about control.
When you finally glance at the clock, you blink. It's almost midnight.
Sighing, you cross the empty range and begin collecting your knives one by one, pulling them from the targets and feeling the growing stiffness in your arm.
The range usually empties out after 11 pm, but before that, there's always someone around, whether it's Hoseok, Jungkook, Namjoon, or any of the many loyal enforcers Jimin has. You don't mind their presence, nor do you mind your own quiet conpany.
You finish gathering the blades, wipe your face and neck with a towel, and sling it over your shoulder. The walk back upstairs sends a dull ache pulsing through your leg. You’ll need to take your meds soon, though you’re relieved at how fast the healing has come. Seokjin’s care, the endless home-cooked meals, the forced rest — it’s all helped.
You pass through the corridor toward the kitchen, doors creaking slightly as you ease open the one leading to the pantry. It's dark. All the lights are off — except one.
A soft white glow spills out from the fridge.
The doors click shut behind you, and the fridge door closes at the same time.
Someone steps out from behind it.
A woman — strikingly beautiful, with dark hair tucked loosely behind her ears, and round eyes that seem to carry some kind of weight. She's holding a jar of jam. For a moment, she looks startled to see you, but her expression quickly relaxes into something quieter as she studies you.
She doesn't seem like a stranger here, which puts you at ease. You sense no threat, just curiosity. Still, the silence stretches, so you speak first.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” she replies, offering a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. There’s a sadness there, buried but present. She shuts the fridge, holding the jar in one hand. “You must be Y/N, right?”
She steps toward the counter where an open jar of peanut butter already waits.
“Yes,” you say, brows gently pulling together.
She places the jam next to it and steps a little closer, her voice soft. “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Yeona.”
Oh.
Yeona.
Seojun’s girlfriend.
Seojun — the man who died trying to protect you.
A knot of guilt tightens in your chest, sharp and immediate. It twists through your stomach like something rotten waking up. You remember the blood, the gunshot, his glassy eyes as he took his last breath.
“You too,” you manage to say, forcing a small smile. It feels awkward on your face, almost like a mask that doesn’t fit. You’ve never been good at situations like this — comforting someone, facing someone you might have failed.
Maybe it’s because you’ve been on the other side of comfort too many times. Or maybe it's just that the more pain you’ve seen, the less sure you are of how to soothe anyone else's.
She turns back to the counter. “I’m making a sandwich, want one?”
You smile again, and this time, it feels a little more real. “I’m alright, thanks.”
“Sure.”
Still, you hover there awkwardly, unsure if you should stay or give her space. She seems to sense it, glancing over as she slices the sandwich in half.
“Are you okay?”
You blink, snapping out of your thoughts. “Yeah,” you say, clearing your throat. “Sorry, I just…” You trail off again, unsure where you were going with that sentence.
Yeona watches you quietly, then says what you’re thinking.
“You weren’t sure if you should stay.”
Her voice is gentle, without accusation. You meet her eyes and nod, just slightly.
Her expression softens. “I know.”
She doesn’t say anything else, but she doesn’t have to. You were there when Seojun was killed. She knows it. You know it.
“It’s okay,” she adds, voice almost a whisper. “You can stay. I wouldn’t mind the company. Or you can go, I honestly don’t mind either way.”
You feel comfortingly disarmed by her candour.
Earlier in the garden, you thought about how you never really learned to be close with people. How being a friend didn’t always come naturally to you. But right now, it feels simple… you should stay. So you do.
Your eyes flick to the sandwich. “I’m actually kinda hungry right now.”
She glances up, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Not surprised. You look like you were working up a sweat.”
You shrug, easing yourself into the seat at the island. “As much as I can with this thing slowing me down.”
Her eyes flick to your bandaged leg showing beneath the baggy shorts. She winces sympathetically. “Sit. I’ll make you one.”
“Thanks."
You nod your thanks and watch her work quietly for a moment. Despite everything, it’s easy. Surprisingly easy. No tension. No expectations.
“How long have you been staying here?” you ask eventually.
She spreads the jam slowly, then glances at you. “Since Seojun’s mom passed. Jimin didn’t want us living alone. Said it wasn’t safe.”
“That makes sense,” you murmur.
She gives a small, wry smile. “I don’t know how much it actually helped.”
The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable. Just a little sad.
“I’ve been thinking about moving back in with my mom soon,” she adds, slicing the sandwich in half. “Not far from here, but... still.”
You nod, unsure what to say. Instead, you offer a small smile.
Yeona slides the plate toward you and leans against the counter across from you. “So… how’d you get into baking?”
That surprises you a little, but you're grateful for the question. It’s safe.
“I started when I was at uni,” you say, relaxing into your seat. “It was something I did to de-stress while I was studying. Eventually, it became this comforting thing, you know? After I graduated, I opened up a little place."
“Until you ended up here?”
You nod. “Yeah.”
She tilts her head, curious. “Do you live with your grandma?”
That catches you off guard for a second. If she knows it’s just you and your grandma, she definitely knows who you are.
“No,” you say. “She lives in Namwon. It’s quieter there. Safer.”
Yeona nods, and there’s a faint pause before she asks, “Your dad… he was Han Sehun, right?”
You nod again, slower this time. “He was.”
She doesn’t ask anything else about it. Just presses her lips together and offers a small nod of understanding.
“I’d love to try your baking sometime,” she says, her voice light again.
You smile. “I actually made some this morning. I think it’s all gone, though.”
She chuckles, grabbing a glass of water. “Probably." She takes a bite of her sandwich, then asks, “Do you train often?”
“Yeah. I’ve always liked it — sparring, shooting, throwing knives. There’s something about it that calms me. Keeps my head quiet.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Calms you?”
“Yeah,” you say, resting your arms on the counter. “When I’m training, I don’t think about anything else. It’s like… everything slows down. The more I move, the more I breathe, the less noise there is in my head. It’s kind of the only time I feel balanced.”
Yeona smiles. “That sounds nice. I can’t relate — I've never been into all that — but I get it. We all have something that helps.”
You nod thoughtfully. “Exactly.”
She glances at the clock on the oven. “It’s late.”
You sigh, pushing back your stool. “I should go shower. Try to get some sleep.”
“Me too. Thanks for the company.”
“Thanks for the sandwich.”
She smiles, and this time it feels real.
You stand in the centre of the garden, the golden hues of the setting sun casting long shadows across the neatly pruned hedges and vibrant flowerbeds. The scent of blooming jasmine lingers in the warm air, carried by a lazy breeze. The soft trickle of water from the fountain drifts through the quiet, and your eyes settle on it.
You always remember her here – Jimin’s mother. And somehow the statue has always reminded you of her.
“Hi.”
You startle, turning slightly.
Jimin stands beside you, hands in his pockets, his eyes distant as he looks ahead.
“Hi,” you reply, softly.
He doesn’t look at you, not yet. His expression is… reminiscent, maybe. Shadowed with memory.
“It’s exactly as I remember it,” you murmur, glancing around. The ivy-covered walls. The faint crunch of gravel. The quiet hush of a place rarely touched.
He nods. “It is. I’m glad you remember it. No one really comes in here anymore. Just Ara and me, sometimes.”
“Oh.” You pause, suddenly self-conscious. “Ara said the door’s always unlocked now, so I thought—”
“It’s okay,” he cuts in gently, finally turning toward you. “Really.”
“You don’t have to apologise,” he says. “On your first day, I told you to make yourself at home. I meant it.”
Hesitantly, you smile.
He returns it, barely – but enough. Then his eyes flick to your leg.
“You’ve been walking a while. Come on. Sit down.”
You nod gratefully, letting him guide you toward the weathered stone bench tucked beneath the flowering trellis. Your leg hums with a low ache you’ve been ignoring all day. You glance at the space next to you, then up at him.
“Will you sit with me?” you ask, softer than intended – almost tentative. It makes you cringe slightly.
His brow lifts slightly, amused. “You sure?”
Again, you feel self-conscious around him. It’s not something you’re used to. And it’s strange, how natural it feels to be unsure with Jimin.
“I mean, unless you’re busy,” you add quickly, trying to play it off.
“I’m not,” he says, sitting beside you. “I have time.”
For a while, the two of you just sit in the quiet. The sun dips low, turning everything a deep gold. The soft murmur of the fountain plays in the background, steady and calm.
You glance over at him. The breeze ruffles the collar of his shirt, and for the first time since the medical room, you remember the bandage.
“How’s your arm?” you ask softly.
Jimin’s eyes flick down to it briefly before returning to your face. “It’s healing.”
You raise an eyebrow, unconvinced. “That’s not really an answer.”
He breathes out a quiet laugh, the sound low and rough. “Fine, then – it still stings like hell sometimes, but Jin says I’ll live.”
You smile faintly. “That’s something.”
There’s a pause.
“Thank you for noticing,” he adds, voice quieter this time.
You nod, but your eyes linger on him a moment longer – on the way he hides pain, even the small kinds.
Then, carefully, you speak. “The other day, in the medical room… you were about to say something. I reminded you of something?”
“Oh, yeah.” Jimin gives a faint smile. “It reminded me of when we were younger.”
“I always imagined I’d changed since then.”
“You have,” he says. “Just maybe not as much as you think.”
With a hum, you face the garden again. “Everything feels different now.”
“It is different.”
“Do you ever miss it?” you ask. “Being young?”
He’s quiet for a moment.
You keep going. “It all felt easier then. Carefree.”
“I don’t miss it,” he says at last.
You turn toward him, surprised. “Never?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t think I ever felt carefree then.”
That ache again – familiar. You felt it even when you were kids. That quiet sense that Jimin carried more than he let on.
“Not even once?” you ask softly.
His voice is quieter now. “Except… maybe when I was with you.”
A small laugh escapes you. “I didn’t exactly leave you alone. That must’ve been annoying.”
He laughs – and it’s full, warm, slightly caught off guard. It rumbles low in his chest, the kind of laugh that makes you want to hear it again.
“True,” he says. “But I’m glad you didn’t. You were always a welcome change.”
You look back out at the flowers, noting how the shadows stretch long now. Evening is swallowing the garden slowly.
“Is that why you unlocked it?” you ask. “A change from when you were younger?”
He nods. “When my mom was here, she was happiest in this garden. But the moment she left it… she shut everything else out. Like she couldn’t bring herself to hold onto good things for too long.”
You glance at him. “And you didn’t want to be like that.”
“No,” he says quietly. “I didn’t.”
You’re both quiet again. And then:
“You remember a lot,” he says.
You glance at him. “How could I not? You were the only person I could really be myself with.”
His eyes soften.
“And your mom?” you ask gently. “Did she know how much you loved her?”
Jimin nods, but it’s slow – like the answer costs him something. “I think so. But… I don’t think she ever really loved herself.”
You exhale slowly, your eyes drifting toward the ground. There's a weight in his voice, but it isn’t heavy -- it’s open, like something he doesn’t often let out.
And for a moment, it reminds you of how he used to be. Quiet, guarded. But now there’s a difference -- an ease to the way he sits beside you, a steadiness in his tone. You hadn’t expected it, and you realise, quietly, how much you’ve missed it.
You glance at him. “You’ve changed too.”
He looks over, surprised. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You offer a small smile. “You’re… quieter in a different way now. Not distant. Just... more certain.”
Jimin blinks at that, then huffs a soft laugh. “I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me.”
“Well,” you shrug lightly, “maybe they weren’t paying attention.”
He’s watching you again. Thoughtfully this time. You look away, suddenly conscious of the quiet between you.
Jimin shifts slightly, resting an arm on the back of the bench -- not quite touching you, but close enough to feel the warmth between you both.
“I’m not really used to this,” he admits.
“To what?”
“To… talking like this.”
You tilt your head. “Is that your way of saying I talk too much?”
That earns a real smile from him, small but easy. “Not at all. It’s like you said, everything is different now. But this” — he looks at you — “being back here with you, it feels familiar. I think for the first time, familiar feels nice.”
Your smile grows. This time under his gaze, you don’t feel self conscious. “Same.”
You look away again, but your smile lingers. The quiet returns -- but now, it feels companionable. Like something held gently between you, not needing to be filled.
The breeze begins to cool as the sky deepens into dusk, the soft hum of the fountain still bubbling behind you.
You sit together a little longer, words trailing off into silence again, but it doesn’t feel strange, it feels settled. The way the garden smells like memory. The way he hasn’t moved far from your side since he arrived.
You stifle a yawn before you can catch it.
Jimin glances at you. “Tired?”
“A little,” you murmur, stretching your leg slightly as you prepare to stand. “I think the meds are still making me drowsy.”
He doesn’t say anything — just rises when you do, falling into step beside you as you begin to walk back across the lawn. Your leg twinges with each step, but nothing unmanageable.
The walk is slow, quiet. Despite your leg healing well, Jimin stays close to your side, a hand hovering behind your back, just in case.
Halfway toward the main house, you glance over at him. “Any updates on the plan?”
Jimin keeps his gaze ahead. “Some. We’re finalising a few pieces tonight.” A pause. “I was hoping to talk to you about it tomorrow.”
You nod. “Okay.”
That’s all you say. You don’t press, and he doesn’t elaborate. You trust him to tell you when it’s time.
By the time you reach the veranda, the lights inside are low and warm, casting a soft glow through the windows. The house is quiet. Most of the others have likely gone to bed or retreated to their corners of the estate.
He walks with you until you reach your door.
You glance at him again, hand on the knob. “Thanks for the company.”
Jimin gives a slight nod, hands in his pockets again. “Anytime.”
You smile faintly, and open the door.
He waits until you’ve stepped inside before turning to leave.
And for a brief moment, you watch him walk away through the crack in the door. Then you close it gently behind you.
The sterile scent of antiseptic hangs faintly in the air as you sit on the padded medical table, your leg stretched out ahead of you. Seokjin stands, brows furrowed in focus as he examines the healing wound wrapped neatly beneath gauze, while Yoongi leans against the wall nearby, arms crossed, watching quietly.
“Good news,” Seokjin says, patting the bandage gently. “Your leg’s healing really well. No signs of infection and inflammation has gone down. You should be back to full strength in about two weeks — maybe sooner if you stop being stubborn.”
You smirk. “Two weeks is too long. I’m useless without my legs.”
“Useless?” Seokjin scoffs, rising to his feet. “Please. You’ve been hobbling around threatening grown men and throwing knives better than Jungkook on a bad day. And he’ll cry if I say that out loud.”
You chuckle. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Yoongi glances at Seokjn.
He shrugs dramatically. “Well, we’re currently stuck in a Cold War with the Lee's, and this clinic is the Switzerland of the estate.”
You raise a brow. “A Cold War?”
Seokjin sighs. “It’s mostly passive-aggressive kitchen notes and carefully timed door slams. Ara's keeping score.”
“Sounds serious,” you shake your head, laughing lightly. “But really,” you add, glancing between the two of them, “what’s going on with the Lee family? Jimin mentioned we
Yoongi pushes off the wall, folding his arms tighter. “I was about to tell you right after this check up. I think Jimin wants to speak to you about that. Tonight — after dinner.”
Seokjin checks his watch, then raises his eyebrows. “Speaking of which… it’s dinner now.”
Your stomach growls right on cue. “Great. I’m starving. Let’s go.”
You, Seokjin, and Yoongi walk together down the quiet hallway, your limp barely noticeable now. Just before you reach the dining room doors, Yoongi’s phone buzzes. He answers, voice low.
After a beat, he lowers the phone. “Jimin wants us to meet him in the east wing. Says it won’t take long.”
You change direction easily, and soon you’re walking toward the quieter, more secluded part of the estate. The air there feels heavier — more private.
When you step through the door into Jimin's office, she's the first person you notice.
Byun Jiyoung stands near one of the arched windows, the soft golden light of the evening casting a glow across her features. She turns at the sound of the door and smiles, walking toward you with quiet grace.
She’s just as you remember — sharp, elegant, composed. There’s something about the way she moves, like every gesture is intentional. She crosses the room and, without hesitation, pulls you into a hug.
You’re caught off guard. You freeze, not quite sure how to respond — until you glance past her and see Jimin standing nearby. His posture is relaxed, and for a moment, he watches the interaction closely.
There’s a very small smile on his face -- a quiet smile. Almost like reassurance.
And somehow, you relax into the hug.
When Jiyoung pulls back, she gives you a warm, assessing look. “I’ve been wanting to meet you properly. How have you been? This must have all been such a horrible reintroduction to the past."
“I’ve been okay,” you say honestly. It's nothing unfamiliar but it still feels different, if that makes sense?”
She nods with gentle understanding.
"How have you been?" you ask, genuinely curious.
“I’ve been living in the States,” she says, moving to sit gracefully on the sofa, gesturing for you to join. “Finished law school there, passed the bar, and I’ve been working at a firm in Manhattan. Corporate litigation.”
Your eyes widen. “That’s impressive. So, you’re a top lawyer now?”
She chuckles modestly. “Something like that. But I’m not staying in it long. Jimin reached out, and well… I’ve got a few scores to help settle.”
“That’s amazing. I mean… if anyone can help bring the Lees down legally, I guess it’s you.”
Jiyoung smiles, tilting her head. “That’s the plan. Jimin and I have been in touch for a while. Quietly, of course.”
Yoongi slips into a chair in the corner beside Hoseok, listening silently while you and Jiyoung chat. Jimin stands beside a nearby cabinet, arms loosely crossed, letting you speak but visibly present.
Jiyoung sips from a water glass. “I heard you opened a bakery. That’s such a contrast from… all this.” She gestures around the room, amused.
You laugh. “Yeah. It was my safe space. I started baking while studying — something about it helped keep me sane. After uni, I opened the shop and just… never looked back. Until recently.”
Jiyoung nods. “I get it. We all had to find our corners of peace, even if they didn’t last.”
There’s a moment of quiet. Then, she glances toward Jimin. “And look at you two. Still standing. Still here.”
You meet Jimin’s eyes again. There’s something in the air — soft, reflective. You both smile.
“You were cheeky kids,” Jiyoung says warmly. “Always whispering during dinners, disappearing before bedtime. I’m glad you two found your way back.”
You nod. “Me too.”
Jiyoung’s expression turns more serious as she faces you again. “Your father… Han Sehun… he once saved my life. When I was just a teenager and my life would have been changd forever, if not for your dad. I’ve never forgotten it.”
Her voice is quiet, her eyes steady. “I’m going to do everything I can to make sure what happened to him doesn’t happen to anyone else.”
A lump forms in your throat before you can stop it. You nod, smiling, but you don’t say anything. Not because you don’t want to — but because speaking right now might crack something open you’re not ready to face.
Jiyoung must sense it. She pulls you into another hug — this time slower, firmer.
You let yourself melt into it, eyes fluttering shut. There’s warmth in it you haven’t felt in a long time.
As you pull back, you notice Jimin watching again. His eyes are softer now, brow faintly creased in something like concern. Or care.
You give him a small smile, letting him know you’re okay.
He returns it with a quiet nod.
Then his voice is low, steady. “If you’re okay to do this now, Y/N, we wanted to tell you what we were thinking.”
You glance between them, grounding yourself.
“I’m okay,” you say. “Let’s talk.”
Jimin sits across from you and Jiyoung, with Hoseok and Yoongi sitting on the sofa adjacent to yours. Once they’re both sat, Jimin starts.
“A few months ago, the Serious Crimes Unit intercepted a weapons shipment I’d arranged… for the Lees.”
You glance up. “Yeah. Yoongi mentioned it. He said that’s what got Seojun’s mom killed.”
Jimin’s jaw shifts. He nods. “Seojun started disappearing after that. I knew he was up to something, but I let him work. He was one of the best men I had.”
He pauses, and for a moment, the air in the room tightens.
“I never knew what it was until the day he died. When he gave it to you.”
You blink. “Gave it to me?”
Then it hits you.
The flash drive.
Yoongi moves quietly and places it on the desk between you. You stare at it. Something so small, so ordinary-looking — and yet it feels like it’s pulsing with weight.
Yoongi glances at Jimin, who nods.
“The Lees are meticulous,” Yoongi says. “Every deal, every payment, every name—they keep records. Not just backups. Archives. Redundancy on top of redundancy.”
You look down at the drive. “Seojun was going after them.”
Yoongi nods once. “He infiltrated one of their secondary hubs. A front company they use for laundering. He found access to a node of their internal data network — small, isolated, but clean. Copied what he could.”
You raise your eyes. “So… can we use it?”
Jimin exhales through his nose, jaw tight. “Not exactly. The files Seojun got… they’re tied to us.”
He hesitates, then meets your gaze.
“Tied to the Parks. And to your family.”
A slow, hollow tension leaks through your chest. You sit back slightly in your chair, your shoulders finally sagging under the truth you didn’t know you were bracing for.
Of course they’d do this. Of course they’d use Jimin's name. And yours? It's a deliberate move against the only two families who would have any reason to go against them.
There’s a beat of silence.
You remember the day Seojun died — his panic, his urgency, the way he made you promise to get it to Jimin.
You speak again, voice quieter. “So how did they know? That Seojun had taken it?”
Yoongi answers. “The Lees run everything through embedded encryption markers. Watermarks, pings – any time one of their protected files is accessed outside their net, it sends a signal. They knew almost immediately. It’s how they tracked the breach and retaliated.”
You look at the drive. “There’s no way to clean it? To extract something?”
“That’s why I brought Jinyoung in,” Jimin says, turning toward her. “She’s top of her field in international corporate law. She understands how they’d use legal framing to protect themselves — and how we could counter it.”
Jinyoung gives you a nod, all calm certainty. “I combed through the data. If we tried to hand this to authorities as is, it would backfire. Every file in there is cross-referenced. Every ledger, every transaction, there’s an intentional trail that loops back to Park accounts and dormant Han assets.”
Your brows pull together. “So... it looks like we’re working together?”
“Exactly,” Jinyoung says. “On paper, it frames your family and Jimin’s as partners. Silent, maybe, but complicit. If this came out now, they’d bury us, not the Lees.”
You sit in stunned silence for a moment. “So it’s all linked? There’s nothing clean we can extract?”
Jimin shakes his head. “They’ve been smart. Seojun got a clean data sample — but the ones he accessed were deliberately masked to include us. We think they expected someone to make a move eventually.”
You frown. “Then someone has tried this before. Why else plant evidence to implicate us?”
A flicker passes through Jimin’s face — something restrained, regretful. He doesn’t speak at first. Then, simply, “Yes. We believe so.”
Jinyoung leans forward slightly. “That’s why if we’re going to bring them down, it has to happen from inside. A collapse, not exposure. Something real. Not just one leaked drive.”
“That’s where the Kimura’s come in. Jinyoung put me in contact with them – Japan’s top syndicate.”
You raise a brow. You've only heard of the Kimura's from the many night trails you've run for Yoongi. There's usually a link and the Kimura's are at the top every time. “And they’re just… helping us?”
“They don’t like the Lees,” Yoongi says, voice low. “Never have. The Lees have tried to push into their ports for years. Quietly. Consistently.”
You look between them. “And they’ve agreed to help?”
Jimin nods. “Not out of loyalty. But out of strategy. The Kimuras hate interference. And the Lees’ newest operation? It crosses every line.”
Yoongi continues. “The Benitoite. It’s a luxury hotel, built off laundered money, sitting right on reclaimed land in Seoul. Above ground, it’s clean. Below?”
“A speakeasy,” Jinyoung finishes. “And beneath that, a hub for trafficking, arms, and encrypted servers. It’s the core of their expansion model.”
"It's been three years since they opened the Benitoite, and this year they want to expand, so they're hosting a gala of sorts,” Jimin says. “Everyone will be there — politicians, overseas mafia reps, investors. We’ll get them to lock in a smuggling route with the Kimuras that night. It’s their biggest play yet.”
Your eyes narrow, and Hoseok says what you’re thinking.
“That’s the night.”
Jinyoung nods. “Exactly. The Kimuras agreed to play along. They’ll go as if the deal is legitimate. They’ll provoke the Lees into laying everything out — documents, people, money.”
“Then all we need is someone to be the bait,” Jimin says, his voice low, measured. “If it looks like someone’s trying to expose the deal — stealing the files — the Kimuras can use that to demand everything for themselves. It gives them the upper hand to justify pulling the plug, and the Lees won’t be able to refuse.”
“I’ll do it,” you say immediately.
Jimin’s gaze sharpens. “No.”
You blink. “Why not?”
“Because it’s not safe.”
“I can handle it.”
“That’s not the point.” His tone hardens — not angry, just controlled. “They’ll be watching everyone, but they’ll be watching you the most. You’re not anonymous anymore. You’re a threat.”
“I know what I’m walking into.”
Jimin's eyes are fixed on you now. “Y/N… you came into this house injured -- because of me. I can’t -- won’t -- put you at that kind of risk again.”
“I’m not asking your permission,” you say quietly. “I’m offering to do it. I knew what I was getting into the moment Seojun found me again. This is something I can do and you know that.”
Jimin’s jaw clenches. “You think I’m questioning your ability?”
“You’re clearly not trusting it.”
“I do trust you,” he says, sharper now — but there’s something raw under the surface. “You think I’d let just anyone near this if I didn’t? But this isn’t a test. This is their core network. If they even suspect you… there won’t be a second chance.”
You hold his stare. “Then I won’t give them one.”
A pause. The tension between you hums like a held breath.
“I want to do this,” you add, quieter now. “Let me.”
There’s a long silence. Jimin’s eyes search yours again — scanning not for strength, but for finality. Conviction.
Finally, he exhales.
“Alright,” he says softly. “Then we do it your way.”
For a moment, nothing moves.
Yoongi exchanges a glance with Jinyoung. Then his eyes flick between the two of you — but neither you nor Jimin notice. You’re still looking at each other.
And in that stillness, you feel something shift. You’ve only seen the side of Jimin you remember from when you were younger — quiet and restrained. But this was different. There was something far more commanding beneath it now.
Something unapologetically in control.
A flicker of something unreadable crosses his face -- reluctance, yes, but beneath it, trust. “I’ll make sure you’re not alone in there.”
Yoongi gives a small nod of approval, murmuring, “We’ll be everywhere they don’t expect.”
Jimin’s eyes settle back on you. “But the second something feels off… we pull you out.”
You nod. “Deal.”
Hoseok leans back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “Well, it’s a good plan,” he says, his voice low but assured. “Dangerous as hell, but it’s smart.”
He glances toward the flash drive. “Let’s just hope it works.”
“So what’s left?”
Jimin leans forward. “The one thing they can’t fake. A live deal. Audio, video, biometric data — things we can prove in real-time. The Kimuras will wear wiretaps. Their legal consultant is working with Jinyoung to prepare evidence protocols. Our team will record from inside the speakeasy once it starts.”
“And you,” Yoongi says, “will get inside close enough to confirm the drop — the briefcase, the sign-off, the handover. That’s when we move.”
You nod, swallowing the tension rising in your chest. “And what happens after we get the proof?”
Jimin’s jaw tightens. “We take them down. Publicly, and permanently. There’s no second chance after this. Either we win... or we fall with them.”
The weight in the room shifts. The air sharpens. You feel it now -- not just strategy, but the start of something final.
Ara appears at the door. “Jinyoung’s room is ready.”
She rises, smooth and graceful, giving you a soft look. “Get some rest, Y/N. We’ve got a hell of a week ahead.”
She exits with Ara and Hoseok. The door clicks softly shut behind them.
You remain seated.
For a moment, silence settles over the room.
It’s only now that you really look around Jimin’s office -- spacious, clean, intentional. A large antique clock ticks quietly on a sideboard. A collection of small, sharp blades rest in a shadowbox on the far wall. A photo on the desk frame catches your eye — Jimin, younger, smiling beside Seojun, Yoongi and Namjoon.
You inhale slowly, a flicker of warmth curling beneath your ribs.
Yoongi lingers by the door, gaze flicking between you and Jimin. Then, without a word, he gives a quiet nod — to no one in particular — and steps out, closing the door gently behind him.
You’re alone.
Jimin remains seated across from you. His posture is relaxed, but the tension in his shoulders hasn’t quite left — something taut just beneath the surface, like he’s still replaying the last few minutes in his head.
“I haven’t had anyone argue with me like that in a while,” he says quietly, eyes fixed on the grain of the table before slowly lifting to meet yours.
You tilt your head. “Is that a complaint?”
His lips twitch-- almost a smile. “No. It’s… grounding.”
He leans back slightly, gaze still steady. “I didn’t expect you to offer like that. Not so quickly.”
You shrug, voice soft but certain. “I didn’t need to think about it. It felt right.”
He watches you for a moment, then nods slowly. “I know what it means to carry something alone. I’m glad you’re here with us, and if we’re doing this… I don’t want you to feel alone.”
The quiet honesty in his tone catches you off guard – not the words themselves, but how easily he says them.
You hold his gaze. “I don’t,” you say. “Not anymore.”
Silence settles between you, but it’s not awkward. It’s full. Weighted. The kind that could bend either toward intimacy or distance – one word in the wrong direction, and it could vanish. But it doesn’t.
After a moment, you add quietly, “When I asked Yoongi about my dad’s death, I knew I wanted to do something about it. But whatever it was, I thought I would have to do it alone. Now I’m not.”
Jimin smiles, his gaze soft. “First time in a long time.”
You nod, chuckling. “Yeah.”
“Like I said, I’m glad you’re here.”
You glance at him and realise something you hadn’t let yourself acknowledge until now:
This version of Jimin is different.
Not just sharper, older – he carries more weight. A quiet dominance in the way he moves, speaks, decides. It's steadier than you remember. And somewhere in you, something stirs – a small desire to understand him the way you once thought you already did.
Just as he starts to lean into another conversation, a knock breaks the moment and the door opens a crack.
Iseul peeks her head in gently. “Sorry, dinner’s ready.”
You straighten up in your seat, the spell of the silence broken. Jimin doesn't move immediately; he just watches you as you rise.
You glance over your shoulder with a faint smile. “Come on. We don’t want Jin lecturing us about timing.”
That draws a low chuckle from him. He stands a beat later, slower, like part of him hasn’t quite let go of whatever had just begun to unfold.
As you leave, he remains behind for a few seconds longer, his eyes falling to your empty seat. The space feels warmer now. More personal.
And for the first time in a long time, he finds himself wanting to keep a conversation going – not for clarity… for something else.
genre ↠ mafia AU — romance/action (angst, fluff, smut)
summary ↠ Blood, business and betrayal is all that Park Jimin has ever known, but when you cross paths again, the stakes are raised even higher and he finds himself battling his conscience, and his heart.
word count ↠ 11.5k
18+ | warnings ↠ drinking, explicit sexual content, violence, all sorts of crime (please see the series masterlist for a complete list of warnings). please be warned this chapter has a fair amount of descriptive violence.
taglist is open – dm/comment/send an ask to be added <3
notes ↠ please enjoy and shareeeee xxoxoxox any questions, let me know (maybe i should make a post for all the characters and who they are since there’s a lot now..?)
The morning light streams through your bedroom window, golden and soft as it filters through the curtains, painting the walls in hues of warmth. It coaxes you from sleep gently, the weight of the night slipping away. As you stir, blinking against the sunlight, fragments of your conversation with Jimin float to the surface of your mind. His voice, calm and steady. His quiet honesty, disarming in a way you hadn’t expected, and the softness in his gaze.
You turn onto your side, clutching the blanket a little tighter. For the first time in what feels like forever, you feel lighter, at ease -- you don’t feel like you’re bracing for something to go wrong.
After a few minutes of indulging in the warmth, you sit up, stretching to chase away the last remnants of sleep. Your body feels sluggish, a dull ache in your leg reminding you of the wound that still needs tending. It feels more manageable but as you move the covers back, you're sure the bandages need changing.
You rise carefully and move to the en-suite, splashing your face with cool water. You take your time getting ready, brushing your hair and choosing something comfortable to wear. What is normally a quick job has turned into a few minutes of you painfully wincing to get your shorts up but eventually you're dressed and ready to go down, just in time as your tummy lets out a low growl.
As you leave the room, the faint sounds of life in the house reach your ears — muffled conversation, the clinking of dishes. You realise it’s a sound you haven’t heard in a very long time. Not since you left Namwon many years ago, and even then, the household residing there was much smaller. Hearing it now, you realise you missed it. You let that thought linger as you make your way toward the staircase.
Without Yoongi or Jin to help, the stairs suddenly feel like a mammoth task, requiring extra care as you descend. You brace your hand lightly on the banister, and take the first step, then another, and another. Halfway down the first flight, you hesitate for a moment to gather your strength as there's still another staircase to go after this. Just as you step forward, a movement in the hall below catches your eye. Jimin is there, standing near the base of the staircase.
He looks up, his gaze immediately meeting yours. “Heading down?”
You nod, gripping the railing as you continue your descent.
Jimin steps closer, his hands slipping casually into his pockets as he watches you carefully. “Want some help?” he offers, tilting his head slightly.
“I’m okay,” you reply with a small smile, keeping your movements steady. The stairs creak faintly under your weight, the sound a quiet reminder of your vulnerability which you positively hate.
You focus on each step, but out of the corner of your eye, you notice Jimin hasn’t moved away. He lingers nearby, his presence an unspoken reassurance, ready to step in if needed.
“How’s the leg healing?” he asks, breaking the silence as you reach the landing.
As you walk down the hall to the ground floor staircase, he walks with you.
You glance at him briefly, appreciating the way he’s keeping pace with you without hovering too closely. “It feels okay. Jin said it’ll take a few weeks.”
Jimin nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” he agrees. Then, just as you stand ahead of the first step, a teasing smirk softens the edges of his expression, and he adds, “Though your refusal to use the lift probably isn’t helping.”
You pause mid-step, smiling as you catch your breath. He’s not wrong, but you can’t help defending yourself. “I need to stay moving. It’s good for me.”
“You’re right,” he says, inclining his head. “Far be it from me to argue with that logic.”
Unable to help yourself, you laugh. "Don't get smart with me. You're the same boy who would fall over and rub dirt on the wound to try to heal it."
Jimin laughs and the sound resonates more deeply than you’d expected. "Hey, in my defense, it really felt like it was doing something."
“I’m sure it did,” you say, giving him a playful look as you take the final few steps.
Finally reaching the bottom, you feel a small sense of accomplishment, though your leg aches faintly in protest.
Jimin gestures toward the dining room, his hand lightly brushing the small of your back to guide you. “Come on,” he says. “The others are already eating.”
As you enter the dining room, the familiar hum of conversation fills the air. The boys are seated at the long table, their laughter and chatter pausing briefly as they notice you.
“Morning,” Jungkook greets with a grin, his tone light.
Namjoon nods at you, while Hoseok offers a cheerful “Good to see you up.”
Jin’s eyes dart to your leg, assessing. “You okay?” he asks, his tone softer but still tinged with his usual care.
You nod. “I’m good, thanks.”
Jimin, walking beside you, pulls out a chair for you. Surprised by the small but thoughtful gesture, you smile. “Thank you.”
He returns the smile, gentle and understated, before taking his own seat at the head of the table.
“What does everyone think of these pastries?” Jungkook asks, leaning forward slightly as he gestures to the tray of golden-brown treats at the center of the table, despite having two on his plate. “I think they’re part of a seasonal recipe.”
Hoseok raises a brow at him. “And how would you know that, Jungkook?”
Jungkook shrugs, unapologetic. “I asked Iseul about it yesterday.”
Hoseok chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course you have. Who else but you would interrogate the chef about pastries?”
The group laughs, and Jungkook grins boyishly, unbothered by the teasing. The lightheartedness is infectious, and you find yourself relaxing into the atmosphere, the morning starting to feel like a brief reprieve.
“Speaking of seasonal changes,” Jin says, absentmindedly looking out toward the window, “is anyone else noticing how much colder it feels already? August isn’t even over yet!"
Taehyung rolls his eyes dramatically, leaning back in his chair. “You’re such a drama queen, hyung. There’s only a few days left of the month and it’s barely a breeze.”
Jin shrugs, uncaring. “I’m just saying, it’s chilly now."
The banter carries on, laughter bubbling around the table, however, you notice that despite the endless conversation from everyone, Jimin remains quiet, only laughing or smiling at whatever else is being said. You're sure he's preoccupied with all the bigger matters at hand.
Once almost everyone's plate is cleared, Yoongi clears his throat softly, drawing your attention. “I had some of your things brought over from your house. But the damage was pretty extensive, so it’ll probably take a few weeks before it’s liveable again.”
You nod, unsurprised but grateful for the update. “Thank you.”
Yoongi gives a small nod, his expression unreadable but his words steady. “The paintings you asked for have been placed into a safe storrbge unit but let me know if there’s anything else you need from there in the meantime.”
The table falls quiet for a beat, a subtle shift in mood as everyone digests the reality of your situation.
From across the table, Jimin is looking your way, but when you catch his eye, his expression shifts to a smile, but there’s no hiding the sombre behind it.
Then Seokjin speaks up, undoubtedly attempting to steer the conversation back toward lighter topics. “I was thinking of helping to create the Christmas dinner menu this year, actually.”
Still looking at Jimin, you smile back but you’re unable to hide the same sombreness behind it. You feel the same heaviness he no doubt feels, though you know for him, it’s worse. Seeing you smile, he softens a little more, the knot in his brows unwinding.
“Hyung, it’s literally August.” Hoseok notes, drawing your attention back to the rest of the table.“Almost September. Besides, I already have some ideas, and I know once you taste it, you’ll be begging for seconds,” Seokjin responds, pointing his fork at Hoseok.
“I actually agree with Jin,” Namjoon backs him up through a mouthful of food.
“Same.” Jungkook looks at Hoseok and shrugs.
Another chorus of agreement goes around the table, prompting Hoseok to attempt to defend himself, and soon the laughter resumes, brightening the room once more.
After breakfast, the group begins to disperse. Jimin exchanges a quiet word with Yoongi and Hoseok before excusing himself, the three heading toward the east wing. You watch them leave, their conversation low but purposeful. Before you can wonder too much about their plans, Namjoon steps beside you, his demeanor calm but with a hint of purpose.
“Come with me,” he says, gesturing toward the lounge.
Curious, you follow him into the cosy room. Sunlight streams through the large windows, casting warm patches of light on the plush armchairs and neatly arranged bookshelves. Namjoon picks up his laptop from a side table and places it in front of you on the coffee table, sliding it your way with a small smile.
You glance at him, confused. “What’s this?”
Namjoon chuckles, settling into the armchair across from you. “Like we mentioned at breakfast, it’s not safe for you to go back home just yet. So, whatever you need -- clothes, toiletries, anything else, just go ahead and order it. Consider it a housewarming gift.”
You blink at him, the request catching you off guard. “You’re asking me to… go shopping?”
He nods seriously. “Exactly.”
A laugh escapes you as you glance down at your outfit — an old pair of basketball shorts and a borrowed t-shirt. “Well, yeah, I guess these won’t cut it for long.”
Namjoon smiles, leaning back comfortably. “Don’t hold back. Get what you need.”
You hesitate for a moment before sitting down on the couch and opening the laptop. Namjoon watches you for a moment longer, ensuring you’re settled, before standing. “I’ll leave you to it. If you need anything, just let me know.”
“Thanks,” you reply, already pulling up a browser.
As the door clicks shut behind him, you settle into the task, scrolling through websites and adding essentials to your cart. What starts as a practical endeavour — clothes, toiletries, and a few necessities — soon becomes something more indulgent as you add cosy socks, candles, and even a few books to the list. You can’t help but smile at yourself as the cart grows. By the end of the hour, you’ve got multiple tabs open from multiple stores and enough to make anyone question if you were stocking up for an entire year.
Not long after you finish placing your order, the sound of footsteps in the hallway draws your attention. Taehyung and Jungkook appear in the doorway, their expressions bright and eager. Jungkook waves enthusiastically while Taehyung leans casually against the frame, his signature boxy grin in full effect.
“Hey,” Taehyung says smoothly, “we were thinking, it’s time for a tour of the house.”
Jungkook nods quickly. “Yeah, it’s big, and we figured you'd want to go for a walk anyway.”
Their energy is infectious, and you can’t help but smile at their enthusiasm. “I appreciate the thought,” you say, standing and brushing your hands on your borrowed shorts. For a moment, you hesitate — their enthusiasm is sweet but you feel like you'd be wasting their time in going along with them since you already know the house, and honestly, you trust them enough to tell them the simple truth.
“There’s really no need though.” You pause, smiling awkwardly. “I’ve been here before.”
That brings them up short. Taehyung tilts his head, his brows drawing together. “You have?”
Jungkook looks equally puzzled. “When?”
“As a kid, I came here a few times.”
Their confusion remains.
“My dad was Han Sehun.”
Recognition flashes in their eyes immediately. “Ah,” they say in unison, voices laced with understanding. For a moment, you see they seem somewhat apologetic too and you reckon they must know about what happened to your dad and your family. But they quickly return to their usual selves.
“That makes a lot of sense,” Taehyung says, exchanging a look with Jungkook.
You smile at their reaction. They seem so genuine, so easy to be around that it’s hard not to relax.
“So, you’ve seen everything?” Taehyung asks, his curiosity piqued.
You nod. “Pretty much.”
“Even the east wing?” he presses.
You hum, nodding again.
Jungkook folds his arms, his expression teasing. “What about the basement?”
That stops you. You blink at him, a little thrown. “Basement?”
Taehyung’s face lights up like a child with a secret. “Oh, you’ll love it.”
Jungkook nods, matching his energy. "It’s the best part."
“Alright, lead the way.”
They each take a side and help you up, steadying you as you walk. "Come on, you’ll get full access to everything, just as Jimin instructed," Jungkook says as they guide you toward the kitchen.
“Full access?”
“Yep,” Taehyung nods. “To all the equipment and stuff.” He raises his head, thoughtfully. “To be honest, I was a bit confused when he first said that, I didn’t know why he trusted you so much.” He glances at you with a smile. “Now I know.”
“Mhm,” you nod, only partially paying attention as you focus on walking. Truthfully, with each of the boys supporting either side of you, they’re actually making it harder for you to walk, but you don’t have the heart to say anything.
The kitchen is alive with quiet activity. Staff members work efficiently, seemingly unbothered by your group passing through. Two of the housemaids you saw earlier at breakfast glance up with warm smiles.
"Already getting to see the basement?" one of them, a woman Taehyung calls Iseul, asks.
Jungkook nods with mock seriousness. "She’s special, Iseul. VIP access and all."
Iseul laughs lightly. "She is special," she agrees, her voice warm.
The other maid, Ju-ri, adds with a teasing smile, "Pretty too."
Caught off guard, you feel a blush rise to your cheeks. Laughing softly, you reply, "Thanks."
"Don’t scare her off now," Iseul quips, giving you a wink.
You laugh again, shaking your head. "No, it’s okay."
The casual, friendly banter leaves you feeling more at ease, and soon the boys lead you to the back of the kitchen, stopping in front of the pantry doors.
Taehyung gestures grandly. "There are three entrances to the basement. One is in the east wing, one is through a hidden door near the main west wing corridor, and this—" he points at the pantry, "—is the third."
Jungkook open the pantry doors and it seems like nothing out of the ordinary. Stocked with usual pantry items inside. Then, he reaches above the doorframe, pressing his thumb to a scanner you hadn’t even noticed. A soft beep sounds, and the back shelves click and slide away.
You’re staring in awe. Sure, you’ve seen a lot of high tech stuff, naturally, but a secret entrance is never not cool to you.
He glances back at you with a grin. "We’ll get your fingerprint added once we’re down there."
The stairs are narrow and steep, but the space opens up dramatically at the bottom. Your jaw drops as you take in the massive underground expanse, a space that looks like it belongs in a high-budget spy film.
To your left is a double door leading somewhere you can’t yet see. Beside it, a full-sized boxing ring dominates the area. Opposite the ring, punching bags line the wall, and behind them is an impressive array of gym equipment. The center of the basement boasts a large, padded training floor where two men are sparring hand-to-hand, their movements fluid and precise. A small group stands nearby, watching and analyzing the fight.
But it’s the far-right side that truly catches your attention. An indoor shooting range, sleek and modern, takes up a significant portion of the wall. Beyond that, you notice a glass-encased room filled with an impressive collection of weapons.
Jungkook notices your wide-eyed expression. "Not bad, huh?" he asks, a touch of pride in his tone.
"It’s... incredible," you manage, still taking it all in.
Taehyung gestures expansively. "Alright, where do you want to start?"
You point toward the shooting range without hesitation.
"Good choice," Jungkook says with a grin. "You’d be pretty useless hand-to-hand with that leg anyway."
You laugh, playing along. "Hey, I could probably still land a punch — if the other guy stood still long enough."
Taehyung smirks. "We’ll put that to the test later."
As the three of you make your way toward the range, a few people glance your way, acknowledging you with nods before resuming their activities.
You’ve reached the room with the weapons, and up close to the glass doors, the details of the arsenal are even more striking. Beyond the firearms, you notice other equipment neatly arranged within.
Taehyung steps forward and unlocks the room with his thumbprint on the scanner. The double doors open with a quiet hiss, revealing the full extent of the armory. You glance at Taehyung and Jungkook. They simply nod and smile, gesturing for you to enter.
As you step in, a thrill runs through you. It feels a little like stepping into a treasure trove. The room is pristine and organized, the collection mounted with care that borders on reverence. The range is extensive -- everything from pistols to snipers to submachines. The walls, initially appearing solid, catch your eye as you notice subtle grooves. “Sliding drawers?” you murmur. Taehyung nods, confirming your suspicion.
“Everything you see here,” Jungkook says, motioning to the wall-mounted firearms, “has more behind it. This is just the accessible stuff.”
Walking deeper into the room, your attention is pulled to the massive island in the center. Encased beneath glass, one half displays knives in precise rows, gleaming under the lights. Fighting knives dominate, including Gerber Mark II’s that naturally draw your eye. Among them, a few throwing knives are neatly arranged, compact and deadly.
The other half showcases an array of equipment. Some pieces are familiar — lock picks, small surveillance bugs — while others remain mysterious.
Leaning casually against the doorframe, Taehyung tilts his head. “Like what you see?”
“It’s impressive,” you admit, unable to hide your appreciation.
Jungkook steps inside, his hands in his pockets. “Take your pick.”
You glance between them, surprised. Jungkook notices your hesitation and answers your unspoken question. “It’s a matter of safety,” he explains. “Better to be prepared than caught off guard. You never know what might happen.”
“Makes sense,” you reply, scanning the selection. Finally, your eyes settle on a sleek semi-automatic handgun, similar to your trusty FNS Longslide.
Taehyung hums in approval as you pick it up, turning it over in your hands to get a feel for the weight.
“Good choice,” Jungkook says. “Let’s see how you do.”
The three of you step out to the shooting range. You grip the handgun tightly, familiarising yourself with its balance. The first shot surprises you with its recoil, a jolt of pain running through your bandaged wrist. Ignoring it, you adjust your grip and fire again. With each pull of the trigger, your aim sharpens, and soon you’re hitting the target with consistent precision.
Taehyung lets out a low whistle. “Impressive. Especially with that leg slowing you down.”
You smile faintly, catching your breath. “It’s a good thing I can shoot then..”
They let you stay longer, and as you continue, the act of shooting begins to feel oddly therapeutic. It’s strange, almost surreal, but as the tension in your body eases, you realise how much you’ve missed this sense of control and independence it brings.
Taehyung and Jungkook have joined in, turning the practice session into something of a friendly competition. At Jungkook’s suggestion, you try out a few unfamiliar weapons. One particularly sleek rifle catches your attention, and they guide you through its mechanics.
“You’re a fast learner,” Jungkook remarks, nodding in approval.
Taehyung steps to the side, retrieving a set of knives. “But can you do this?” he teases, lining up his target. With a flick of his wrist, the knife sails through the air, embedding itself in the bullseye of a distant dummy.
“Show off,” Jungkook mutters, smirking.
“Go on,” Taehyung encourages, handing you a knife.
You give it a try, and though your aim isn’t perfect, it’s respectable enough to earn a nod from Taehyung.
“You’ve got potential,” he says. “But it’s all about precision.” He demonstrates another throw, the knife hitting its mark effortlessly. “Forty yards, no problem.”
“Noted,” you say, watching his technique closely.
Before you can take another turn, a familiar voice interrupts. “You’ve got an injured leg and wrist, yet here you are.”
Turning, you see Seokjn walking toward you, his expression part amused, part exasperated.
You flash him a mischievous grin. “No rest for the wicked?”
He laughs, shaking his head. “That’s true enough. But don’t overdo it. It’s easy to get carried away with these two,” he adds, nodding toward Taehyung and Jungkook.
“Hey,” Jungkook protests, sending a knife flying across the range. It lands just off-center. He frowns, picking up another one. “We learn from our elders.”
Jin smirks. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment. But seriously,” he turns to you, his gaze softening, “we should check your bandages. Come with me?”
“Sure,” you say, stepping off the range. As you walk with him, you glance back at Taehyung and Jungkook, who are already turning their session into a full-blown contest.
“Competitive, aren’t they?” you remark.
“You have no idea,” Jin replies, smiling.
“You seen this part yet?” He nods in the direction of the double doors.
You shake your head. “Not yet.”
“Ah, it’s not hugely exciting.” He opens the double doors, and you enter into a wide corridor. It leads off somewhere, but to the left is another set of double doors.
As you get closer, Jin opens the doors, and you see it opens up to what you can only describe as a doctor’s clinic. Your family home had something similar, but it wasn’t anywhere near as big.
“This place has everything you could need in case you get injured. Of course, Jimin has links with a few doctors stationed at different hospitals in Seoul, but we prefer to stay off the radar.”
Approaching a locked shelf, your eyes skim through the names of many medicines. “This is a pretty extensive collection.”
“Much needed too.”
Turning around, you glance at him.
“Like you said, no rest for the wicked.”
You smile faintly, acknowledging his humorous response. Though, really, it only has a dark meaning in this context.
There’s a small examination couch opposite the room. As you limp over, Seokjin meets you there and adjusts the back higher for you to rest.
Swinging your legs, you lean back comfortably and drag the hem of your shorts up.
Seokjin makes quick work removing the bandages. He cleans the wound and places a fresh dressing.
“It’s healing well.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Sitting forward, you glance down at your leg, grimacing when you see the gash.
“It looks worse than it is,” he says, placing a new dressing on it.
Slowly, you squeeze your muscles, only to inevitably wince when you feel a spark of pain.
“Well, you still need to take it pretty easy,” Seokjin says, placing a hand on your shoulder to lay you back before he starts on your wrist. “But it’s doing well.”
“How long do you think it’ll be until it’s fully healed?”
“If you look after it properly, enough rest, eat well, sleep well, I’d say three weeks, maybe four.”
Four weeks. That’s not bad. You nod, accepting your current fate. “Can I at least come down here occasionally?”
Seokjin shrugs, slowly unwrapping the bandage on your wrist. “For the sake of your sanity, to shoot only, and to see me of course.”
Your lips turn into a smile. “Thanks.”
Just as you sink back into the cushion, you hear a soft beep, and the doors slide open.
Jimin enters, his eyes immediately finding yours. “Oh, sorry.”
“It’s okay,” you say, still smiling from your prognosis.
“Jimin,” Seokjin says, glancing over his shoulder and nodding toward you. “Sit. I’m almost done with Y/N.”
Though Jimin commands everyone else around here, he takes that as an order and nods, walking toward the middle of the room. He looks your way again as he pulls his jacket off, placing it neatly over a chair. He wears a shoulder holster over his shirt, the black leather housing a gun you can’t see from where you’re sitting. He removes this too. “Is everything all good, Y/N?” Despite his usual calm, steel-edged demeanour, the concern in his tone is evident.
“Great,” you smile, glancing at Seokjin for reassurance.
As Jimin approaches, he begins unfastening a few buttons at the top of his shirt, standing beside Seokjin. You try not to stare curiously at the skin he’s just revealed, but you can’t help wondering why he’s here. Is he hurt too?
“Yes, she’s healing well,” Seokjin confirms. “However, we need to make sure she takes it easy.” He throws you a pointed look. “I saw you eyeing up the training floor.”
“Hey, I was just looking,” you reply defensively, though a small smile breaks through.
Jimin’s lips quirk upward as well. “I’m not surprised. I figured you’d like the basement.”
“It’s impressive. Do you spend much time down here?”
“I probably should come down to train more.”
Seokjin scoffs lightly. “You train enough, Jimin.” Despite his humorous tone, there’s an undertone of concern, a subtle weight that shows his elder brotherly care.
Jimin doesn’t respond, his gaze falling instead to Seokjin’s hands as they finish bandaging your wrist.
“Come on, sit,” Seokjin gestures to the space next to you as he stands to disinfect his hands at the sink.
Jimin obeys, unbuttoning his shirt further but not entirely. As he pulls the fabric off one shoulder, your eyes land on the bandage underneath.
It’s stained with dark red, almost brown – a clear sign of blood that has dried and seeped through.
“You’re hurt?” Your voice mirrors his earlier concern, soft and tinged with worry, as you lean forward to get a better look. Seokjin reappears with fresh gloves, moving efficiently to tend to Jimin’s wound.
Jimin’s eyes meet yours, and for a moment, something unreadable flickers across his expression. Then he smiles – a small, quiet curve of his lips, soft but sure.
It makes you pause, the way he’s looking at you. “What?”
As though caught in a moment of reverie, Jimin shakes his head. “Sorry. You just reminded me of—” He stops, shaking his head again, brushing it off. His gaze drops to his injury. “I’m fine. It’s only a scratch.”
His eyes linger on you a moment too long, and you feel yourself growing self-conscious under his steady attention.
Breaking eye contact, you look down at the wound. It’s not as severe as the one on your thigh, but you know it still stings. “That looks a bit bigger than a scratch.”
Your gaze shifts slightly, catching sight of another scar on his arm, just below the fresh bandage. Partially hidden beneath his shirt sleeve, it’s far more prominent and the significant scarring that you can see gives away the severity of what it once was.
Jimin glances down at his shoulder. “Well, it doesn’t hurt any more than a scratch, at least,” he counters lightly.
“When did it happen?” you ask, thoughts flashing back to the night in your home. You distinctly remember him injuring Minjun, but not himself. Then it clicks — he must have been hurt yesterday when he left to meet the Takahashis. “Yesterday?”
Jimin hesitates, just briefly, before nodding. “Yeah.”
“The Takahashis?”
His brows lift, surprised.
“I saw you leaving,” you explain. “Yoongi told me where you were going.”
“Ah.” Jimin exhales softly, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Yeah. It wasn’t anything planned. One of the Cheongs’ men who was in charge of the shipment didn’t realize who we were.”
“It’s a mistake he won’t make again,” Seokjin interjects, his tone clipped as he cleans the wound with saline.
Jimin doesn’t flinch despite the pain, though you catch the way his knuckles tighten against the chair and his jaw sets. He inhales slowly, evenly, letting out a measured breath as Seokjin finishes.
You glance back at Jimin. “Did you kill him?”
He shakes his head. “No. He learned his lesson,” Jimin replies, his voice low and solemn.
Before you can ask more, Jimin’s phone buzzes sharply.
One look at the screen, and he picks up. "Yes," he answers.
You can make out the faint sound of someone speaking on the other end, but you’re too far to discern the words.
“Okay,” he says simply, ending the call and setting the phone aside.
Seokjin glances at Jimin, understanding passing silently between them. “I’ll greet them,” Seokjin says, already moving to wash his hands.
Jimin nods. “Thank you.”
Without another word, Seokjin leaves, the quiet sound of the door closing behind him.
Left alone, you watch as Jimin buttons up his shirt once more, his movements deliberate, though he doesn’t seem in a hurry.
“Did you get to pick out a weapon?” Jimin’s voice is soft, breaking the quiet hum of the room.
“Yeah.” You nod toward the table on the opposite side where your choice rests, placed with care.
He follows your gaze, his lips curving slightly. “Nice choice.”
“What about you?”
Jimin shifts, reaching down to pull a gun from the holster at his side. The semi-automatic pistol sits in his hand like it belongs there — perfectly balanced, steady, and natural, as though it’s an extension of him rather than just a tool.
“Nice choice,” you echo, your tone light but genuine.
He chuckles softly as he replaces the gun, securing the strap with a practiced pull. You take the moment to ease yourself off the examination couch carefully before standing.
“Do you always carry that around?” you ask, curiosity slipping into your tone.
Jimin adjusts the holster against his chest, his movements deliberate, precise. His gaze finds yours, and there’s a quiet intensity in his expression that makes the air feel heavier. “I feel like I have to.”
You nod slowly. Turning, you reach for your phone on the counter, the brief moment of stillness settling over the space between you.
He lingers, watching you in silence, before asking, “Did you ever feel the need to stay armed?”
The question catches you off guard, and you glance back at him. There’s something in his gaze — an honest curiosity that feels disarming. It mirrors the questions you’ve often wanted to ask him but never have.
“Yes.” You let the word sit for a moment, then add, “I had far less reason to, but yes.”
He nods, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I get it.”
You begin to walk, and he falls into step beside you. He stays close, his posture subtly protective, just as he had this morning.
“Did you ever have to use it?” he asks quietly, his voice barely above a murmur.
You shake your head. “No. You?”
“A few times.”
Your eyes turn to him, searching his expression, but his features remain unreadable. There’s a faint smile at the corner of his lips, masking the meaning of his answer, before he looks forward again. You don’t press him further.
As you approach the door, Jimin slows his steps. “Are you okay to head back to Taehyung and Jungkook?”
“Yeah,” you say, offering a small smile.
“I’m sure they’ve still got a lot they want to show you.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” you chuckle softly. “I just can’t wait until this is all healed so I can do more.”
He stops at the door, turning to face you fully. “I remember you being pretty good at hand-to-hand combat,” he says, his tone soft with nostalgia. “Even when you were young, you’d knock me down with a solid roundhouse every time we played.”
You let out a quiet laugh, the memories surfacing. “Yeah, until you figured out how to block and floor me.”
Jimin chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah... sorry about that.”
“It’s okay,” you reply, your smile lingering. Your gaze falls behind him to the far end of the corridor that you saw as you enetered earlier, and your curiosity gets the better of you,
“What’s down there?”
He glances over his shoulder, and when he looks back at you, the smile on his face is gone, replaced by something more guarded. “I can show you,” he says, his voice quieter now, almost cautious.
“Don’t you have a meeting?” you ask, glancing at him.
“They can wait.”
“Sure.”
Jimin hesitates, his expression shifting. “I have to warn you, though — it’s not pretty.”
You look at him, confused.
“Minjun is in there,” he says quietly.
Immediately, understanding dawns. It must be where they’re keeping him. You recall Jimin’s chilling words after Minjun killed Seojun. I’m going to cut you apart, and then piece you back together. And I’ll do it over and over.
“Oh.” The word falls softly from your lips.
Jimin nods, watching you carefully.
You think back to how merciless Minjun had been, how he killed Seojun without hesitation. It likely wasn’t the first time. He’s probably killed so many of Jimin’s loved ones, and part of you feels certain he’s getting what he deserves.
But another part of you is aware that this is something you're not familiar with. Your father had always shielded you from this side of your world, keeping the darkness at bay. Even after he died and you moved to Namwon, you only saw death once, and upon returning to Seoul and choosing to work quietly as you had with Yoongi definitely changed things — you’ve hurt and killed others in pursuit of vengeance — but this... keeping someone alive solely for revenge, dragging it out... It feels different.
The thought makes your stomach twist, and from the way Jimin studies you, you know he can sense it. He’s seen far worse than you ever have.
You remember the raw look in his eyes as he knelt beside Seojun’s body. The memory stirs something in you, a a flare of indignation takes away your hesitation.
Sure of your decision, you meet his gaze. “I want to see.”
Jimin’s eyes soften, his jaw relaxing slightly. “Okay.”
He extends his arm without a word, offering his support. You take it, leaning into his steadiness as you both move down the dim corridor.
At the end of the hall, Jimin unlocks the door with his thumbprint, and it slides open to reveal a larger room. The space is dark, with three heavy doors on the opposite wall, each one resembling a prison cell.
The room’s air feels colder. Two tables flank the sides, and as your eyes fall on their contents, your stomach churns. Knives, pliers, and other devices you wouldn’t even be able to imagine the function of.
“Y/N?” Jimin’s voice pulls you back. His hand gently covers yours where it rests on his arm.
You look at him and find his eyes round with concern.
“It’s a lot, I know,” he murmurs. “We can leave.”
You shake your head firmly. “No, it’s okay.” Your gaze drifts to a bucket beneath the table filled with something murky and white. “What’s that?”
Jimin follows your line of sight and hesitates before answering, “Salt water.”
“Salt to wound,” you say faintly.
He nods once, his expression unreadable.
Your attention shifts to the doors, noting the small window latches on each one. “Which one?”
“The middle,” Jimin replies.
Together, you move toward it. He stays close, steadying you when needed, until you reach the door. At the latch, he opens it for you, stepping aside to let you look inside.
You rise on your tiptoes, peering through the narrow glass pane. Minjun lies on his side, arms bound separately by chains that stretch to the walls. He’s been stripped to his underwear, his body covered in cuts, bruises, and welts. Little of his skin remains untouched. In the corner, a bowl of bread and water sits untouched on the floor. .
“Has he said anything?” you ask, your voice low. “About that day? Or anything else?”
Jimin nods. He watches your face carefully, his observant eyes catching the change in your expression. You want to know more.
“I’ll tell you everything,” he says softly as you lower yourself back to the ground and he closes the latch. “Anything you want to know. Soon.”
You frown, confused, meeting his gaze.
Jimin pauses, the weight of his thoughts flickering in his eyes. “I just need a little time to finalize a few things.” His voice is quiet, but steady, and the sincerity in his tone reassures you.
You nod, trusting him. “Okay.”
He holds your gaze for a moment longer before gesturing back toward the hall. “Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s go back up.”
“I’ve already paid more than half the price and given the recent units I supplied you with, I think you ought to let the rest go.”
Jimin sighs heavily, jaw shifting as he tries to stay calm and not snap at the infuriating man in front of him.
“Akira, I’ve already told you, the units you supplied me with were faulty, and I made that deal out of goodwill since I had no real need for them and you needed a buyer to help pay off your earlier debts with the Tanaka’s.”
“So?” Akira says, aloof. “I didn’t insist you buy from me, that was your choice, and I can assure you any damage to the guns occurred in your run, not mine.”
“No, the guns were checked at the port and the whole shipment damaged upon arrival,” Jimin says through gritted teeth. “Not to forget the issues your men caused at the site. I’m not negotiating with you here Akira, you’re going to pay for the rest of the drugs you bought, otherwise the Takahashi’s will be cut off and your debt with us will triple.”
“Ooh, now that’s mean,” Yasuko quips, almost mockingly, turning around from admiring the glass ornaments on the shelf.
Jimin ignores her, keeping his eyes fixed on Akira who stares right back at him, daringly.
“Then I suppose we would have to cut you off as well,” Akira challenges, raising his head.
From the corner of his eye, Jimin catches how Yasuko perks up at this, clearly only interested in the possible confrontation that might occur between the two.
“The Jericho 941’s?” Jimin asks.
Akira nods smugly, leaning back in his seat.
But Jimin just shrugs. “That won’t be a problem.”
Visibly angered by Jimin’s nonchalance, Akira stiffens up. “What?! Who else might supply you with them? I have precedence over the rarest materials in all of Japan and South Korea!”
“Clearly not,” Yasuko snorts, striding across Jimin’s office in her high heels to stand beside the chair her older husband is seated in, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Get off me woman,” he hisses, oblivious to the way Yasuko rolls her eyes tiredly as he looks back at Jimin. “Tell me,” he demands.
“Well he won’t tell you if you don’t ask nicely,” Yasuko gibes, taking a seat in the large arm chair, kicking her legs up onto the mahogany table and she remains staring at Jimin, a coy smile on her face. “But I am interested,” she says smoothly, “the Jericho 941’s are more than difficult to obtain and incredibly valuable, and they’ve been indispensable to you over the years so why would you so easily cut us off… if not for another seller?”
Jimin looks at her wordlessly. He understands why Akira keeps her around. She’s almost 30 years younger than the old man and when they first married four years ago, the marriage was clearly not one of love. Jimin assumed she was only interested in money but she comes from a wealthy family herself, and there’s nothing kind between her and Akira given they both cheat on each other all the time, so the only other reason she might’ve stayed would be power.
She’s smarter than Akira, and much more sly too. This is evident since the reputation of the Takahashi’s has grown, making them one of the most well known families of Japan, though not the top.
However despite Yasuko’s sharp skill, Jimin finds her incredibly intolerable. Maybe because she’s always trying to get him into bed with her.
“I simply have no need for them anymore,” Jimin shrugs. “I’ve found better replacements that my men prefer to the Jericho’s, and so—” he turns to Akira sharply “—I have little need for you now, but I’ll gladly keep paying for the shipments of tac gear if you wish.”
Nostrils flaring, Akira slams his hand onto the table. “That’s fucking bullshit. You’re full of bullshit just like your father was! Neither of you know how to keep up your end of a goddamn deal!”
The silence in the room is deafening, and Hoseok and Namjoon watch carefully between Jimin and Akira for any sudden movements. Even Yasuko takes her legs off the table, brows raised slightly as she observes Jimin, knowing her husband is too cowardly to do anything himself.
Jimin scoffs lightly, his lack of emotion seeming dangerous to everyone else in the room. Pushing his seat back, he stands up tall behind his desk and glares down at the old man in his seat.
“My father is no longer here, so to mention him is irrelevant,” Jimin says calmly. “You’re dealing with me, and if you’re not happy, I’ve already made it clear that I have no qualms cutting ties with you.”
Akira’s eyes narrow, the muscles in his jaw twitching involuntarily as he grits his teeth, his face flushing a deep shade of red.
Jimin notices, but pays no mind. Instead, he speaks slower, ensuring the threat in every word comes across loud and clear. “Should you still have a problem, I have an untouched supply of M249’s in one of my warehouses… I’m sure my men are dying to use them.”
Yasuko smirks, rising to step closer to Akira. “What d’you have to say to that, Takahashi?” she says, patronisingly.
Even between these two families, Akira knows that the influence of the Park’s far exceeds that of the Takahashi’s. Without any real force behind him, Akira would be a fool to lose Jimin.
Akira scowls at Yasuko, before shooting a look at Jimin. “The Lee’s might have more need for me then, and with their established trafficking organisation, one might find them to be more valuable than you,” he spits.
Yasuko rolls her eyes.
Gaze sharpening, Jimin fights back his urge to pull out his gun and shoot the old man in the balls. It’s not like he hasn’t already suspected Akira of working alongside the Lee’s.
“Akira,” Jimin says coldly, clenching his jaw and doing little to hide his anger at the old man’s words. “As someone who has entertained your company for two years as a formality, I must tell you, your abhorrent disposition has a way of showing on your face and it’s most uninviting for those you wish to deal with… you ought to keep that in mind when you visit your new partner, Mr Lee.”
Akira’s face drops.
“Oh come now,” Yasuko tuts, “let’s not be hasty—“
“Shut up woman,” Akira seethes, “the Lee’s have alre—“
“The Lee’s are corrupt and vile!” she interrupts sharply.
“We’re all corrupt!” Akira snaps back at his wife, the veins in his forehead looking as though they might pop.
Yasuko pays no more attention to him and begins walking slowly to Jimin.
“That’s true, but the Lee’s have less capital and their motivations are misplaced. Besides, we would be stupid to let go of someone as influential as Mr Park...” she walks behind his desk and trails her hand across his upper back, stopping right behind him to speak low in his ear, but loud enough for everyone to still hear. “...After all, he is the most powerful man in all of South Korea, mighty handsome too, and I imagine we’d be helpless without him.”
Jimin tenses, uncomfortable with the guileful woman standing so close to him. The overbearing stench of her perfume fills his nostrils, making him feel somewhat nauseous.
Hoseok and Namjoon exchange glances, giving Yasuko a look of disgust.
Pulling away from her, Jimin walks over to one of the cabinets in his office, and after a moment, he pulls out a file for his contracts with the Takahashi’s and throws it on the desk.
Yasuko frowns and walks around to pick it up. Seeing what it is, she sighs loudly. “Jimin, I assure you there’s no need for this. Akira is being reckless and he’s just having a bad day—“
“Don’t talk for me wo—“
“I will talk for you since you’re fucking incapable of keeping your stupid mouth shut!”
Akira glares at her before mumbling under his breath and looking away resignedly.
Jimin sighs, his patience running short with the Takahashi’s. He’s been witness to the husband and wife arguing many times before, and each time he wonders why he still deals with them until he remembers he needs to do everything he can to keep the Lee’s from gaining power and a stronghold in Japan; that’s something the Park’s have over them, and it’s proven most beneficial, especially in helping him get closer to his new goal.
“Jimin, you’ll get the payment within two months, and I’ll get Hachiro to draft a new contract fo—“
“No need,” Jimin cuts in, taking a seat at his desk. “I’ll get Namjoon to draft the contract and I’ll be sending it over to you.”
Yasuko pauses, but eventually nods. “Very well, and since we’re here, we might as well discuss the terms in person.”
Jimin nods curtly, giving Namjoon a weary look as his friend approaches him. “You can discuss the terms with Namjoon,” he says to the disparate couple in front of him.
Yasuko watches Jimin with sharp eyes for a few seconds but he remains uninterested, looking down at the desk while listening to Namjoon, and eventually she rolls her eyes, stalking over to the window as she too, listens to Namjoon.
He reads out their current contract, and Jimin’s mind wanders off, recalling Akira’s comment on the Lee’s established trafficking organization. It infuriates him to still deal with Akira knowing he would consider cutting ties with him to go to the Lee’s, while knowing exactly what they’re involved in. Jimin knows that there’s little good in most of his businesses, but the Lee’s crossed a line that Jimin would never cross. .
“Excuse me,” Yasuko interrupts carelessly, turning on her heel from the window and walking across the room, “I need to use the restroom but please carry on.”
Jimin frowns. “I’ll have Hoseok escort y—“
“No need,” she cuts him off airily, waving her hand. “I’m a very capable lady Jimin — of many things — and you might discover that one day if you wouldn’t be so uptight.”
Akira grimaces, giving his wife a detestful look, knowing what she was alluding to. “Licentious woman,” he mutters, though she pays no attention to him and exits the room, flicking her hair over her shoulder.
Jimin ignores her comment and turns back to Namjoon to continue.
The east wing feels different than you remember from years ago. The halls, once brooding and heavy, now seem lighter, more modernised. The subtle upgrades — better lighting, fresh paint, and the absence of a few foreboding portraits — make it feel less like a haunted memory and more like a polished and comfortable space.
Jungkook and Taehyung lead you through with casual ease, pointing out their respective offices.
“This one’s mine,” Taehyung gestures to a door with a clean, minimalist plaque bearing his name. Inside, you glimpse a space that is an effortless mix of his sophistication and eccentricity.
“And this is where I spend too much time,” Jungkook adds, showing his office just across the hall. His is sleek and efficient, a reflection of his meticulous nature.
Stepping across the hall, you look at some of the other open offices. “You make it sound boring.”
“Well, it can be, except when we’re out on jobs,” Taehyung replies with a smirk. “But Jimin doesn’t let us slack off.”
“He doesn’t let anyone slack off,” Jungkook quips as you continue walking.
As you round a corner, the sharp click of heels against marble draws your attention. A woman appears, striking in her elegance and deliberate in her movements. Her eyes sweep over you with interest, lingering a moment too long before a knowing smile curves her lips.
From your right, you notice Jungkook and Taehyung exchanging a subtle look.
“Well, this is a surprise,” she says, her voice smooth and laced with intrigue. “And who might you be?”
You meet her gaze. “I could ask the same about you.”
Her smile widens, as if she appreciates the response. “Fair enough. You’re certainly… unexpected.” She tilts her head, her gaze sharp as she studies you. “Quite pretty, too. What brings you to the Park Estate?”
You shrug lightly, keeping your tone as casual as your posture. “A visit. What about you?”
Her smile tightens slightly, her sharpness met with your calm deflection. “Oh, I’ve business here. Akira and I are discussing some arrangements with Jimin.”
Her eyes flick briefly to your leg where the bandage is peeking out below your shorts just enough to see.. “That injury,” she says, her voice faux-sympathetic. “What a pity. I do hope it hasn’t been too much trouble for you.”
You feel the weight of Jungkook and Taehyung’s gazes on you, both of them slightly tense. Her comment makes you wonder — could she have had something to do with the attack? Her general demeanour tells you she knows more than she’s letting on. It occurs to you that when Yoongi mentioned the Takahashis, he also named Akira. She must be one of them.
Still, you don’t let your thoughts show. Instead, you reply smoothly, mirroring her tone. “Not at all. Sometimes the most inconvenient things turn out to be the least important.”
Her eyes narrow slightly, but before she can respond, the sound of approaching footsteps pulls her attention.
From another corridor, Jimin and Akira appear. Jimin’s gaze immediately finds yours, and for a moment, concern flickers across his face. Akira, on the other hand, stops beside Yasuko and studies you openly, his curiosity evident. He says nothing, letting the scene play out.
Yasuko turns her attention back to you, her interest seemingly renewed. “You’re quite composed, aren’t you?” she remarks. “I imagine it takes a certain… calibre of person to fit in here.”
“Perhaps,” you reply with an easy shrug. “Or perhaps it’s just about knowing when not to overstep.”
Jimin’s concern vanishes as quickly as it came when he hears your response, a flicker of pride crossing his expression.
Yasuko’s eyes flash briefly with something close to irritation, but she quickly masks it with a chuckle. “Well, Akira, I think it’s time we take our leave.” She glances back at you one last time, her smile sharp and unreadable. “A pleasure meeting you. I hope we’ll speak again.”
“Likewise,” you say evenly, watching as she and Akira turn and walk away.
Jimin nods at Hoseok, who moves to escort them out.
Once they’re gone, your gaze meets Jimin’s, and he’s already sporting a small, amused smile before Namjoon arrives with a tablet in hand. Without another word, Jimin follows Namjoon down a corridor, his focus shifting to business.
Jungkook and Taehyung exchange glances before Taehyung speaks. “You handled that well.”
Jungkook nods. “She’s sharp, and she knows how to get under people’s skin. Not many keep their cool around her.”
“Who is she?” you ask, your tone light but curious.
“Takahashi Yasuko,” Taehyung replies.
“Oh.”
They watch you for a moment, but when you don’t ask anything else, Jungkook claps his hands together. “Alright, I’m starving. Shall we get some lunch?”
You nod, only now realizing just how hungry you are as a soft rumble from your stomach makes you smile lightly. It’s definitely time to eat.
Taehyung grins, gesturing for you to follow. “Agreed. Let’s go.”
A few days later
You’re tired tonight, having wandered the estate gardens for longer than you should’ve. The familiar paths brought back memories, and when you found Jimin’s mother’s garden again, it felt like you’d stepped back in time. The door had been unlocked this time, unlike when you were a child, and you couldn’t help but linger there, memories returning and you found yourself thinking of Jimin often. You’ve barely seen him in the past few days, and his absence at meals hasn’t gone unnoticed. It’s left you wondering if he’s eating well.
As you approach your room, you spot Ara stepping out.
“Good evening, Miss L/N,” she greets, her voice warm but professional.
“Good evening, Ara,” you reply with a smile.
“I just had some housekeeping to do,” she explains.
“That’s okay.”
Her lips curl into a small smile. “I also added some of the items you requested — the fluffy socks.” There’s a playful gleam in her eyes. “I’m glad to see some things never change.”
You chuckle, a little caught off guard but also comforted by her familiarity — she definitely remembers you. “Well, I find comfort in the small things.”
“I’m glad,” she says gently. “We could all do with some comfort.”
“I agree. Speaking of, I was wondering if I could help you in the kitchen sometime?”
Ara tilts her head, a flicker of confusion passing over her face.
“Before I came here, I owned a bakery,” you explain. “I didn’t realise how much I’d made a hobby of it, but I’ve actually been missing it.”
Her expression softens as understanding dawns. “Ah. Of course. It’s Iseul who does most of the baking but you can join us whenever you like.”
“Thank you.”
There’s a pause before she adds, “I’m glad to see you’re doing well.”
“Thank you,” you say again, unsure of how else to respond.
Ara hesitates, then steps closer and places a hand on your shoulder. Her voice is quieter now, more personal. “I was very sorry to hear what happened to your family.”
The words hit with a bittersweet ache. All you can do is smile faintly.
“But I’m glad you’re here, Y/N,” she says with a gentle squeeze to your shoulder. Her kind eyes linger on you for a moment before she steps back, nodding slightly before continuing down the corridor.
Left alone, you exhale slowly, her words echoing softly in your mind. A faint smile touches your lips as you turn into your room, the quiet stillness wrapping around you like a familiar embrace.
Maybe, just maybe, you might find the comforts of home here.
4th February 2015
Jimin stood, sweat slicking his skin, his fists pounding against the punching bag. The rhythmic thud of leather meeting fabric was a welcome distraction, allowing him to release the built-up tension in his muscles. He’d been working hard, trying to tune out the growing noise in his head, but the weight of his father’s expectations never quite left him.
His phone went off on the bench across the training floor, pulling him from his thoughts. Pulling off his glove, he wiped his brow with the back of his hand and went to get it, squinting at the screen. It was his father.
Jihoon.
He answered the call with a deep breath, trying to steady his pulse.
“Jimin.” His father’s voice was curt, as usual. “Come to my office. I need to see you," he said, never awaiting an answer before cutting down.
Jimin pocketed the phone, cleaning himself off a little before he headed toward the East Wing, his footsteps echoing down the long, dimly lit corridor leading to his father’s office.
As he passed, his eyes landed on Kwan and Duri, the two brutish men who had long been fixtures of his father’s inner circle. They were leaving the office, their hulking figures filling the narrow hallway.
They sneered at him, and though Jimin didn’t flinch, he felt a small unease he couldn’t explain. Normally, they’d just ignore him. This time, their gaze lingered.
Jihoon sat behind his desk, one arm resting on the chair’s armrest, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He didn’t bother looking up as Jimin stepped inside.
Jimin wasted no time with pleasantries. He stepped forward and asked, “Where are they going?” referring to Kwan and Duri.
Jihoon glanced up at him, the same cold expression on his face. “I have some work to be done.”
“What work?” Jimin asked, voice steady, but with a sharper edge than before. His years in the family had hardened him, and now, he was no longer the soft boy who had once been shielded from the grim realities of their world.
Jihoon’s eyes flickered for a brief moment, but his expression was impassive, betraying no hint of emotion. “Do you really want to know?”
“Yes,” Jimin spoke curtly, meeting his father’s gaze head-on.
Jihoon leaned back in his chair, taking a sip from his glass with his gaze unwavering. “You’ll find out soon enough."
Jimin studied him, his father’s mask never faltering. Any work his dad needs done is usually tasked to Jimin. This secrecy is something new and it plants a seed of suspicion in Jimin.
“Why not tell me now?”
“I give the orders, Jimin,” he said, his tone final, “My men obey them. Don’t probe further.”
Jimin clenched his jaw, his expression neutral as always, but with a hint of defiance beneath. “So what order do you have for me?”
“You’re to come to Suwon with me, tonight. We leave at nine.”
Jimin’s face betrayed nothing as he absorbed the information. No questions, no further probing. His father had given him his orders, and he had learned long ago not to ask too much.
He turned to leave, but just as he reached the door, Jihoon’s voice stopped him.
“Bring your gun,” Jihoon ordered.
Jimin nodded once, his jaw tight, and left without another word.
The casino in Suwon was old, the neon lights flickering weakly. The walls were worn, the carpet stained, and the sense of decay was palpable. But the men inside didn’t care. Corruption seeped into every corner, like the thick, bitter smell of whiskey in the air.
Jimin knew this wasn’t just a place for gambling — there were worse things happening in the back rooms and he’d seen enough to know — but he also knew of his fathers plans to close down this place, so he wasn't surprised at its state.
He followed his father down the corridor, passing the few men who looked up briefly before realizing who it was and retreating back into the haze of smoke and bad deals. Jihoon moved like a shadow, and Jimin mirrored him, his gaze darting around, taking in everything. The walls were lined with old pictures and cheap wallpaper, but they didn’t care. None of them did.
They descended into the basement, the air growing heavier, thicker with the scent of money, sweat, and sex. The basement was modestly sized, but cluttered with tables and money-counting machines. Men sat around, counting stacks of cash with bags of white everywhere, while two girls leaned against the wall, their eyes distant, as though this scene was nothing new.
Jimin’s eyes flicked over the men, but he didn’t speak, he just stood there, waiting for his father’s next move. Jihoon was calm, but there was something in his eyes — something colder than Jimin had ever seen before.
At the far left, Kwan and Duri stood over a man in bloodstained clothes kneeling on the floor, his hands bound behind his back, a sack over his head.
Jihoon had entered without a word, his presence enough to silence the room. He nodded subtly, and everyone else in the room filed out — except Jimin, Kwan, and Duri.
Jihoon took a seat at a table, his eyes flicking to the bottle of whiskey in front of him. He uncorked it with a quick motion and took a long, deliberate swig. The silence in the room was deafening. He lit a cigarette, taking a deep drag as he looked at his son.
Jimin stood motionless, his gaze flicking between his father and the bound man, a sickening sense of anticipation churning in his gut.
Jihoon nodded at Duri, who stepped forward. With one swift motion, Duri yanked the sack off the man’s head. The man’s face was a mess of bruises, but his expression was eerily blank. He stared ahead, too weak to respond, too beaten to show emotion.
Jimin’s stomach coiled at the sight, but he didn’t look away.
Still, his father remained silent, content to let the tension hang in the air. Jihoon’s gaze flickered to Kwan and Duri again. Another nod. And the beatings began.
Jimin felt the bile rise in his throat as the sound of fists landing on flesh filled the room. It was never easy, no matter how many times he’d witnessed this.
Kwan and Duri relished the violence, drawing it out — drawing pain out. Jimin knew the difference. He’d seen these men kill with their bare hands in seconds, so the fact they were prolonging this torture meant something far worse.
He didn’t know what though. He’d seen man’s life end in this way more than a few times, but he’d never been dragged out of Seoul for this purpose.
Jimin didn’t watch the brothers. Instead, he stood still, fists clenched at his sides, his face a mask of detachment as the man’s weak cries echoed through the room.
Jimin looked at his father, eyes cold but filled with a quiet fury. “What’s the point of this?”
Jihoon didn’t even flinch at the question. He exhaled smoke slowly and looked at Jimin, his face impassive. “Stop them if you want.”
Jimin’s gaze flickered to Kwan and Duri. For a split second, he wondered if this was some kind of trap. But he didn’t care. He’d had enough.
In a fluid movement, Jimin strode forward and grabbed Kwan by the arm, yanking him away from the man on the floor. Kwan stumbled back, disoriented, and before he could regain his balance, Jimin delivered a solid punch to his face, knocking him back.
Duri reacted immediately, swinging a wild punch, but Jimin was quicker. He blocked it and countered with a brutal hit of his own. Duri stumbled back, and before he could retaliate, Jimin slid under Kwan's returning guard, delivering a series of strikes to Kwan’s midsection before locking him in a chokehold.
Kwan struggled, trying to headbutt Jimin, but Jimin drove his knee into Kwan’s leg, knocking him off balance.
Duri growled, eyes full of fury, but before he could launch himself at Jimin, Jihoon’s voice cut through the air. “Wait.”
Duri froze, glancing from Jimin, still holding Kwan in a chokehold, to Jihoon, who was watching the scene with a mix of amusement and a flicker of something darker.
Kwan’s resistance faded, and Jimin released him just before he passed out, leaving him crumpled on the floor, gasping for air.
Jihoon looked back at Duri. With a single gesture, he gave his permission for him to continue.
Jimin snarled, having had enough. In a swift motion, he pulled his gun out and aimed at Duri's head.
Jihoon raised a brow, his expression unchanged.
“You think I won’t do it?” Jimin said, cocking the gun.
Jihoon shrugged. “I have my doubts.”
Jimin shook his head, his voice detached. “Do you forget you raised me?” He shot Duri in the knee with only a sideways glance, the bullet meeting its mark.
Duri shouted out in pain, his body slumping against the wall behind him, his face twisted in agony, while his brother moved to lunge at Jimin.
"Stop." Jihoon levelled Jimin's gaze and held up a hand to stop Kwan.
Kwan stopped short, pleading on his brother's behalf. “Sir, please.”
But Jihoon didn’t acknowledge the plea. “Leave. Back to Seoul, now,” he ordered, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
Kwan glared at Jimin but said nothing as he obeyed and took his leeave.
The atmosphere was thick with unspoken anger as father and son glared at each other. Jimin's rage was palpable, his jaw clenched, tight, while Jihoon stood unmoving, his face as cold and calculating as ever. Jimin could feel the weight of the situation — there was more to this than he'd been told.
Jihoon stepped up to Jimin, his face unreadable. “Do it,” he muttered, almost too softly. “I know you want to.”
Jimin lowered the gun, his gaze fixed on his father. “No.”
Jihoon laughed darkly, stepping back. “Then kill the other one.”
He turned toward the bound man, who was shaking now, tears streaming down his beaten face. “I said no,” Jimin repeated, his voice steady, his resolve hardening.
“He betrayed us, Jimin. Kill him.”
“I don’t know him.”
“You’re right. You don’t.” Jihoon's voice went quiet. He stared at Jimin, unblinking. “But your mother did.”
Jimin froze. His mind went blank, but his eyes stayed locked on the battered man. His gut twisted as he felt a flicker of realisation.
Jihoon watched him carefully as he took a step closer to the man. “Oh, she knew him very well,” Jihoon murmured, before pulling out a gun and shooting the man between the eyes. The body fell to the floor with a sickening thud. “Well, it doesn’t matter anymore.”
Jimin’s blood ran cold. “Where is she?” he demanded, voice trembling slightly.
“Ask Duri.”
Without thinking, Jimin raised the gun, aiming it at his father. “Where is mom?!”
Jihoon took a step forward, his gaze intense and unreadable. His hand slowly pushed the barrel of the gun away, directing it toward Duri, who was still slumped against the wall. “I told you. You should’ve killed him.”
Jimin’s breath hitched. He was in disbelief, his body trembling with barely contained fury. He glanced at Duri, then back to his father. The realisation hit him hard — Duri killed her.
Jihoon leaned in, his voice low, almost a whisper in Jimin’s ear. “He killed her.”
Jimin stood there, numb for a moment, the weight of his father’s words sinking in. His sharp, heavy breaths were the only sound in the room as his mind spun. His mother was dead. Duri killed her.
One glance at him told him everything he needed to know — for the first time, Jimin saw Duri cowering, afraid. But he didn't care. He killed her.
Jimin lunged at Duri, slamming the butt of the gun into his face with a sickening crack. Duri staggered back, his body reeling from the blow, but Jimin didn’t stop.
His fists smashed into Duri’s face, his chest, his stomach. Jimin didn’t care that Duri tried to shield himself — his fists pounded down on Duri’s arms, his legs, every part of him that Jimin could reach. The sound of his fists colliding with flesh, the thud of Duri’s body hitting the ground, filled Jimin’s ears, drowning out all thoughts except for the burning, consuming need for vengeance.
Duri struggled, weakly trying to fight back, but Jimin was too fast. As Duri threw a wild punch, Jimin dodged it effortlessly, countering with a brutal knee to his midsection. Duri gasped for breath, his face twisted in pain, but Jimin carried on.
He grabbed Duri by the throat, lifting him off the ground for a split second before slamming him down again, his skull cracking against the concrete with a sickening thud. Duri’s body jerked, gasping for air, but the fight had already left him.
Jimin’s heart pounded in his chest, his own blood thrumming in his ears, but the anger wouldn’t abate. It kept him moving, kept him hitting, until Duri’s limbs fell limp, his body crumpling into an unmoving heap on the floor.
Jimin stood over Duri, chest rising and falling in heavy breaths, his hands trembling from the violence that still pulsed through him.
His heart pounded in his throat, and for a moment, the weight of what he had just done pressed down on him. But it didn’t matter. The anger still burned inside him, filling the hollow space where any satisfaction should have been.
It didn’t come. His body still shook with rage, but as he knelt there, staring at the aftermath, something else surfaced.
Tears slid down his face, hot and unwelcome. He wiped them away quickly, gritting his teeth, but they kept coming.
Jihoon, watching silently, finally spoke, his voice cold. “You’re still weak.”
Jimin didn’t acknowledge him, the words cutting into him like a knife, but he didn’t care. He rose to his feet, refusing to let his father see through him. Without a word, he turned and walked away.
note. thank you so much for reading! please don’t be a silent reader, your feedback is what keeps me motivated to write, literally 🥹 have a happy new year too! 🫶🏼✨
also, I hope the fic doesn’t seem slow/boring, I appreciate that it might be right now, but it’s a big series and to make it as wholesome and entertaining as possible for you guys, I really need to lay the foundations… there is of course lots more action and exciting stuff coming for these characters ;) <3 xoxo
I'm absolutely hooked on this work of yours, Amelia! ❤️ You have no idea how much I'm enjoying it. Honestly, it's all so intriguing. So don't worry about how the story progresses; if you pay attention while reading, everything makes sense thus far.
That moment in Jin's clinic, when he left Y/n and Jimin alone, was so intense yet soft at the same time. I love how everything is unfolding—it feels realistic and never boring.
And... am I crazy for wanting a bigger conflict between Y/n and Yasuko over Jimin in the future? 😂 Don't mind me; I'm just picking up on those vibes, lol!
Also, I'm curious about the Lees... I want to know what's going on with them? (If I understood correctly, they're the ones who basically killed Jimin's family, right? Besides Teamin and his fahter, Han-jae, Kwan and Duri also betrayed Jihoon to side with the Lees..?)
Ahh, I can't wait for more action and exciting stuff!!! 💗💗💗
genre ↠ mafia AU — romance/action (angst, fluff, smut)
summary ↠ Blood, business and betrayal is all that Park Jimin has ever known, but when you cross paths again, the stakes are raised even higher and he finds himself battling his conscience, and his heart.
word count ↠ 13.3k
18+ | warnings ↠ drinking, explicit sexual content, violence, all sorts of crime (please see the series masterlist for a complete list of warnings).
taglist is open – dm/comment/send an ask to be added <3
notes ↠ please enjoy and shareeeee xxoxoxox and pls share your thoughts w me as we get into it ;)
also in case its not clear, jimin's birth year in the fic is 1995, same as real life, and Y/N is 2 years younger than him. I always put the year for any flashbacks so you can work out how old they are :) any confusion, please let me know (i might make a mistake!) thanks angels! <3
17th July 2009
The heavy scent of cigar smoke lingered in the room, curling around the dark oak furniture. Jimin sat quietly beside his father, his small legs barely brushing the floor. Across from them, Lee Han-Jae exhaled a long puff of his cigar, looking tired.
“They confirmed the crash?” Jihoon asked, his tone devoid of warmth.
Jimin did not know what accident his uncle and father had planned but he knew that his father had been on edge all day because of it.
Han-Jae nodded. “Mostly. But he's gone.” He downed what was left of his drink. “Did we take care of the family?”
Jihoon swirls his glass. “We’ll let them go, they have no one.”
“Except Kija and Min-Baek-hyun,” Han-jae counters.
“They mean nothing to us.”
“But they were loyal to Sehun.”
Upon hearing this, Jimin goes still, realising what’s happened.
“Their loyalty was not just to Sehun but the entire Han family. They will protect them at all costs and they’ve been in this long enough to know not to retaliate if they want to keep themselves safe.”
Han-Jae says nothing else of the matter but his face does little to mask his disapproval. He took another puff of his cigar before he spoke again. “The other two men survived. Escaped before the flames could finish the job. They’re digging through the wreckage, but the police are sniffing around."It seems dental records are proving... inconvenient.”
Jihoon’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. “Inconvenient?” he echoed. “The detectives are a problem?”
Han-Jae waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing we can’t handle.”
“Funny,” Jihoon said, leaning forward slightly. “You said the same thing about the last case they opened. And now I hear whispers about them building something bigger — trafficking charges. Another detective’s on the case, isn’t he?” His tone sharpened. “You’ve been careless, Han-Jae.”
The room tensed, the air thick with unsaid threats. Han-Jae stiffened, his smirk faltering for the briefest moment. “Watch your tongue, Jihoon.”
Jihoon’s lip curled. “You’ve been playing dirty, using our resources to fund your side business."
Han-Jae remained indifferent. "You'll be asking for a share soon. All the pieces are almost complete and this detective is nothing more than a bump in the road. I'll deal with it."
"That's besides the point. I trusted you and you're acting foolishly."
"Foolishly?"
"Is it not?" Jihoon asked, patronising.
Jimin watched as Han-Jae got up wordlessly and walked over to his cabinet. He picked up the decanter and generously poured himself some whiskey.
“I’ve given you more than enough leash,” Jihoon continued, his voice rising. “But if you think I’ll let you drag my name down with yours, think again.”
Han-Jae emptied his glass before he turned, his face a mask of fury. “We’ll talk about this later,” he spat. “We have somewhere to be.”
Jihoon didn’t bother responding. Instead, he turned his attention to Jimin, his gaze cold and commanding. “Get a gun.”
Jimin froze, his blood turning to ice. His lips parted, but no sound came out.
“Now,” Jihoon snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut. "Then meet me by the car."
Jihoon left the room and Jimin followed, his legs moving before his mind could catch up. He went towards the basement, down the stairs and past the training floor, all the way to the locked room at the back. Some of his father's men watched as he walked, but none said a word. Hands trembling, he pressed his thumb to the scanner and waited for the door to unlock, revealing an entire array of weapons lining the walls.
Jimin didn't think. He picked up the first handgun he saw, checked it was loaded and then walked out with the cold metal feeling alien in his grasp, the weight far heavier than he anticipated.
Without realising it, his feet carried him to the kitchen, where his mother stood slicing vegetables. She turned at the sound of his shaky breathing, her eyes immediately softening when she saw the gun in his hands.
“Jimin,” she whispered, crossing the room in an instant. She crouched down in front of him, pulling him into a gentle hug. The faint scent of lavender filled his nose, momentarily drowning out the suffocating reality around him.
“I can’t,” he mumbled against her shoulder. “I can’t do it.”
His mother’s embrace tightened. “I never wanted this for you, Jimin,” she murmured, her voice thick with regret. “I’m so sorry.” She pulled back, brushing his hair from his face with trembling fingers. “But this is your life now. Your father won’t wait. If you don’t go back, he’ll only get angrier.”
Jimin shook his head. “Why do you let him—” His voice broke off and a single tear rolled down his cheek.
"I'm so sorry." Her face crumpled, but she quickly composed herself and closed his fingers around the gun. “You have to go now, before he comes looking for you.”
Reluctantly, he nodded, his small frame trembling as she kissed his forehead and guided him toward the door.
The container yard smelled of damp concrete and iron, the air thick and stifling. As Jimin stepped out of the car, he immediately spotted Kwan and Duri ahead of them.
Jihoon and Han-Jae walked ahead while Taemin and Jimin followed behind. As they went further into the yard, around a dark corner, Jimin glanced at Taemin, hoping for some kind of answer. Taemin, barely older than Jimin, gave a reassuring smile of sorts when Jimin glanced his way, but it did little to make him feel better. Jimin figured he knew where they were going since he and his dad spoke often.
Duri pulled the heavy door of one of the containers open as they approached and both fathers stopped short outside of the container. Han-Jae laughed mirthlessly and they both stepped aside for Jimin and Taemin to see.
Two detectives knelt on the floor, their faces bloodied and swollen, their hands tied tightly behind their backs.
Suddenly, the dead weight of the gun in his hand felt heavy again.
Jihoon glanced over his shoulder. “Stay here,” he ordered both boys.
Taemin, barely older than Jimin, gave a solemn nod but said nothing.
Jihoon stepped into the container, and crouched in front of one of the detectives, his voice low but menacing. “I warned you to stay out of my business. But now, you’re here. What do you have to say for yourself?”
The detective spat at Jihoon’s feet, earning himself a sharp backhand. Jihoon stood, motioning to Jimin. “Come here.”
Jimin hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest.
“Now, Jimin."
Taemin looked between them and gently nudged Jimin forward. "Go on," he whispered.
Reluctantly, Jimin got closer, his eyes glued to the ground.
"This man is a threat to us,” Jihoon said, calmly. “End him.”
Jimin’s breath hitched. “I-I can’t—”
Jihoon’s hand lashed out, striking him hard enough to send him stumbling. “You’re weak,” he snarled, stepping close to Jimin and speaking low in his ear. “Your mother’s made you soft.”
Jimin’s head snapped up and he ignored the harsh stinging sensation on his cheek. “Is that why you always send her away?” he asked, teeth gritted. “To keep her away from me?”
Jihoon froze, his face darkening. For a moment, Jimin thought he might strike him again. But instead, Jihoon looked right at Jimin and spoke, his voice icy. “She chooses to leave. Every time she walks out that door, it’s her choice. And it’s time you grew up and realised that.”
Jimin’s grip on the gun tightened, his knuckles white. He didn't look at the man before him but raised his arm, finger closing around the trigger. "You're right," Jimin said, voice low. "It is time I grew up."
The gunshot echoed through the warehouse, the sound ringing in Jimin’s ears long after the man’s body hit the floor.
Jihoon’s voice cut through the haze. “Finally.”
But Jimin didn’t hear him. All he could see was the blood, pooling and spreading across the cold concrete. All he could feel was the weight of his father’s shadow, pressing down on him, suffocating him.
Jihoon glanced at Han-Jae, his lip curling in irritation. “You deal with the other one.”
Han-Jae smiled thinly, his hand settling on Taemin’s shoulder. “Go on, son.”
Taemin hesitated, his youthful face pale under the dim light of the yard's lights. He glanced at Jimin, whose expression was frozen in a mix of horror and detachment, and then back at his father.
Han-Jae’s smile faded. “Do you want to disappoint me?”
The weight of that question hung heavy in the air, and Taemin swallowed hard, but slowly, he stepped forward.
The second detective, bloodied and trembling, began to plead incoherently, his words dissolving into a sob.
Jimin’s stomach churned violently. He couldn’t bear to watch as Taemin raised the gun with far steadier hands than his own, nor could he endure the suffocating tension of the warehouse any longer. His voice was hoarse as he muttered, “I’m going to the car.”
Jihoon turned his head slightly but didn’t object. “Fine. Go.”
The indifference in his father’s voice stung more than any reprimand. Jimin moved toward the exit, his legs unsteady but quickening with each step.
The sound of the gunshot rang out just as he stepped out of the container, the echo chasing him into the night.
The air outside was still warm despite it being well past midnight. Jimin usually loved late summer nights like this but not today. As he walked around the bend, he felt more hot, and the humidity worsened the thick, suffocating tension inside.
He made it only a few steps further before his stomach betrayed him. Rushing over towards a stack of crates, he retched violently. The contents of his dinner surged upwards and all Jimin could hope was that he was far away enough from his dad.
His throat burned, and his body trembled as he leaned a hand against the cold metal for support.
When the heaving subsided, the silence around him felt deafening. His mind was a storm of guilt and revulsion. He could still see the detective’s lifeless eyes in his mind, and worse, as he still held the gun now, he kept imagining his finger was still around the trigger.
“This is your life now,” his mother’s voice echoed in his head, her words a hollow comfort against the growing ache in his chest.
His throat tightened, and for a brief moment, he felt the urge to cry. But the tears didn’t come. They couldn’t — not here, not now. He took a deep breath, forcing air into his lungs until the sharpness of it dulled his emotions. He repeated the motion over and over, steadying himself, quieting the chaos within.
Jimin wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and straightened up. His legs felt heavier than before as he trudged toward the car, but by the time he reached it, his breaths had evened out, and his face was expressionless once more.
Sliding into the back seat, he leaned his head against the window and the chill of the glass grounded him.
As he sat there in silence, the weight of his actions settled like stones in his chest, and he knew this wouldn't be the last time.
Present day
It takes you a while to come to your senses, your fuzzy mind drifting in and out of sleep, telling yourself that you’re dreaming every time your eyes half open to see the surroundings of a room which isn’t yours. Your head sinks back into the feather filled pillow, your breathing is slow and steady and you remain completely still as you wait to wake up in your own bed, in your own home.
But it doesn’t happen.
As you start to focus on the feeling of your chest rising and falling with each breath, your eyes flutter open fully and everything comes rushing back to you. Seojun lying helplessly on your kitchen floor, Minjun and the men flooding your kitchen, Dani and Siho dying to protect you. And Jimin.
The thought of it all hurts your head, and you push the thoughts down, focusing on something else for now. You have many questions and you’ll make sure to get answers, but right now, one thing you’re sure of, is that you’re safe.
Looking around the room you’re in, you faintly recognise the large wooden doors and particular coving style on the walls. You spent more than a few days running around the halls of this estate, hiding and playing in the rooms belonging to the boy you were once friends with — now the man who saved your life…
It hasn’t escaped you, that had Jimin and his men not walked in when they did, Minjun would’ve killed you after he got whatever information he needed from you.
You’ve never forgotten him, and now it seems like an odd sort of fate that you’ve ended up entangled in some kind of mess with him, thanks to Seojun.
There’s definitely something going on, because there must’ve been a reason why Seojun was in your house, why he spent those late evenings at the cafe just trying to have a conversation with you.
Looking next to you on the nightstand, you see your phone and purse, as well as a few of the other items you had in your pocket and your first thought is to call Yoongi. Whatever’s going on, you need to tell him and he might know something too.
There’s also a small bowl of fresh fruit on the nightstand and a bottle of water — a small reminder that you’re safe here.
As you reach for your phone, you feel a mild throbbing pain in your wrist. You almost forgot that Minjun cut you, but the wound is neatly bandaged now. Pushing the sheets back, you look down at your thigh to see it’s also been bandaged and you’re almost certain you’ll find stitches under there. You’re also wearing clothes that aren’t yours — a loose tee and baggy basketball shorts. You don’t remember anything since falling unconscious but you’re sure one of the housemaids must’ve dressed you.
Reaching for your phone again, you expect to see a call from your grandma since she normally calls you every morning, but your home screen shows no notifications except the many security camera notifications which you’re sure must show the events that took place at your home – you might be able to use it to identify a few of the men who were there, Yoongi certainly would be able to help you with that.
Unlocking your phone, you open up your contacts and scroll through to find Yoongi’s name. Just before you can press call, there’s a knock at the door. Pausing, you look up and a few seconds later, the handle turns slowly.
A slim man enters the room, dressed sharply head to toe in a suit… Your eyes widen, and suddenly, everything makes sense.
“Yoongi.”
He smiles, though somewhat apologetically.”Y/N.” Walking over to your bed, he doesn’t hesitate to pull up the chair that sits in front of the dressing table and bring it beside your bed. While your thoughts race, Yoongi sits quietly and waits.
He’s been working for Jimin, of course he has – his dad was close with yours and Jimin, and after your father’s death, his dad, Min Baek-hyun, stayed close with your grandparents and still resides close to your grandma in Namwon, while Yoongi stayed in Seoul. All these years, you’ve stayed close friends with Yoongi, not knowing he was so close with Jimin too – someone you once considered a best friend.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” you ask finally.
“I didn’t want to complicate things,” he murmurs, looking up. As soon as you meet his gaze, you know what he means by that…
You still remember that night, a few months ago, when Yoongi asked you to take out the Cheong men at the warehouse holding the drugs. For the first time, you asked for something in return – for him to help you find who killed your dad. It was the fact that he looked away as soon as you said the words that told you he already knew.
“I need something in return.”
Yoongi lifted his head calmly. “Is everything okay?”
You nodded, placing the key down on the table. “Just, promise me you’ll do it first.”
At this, Yoongi’s expression changed to one of concern and he hesitated.
Meeting his gaze, you said his name. “Please.”
“Alright.” Yoongi shifted, keeping his eyes on you. “I promise.”
There was a moment of silence as you mulled the words over in your head. It had been on your mind for a while, something you’d been considering often for the last few months, since you passed what would’ve been your father’s fifty fifth birthday. Not a day had gone by that you didn't miss him, and you’d known since his death that the last place he was called to, wasn’t a timely coincidence. You may have only been 12 at the time of his death, but your father always taught you to be aware of everything, and you’d noticed the tension between him and his friends for months before that night. Even the fact that you hadn’t seen Jimin in years, and the way Jihoon always disregarded your presence – that is before your father limited their visits to your family home. He was trying to protect you from them.
“I want to know who killed my dad.”
The words felt strange on your tongue – though your dad’s murder wasn’t a secret to you, you didn’t often speak about it so forwardly, especially not to Yoongi.
Concern returned to the lines in his face, brows furrowing as he shook his head and reached for your hand. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
You moved your hand from the table before he could hold it. “You know.”
He paused, eyes flitting down to where your hand was. Releasing a slow sigh, he closed his eyes. “And I think you already know.”
The anger and frustration you’d been holding on to for years began to surface.“It was them, wasn’t it?”
Yoongi looked up. “Y/N–”
“Lee Han-jae? And Park Jihoon?”
Yoongi gave the smallest of nods, and your fist curled in your lap.
“Do you know why?”
“Y/N, please, don’t–”
“You promised, Yoongi.”
Meeting your gaze, Yoongi sighed. “Alright, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
“Everything.”
So he did…
Na Doyun was a corrupt prosecutor who worked for the Lee’s, keeping them out of trouble as long as they paid her well enough. It was the perfect deal until some of the DA became suspicious of Doyun’s intentions and motivations, and she panicked, demanding more money, as well as a way for her to launder all the funds she was receiving.
The Lee’s had no choice but to comply since she had enough dirt on them to put them away for life, (as well as a supposed contingency plan that would expose them should they try anything to harm her), and so Han-jae developed a nightclub under his name and added Doyun as a majority shareholder, as well as a few others under his influence. It became one of the most popular nightclubs in all of Seoul and the perfect place for any illicit activity,
“The one that closed down months ago?” you asked, vaguely remembering. You were sure you'd followed more than a few unsuspecting victims of Yoongi’s from there on one of your errands for him..
“Yes. They have a few all over Seoul but none as big as that one. And you remember Taemin?”
“Lee’s son?”
“Yes.”
You barely saw Lee Taemin growing up. Though he was close in age to Jimin and you, his father had sent him to school in the United States. There were a few occasions where you were there together but unlike Jimin, he barely spared you more than a glance.
“Closing the club was intentional on their part. Han-jae wanted Taemin to replace it with something much bigger and better.”
“The Benitoite.”
Yoongi nodded. “A clever move on his part. The nightclub was becoming a hot spot and that was risky for them. After years of illegal trading, predatory lending and more, they had to find a way to get rid of any liabilities who used to frequent the club for their own gain, and with the Benitoite, they got the DA off their backs while attracting a whole new world, as well as another way to make their money clean again.” Looking up, Yoongi carried on. “Once that was done, Doyun had nothing left to hold over them.”
“They killed her?”
Another nod.
Your hand tightened around the fob. You couldn’t say you felt bad for the woman, she was corrupt after all and served men doing worse than herself, but it still didn’t make any of this easier to hear.
Yoongi sighed, his hand moving towards yours. “You okay?”
“Fine. Tell me.”
“When that nightclub before the Benitoite first opened, your dad wasn’t opposed to it so he never said anything. But, Jihoon or Han-jae weren’t just abiding by what Doyun wanted, they both saw an opportunity and wanted to run part of the nightclub as a secret brothel for invited guests only, those who would pay enough.”
Yoongi looked up apprehensively, but he saw your expression and continued.
“They knew anyone who knew of them, or had any kind of business with them, feared them, so they used that. If there was anyone who had done them wrong, or owed them money, they offered them a way out. Hundreds and millions worth of debt in exchange for years of service, and they didn’t care who it was.
“A mother, father, son, daughter, brother or sister. Any relation to the person who owed them was good enough and as you can imagine, none of the actual offenders offered themselves so it was all innocent family members being taken in. They would kidnap them and coerce them into working there doing whatever it was that needed to be done too. The whole thing was set up as a way for them to earn honest money to pay back whatever was owed.”
You looked up, repulsed. These are the men you once regarded as your uncles, seeing them as your dad’s friends you thought of them as family while growing up. It’s true that as you got older, you started to feel a certain way towards Jihoon because of how cold he was, especially with Jimin, but this was still beyond anything you would’ve expected of them.
“So that’s why they killed my dad?”
Yoongi shook his head. “Not exactly.” Pausing, he studied your expression for a few seconds before he leaned over the table to grasp your hand. After a gentle squeeze, he let go. “There was a lot happening around that time, I don’t know the details but the way Han-jae and Jihoon saw it, is that your dad became soft. When he first found out about the nightclub he was angry and threatened both of them.”
Your stomach curled.
“They wanted to appease him so they said they would reconsider.”
“But they didn’t.”
“No. And truthfully I don’t think your dad ever believed them anyway.”
It went quiet, the distant humming of car engines along a nearby busy road carried the sound of your thoughts as they ran endlessly.
Yoongi took another sip of his milk, watching you carefully. “Y/N,” he spoke softly. “I can tell you the rest another time.”
You looked across at home, taking a slow breath. You do feel like you’ve heard enough, but you need to know. “What more is there? They killed him after that, no?”
Traces of a grimace appeared on Yoongi’s face. “Not quite.” He paused, waiting.
Wordlessly, you nodded for him to continue.
“Did you know Han-jae was married twice?”
Nodding, you remembered his step-daughter, Jiyoung. She looked after you occasionally, but like Taemin, she wasn’t always there. “Yeah, his first wife passed away but Jiyoung was from her, right?”
“Not exactly, Jiyoung wasn’t Han-jae’s daughter.”
Now, this was news to you.
“And her mom wasn’t a huge fan of Han-jae, their marriage was arranged after her first husband died, and she had plenty of reasons to dislike the man and he felt the same, except she always threatened to expose him.”
The arranged marriage wasn’t a surprise to you, as it was common amongst many of your father’s affluent friends, including your own parents, but you hadn’t known that Han-jae’s first wife despised him.
“After she died, Jiyoung got older, she looked more like her mother, acted more like her, and Han-jae didn’t like her just as much as she didn’t like him, so… he saw an opportunity to get rid of her.”
Eyes widening, you asked, “The nightclub?”
Yoongi nodded, looking down. “But your dad saved her.”
Despite the warm evening breeze, you feel your skin go cold.
Yoongi continues. “He knew something was going on and he happened to be there the night she was being taken. He killed the men and took her away to a safe place, out of the country.”
And just like that, it all made sense. “So that’s why they killed him.”
Taking your hand again, Yoongi nodded silently. “It was a means to an end for them,” he murmured. “Han-jae and Jihoon had changed. They weren’t who your dad befriended and their morals and ambitions were far from the same.”
Yoongi’s words were said to comfort you, but they only fueled your anger… your dad’s closest friends, the men who he regarded as brothers, were the ones who killed him.
That conversation felt like a lifetime ago, and as you see Yoongi sitting in front of you now, you understand why he chose not to tell you, but you can’t help but feel a tiny bit betrayed.
“Still could’ve told me,” you mumble, looking away from him.
“Would it have made a difference to anything?” he asks, leaning forward with a playful smile.
Realising he’s right, you frown indignantly. “Might’ve stopped this,” you say, knowing it’s a weak point.
Yoongi’s expression darkens. Shaking his head slowly, he meets your gaze. “Nothing could’ve stopped this.”
Seojun is the first person that comes to your mind, and you feel your stomach coil.
Reaching to hold your leg over the covers, Yoongi says your name. “You need to tell me everything you know.”
Nodding, you push the mental image of Seojun out of your mind. “I don’t actually know much,” you start, “Seojun had been coming into the cafe around once a week and would talk to me, just small talk. He must’ve known who I was but I didn’t realise until the last time. He seemed worried about something and kept asking me about grandma, and when she called, he’d left and there was a note on the table.” Looking towards the night stand where your belongings are, you see the note you pocketed then, and the drive is there too. You take them both, handing the note to Yoongi. “This is what it said.”
Yoongi takes a few seconds to read the simple words, She’s the only family you have left. You should stay with her. Frowning, Yoongi lowers it to the bed. “He must’ve known, but I don’t know how.” Looking up, he asks, “you never told him anything about your grandma?”
“No,” you shake your head. “He just knew.” Thinking of this, you suddenly remember all those conversations you had with Seojun… he had a girlfriend. “Yoongi?” You meet his gaze with worried eyes. “He had a girlfriend.”
Yoongi’s expression softens, lips pursing. “Yeona. She knows. She lives here with us, she moved in with Seojun a year ago.”
Nodding your head slowly, you look away. You don’t bother asking how she’s doing, that would be a pointless question – you could tell how much Seojun loved her and from the stories he told you, you’re certain she loved him just as much, she must be heartbroken. The thought of it reminds you of the night your dad passed away… you’d never seen your mom in so much pain.
As your emotions begin to swirl heavily again, you look up at Yoongi. “Did he not say anything at all about what he’d been doing?”
Yoongi shakes his head. “We knew he was up to something, but Jimin told us to let him be.” Again, Yoongi’s expression looks pained.
“Why?”
“A few weeks back, Jimin had one of their clubs raided by the police on the same night they were receiving a weapons shipment and there’s since been a good few detectives on their case. Taemin’s uncle got some time in prison for it and even though he’s out, they still wanted to send a message to Jimin, a way to get back at him… so they killed Seojun’s mom.”
The words wound the knot in your stomach even tighter. “So Seojun wanted to get back at them?”
Nodding, Yoongi shakes his head. “Jimin warned him not to, he promised they’d work it out together and end things for once, but Seojun was angry. Once we figured out he was up to something, Jimin told us to leave him and once Seojun had a plan, we’d join in on it.” Releasing a shaky breath, Yoongi looks down. “We never got to find out what it was, and each week we’d see him less and less. Everyone here knows how to look after themselves, but now I wish we’d taken more care.”
Seojun was a friend to everyone here, Yoongi included, you realise. You know you ought to comfort him but you don’t think you know how. “I’m sorry, Yoongi,” you murmur.
He gives a small smile. “Finish telling me what happened.”
Sitting back into the cushions again, you recall the events from that night. “I left work as normal, came home and when I went upstairs, something felt off. So I went back down, and then I saw him in my kitchen, he was bleeding, barely conscious on the floor and I ran over to him. I tried to help him but he kept apologising, and then he gave me this.” Looking down, you hand the drive to Yoongi.
Confused, Yoongi turns it over in his hand. “Did he say what’s on it?”
“No,” you shake your head. “And it’s probably protected too since the Lee’s wanted it as well. But he told me to take it and find Jimin.” At this, Yoongi looks up and meets your gaze. “He kept saying he’d keep me safe and that I should leave him and go.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I couldn’t. He needed help, but it was too late. When I was about to get out, Minjun and some of his men came in. Seojun tried to help me but in the end…” you trail off, looking down. “In the end it was Minjun questioning me, asking me who I am. I lied, of course.” You finish telling Yoongi the rest of what happened, up until when Jimin and his men came in.
When you’re done, Yoongi is cursing under his breath. “Minjun was a fucking psychopath.”
“Yeah, he seems like it,.” You remember the way he laughed when Jimin was punching him.
“He has a brother, Kwan, he’s just as crazy, if not worse.”
The thought of it leaves you shuddering. Minjun was ruthless and you can’t imagine how much worse his brother is. You hope you never have to meet him, although luck hasn’t really been on your side recently.
“Hey,” Yoongi says quietly, moving from his seat to the bed. “You okay?”
“Mhm,” you nod.
He smiles softly. “Your wrist should be better in a few days, but your leg might take two or three weeks to heal well. I got you some crutches in case you wanna use them.”
“Thanks, I probably won’t use them though.”
“Yeah, I thought you’d say that.”
Smiling at him, you push the sheets back to look at your bound leg. “It’s not deep is it?”
Yoongi shakes his head. “You got lucky. Only an inch or so. Ah, also,” he looks up at you apologetically, “you’ll need to stay here for a while until your house gets fixed.”
“Oh.” You remember how the windows were smashed in as Minjun attacked, and you’re sure there’s more damage to the property that you’re not even aware of.
“Jimin is making all the arrangements,” Yoongi continues, “but he’s trying to keep things quiet so I don’t know exactly when things will be sorted.”
“He doesn’t have to, I can do it myself.”
“He wants to,” Yoongi responds. “He blames himself for what’s happened, so just let him please.” His words appear to carry more meaning, and you can’t imagine how he must feel after seeing Seojun dead. You still remember the look on his face when he saw the body.
“Why?”
“He blames himself for a lot of things,” Yoongi murmurs with a soft sigh. “This hasn’t helped.”
Even though it’s been years since you were close with Jimin, you still find yourself feeling a familiar twinge in your chest – ever since you’ve known him, Jimin has had to suffer so much hurt, you couldn’t even count on your hand the amount of times you saw him looking so defeated and terrified in front of his father. He seemed to prefer the company of Lee Han-jae over his own father, although you don’t know how much better Han-jae was as a father since his son, Taemin, was in America most of the time to study. All you know is how he treated Jiyoung.
Now, curiosity (or care) gets the better of you, and you ask, “What happened between them? Han-jae and Jihoon?”
Yoongi looks up, grimacing. “It started with money. Han-jae got greedy and wanted the Benitoite to be only his, but Jihoon insisted it belong to them both since the nightclub was half his effort, though he never really cared for the extra money, he just needed the front. Han-jae reluctantly agreed but it was clear he wasn’t happy.
“And then Jihoon found out that Han-jae planned on going behind his back and he got angry. Han-jae was drunk one night and started threatening Jihoon, which only made him more angry. But before he could do anything, Taemin stepped in and shot him.”
“Taemin?!” you ask, surprised..
Yoongi nods. “He knew of his dad's plan for the Benitoite and he wasn’t fond of Jihoon, so he did what he had to to protect his dad. But Jimin was there.” His expression darkens. “He watched his best friend shoot his dad, who was bleeding out in front of him. I’m so grateful we were with him that day…” He trails off, exhaling as he looks down.
He doesn’t need to say anymore for you to know what he means – Taemin was going to have Jimin killed too.
Your head lowers too. You don’t allow your thoughts to wonder what would’ve happened if Jimin had been alone, you’re just glad he got out. Though you can’t imagine what he must’ve felt given his relationship with Jihoon.
“Did he get to have a funeral for his dad?”
“Yeah,’ Yoongi answers. “Han-jae had just lost another one of his friends and the blood was on his hands, so he sent the body back to Jimin and tried to make amends, but Jimin wasn’t having it. He was already against everything they were doing and now that his dad had gone and he’d lost Taemin as a friend, he had no reason to keep ties with them.”
Leaning back into the cushions, you mull over everything he’s just said. For years, you stayed away from these families who were such a big part of your life growing up, and now you learn that they’ve fallen apart as well.
After a moment, Yoongi speaks again. “I was surprised when they brought you in.” You look up at him as he continues. “I thought he might’ve recognised you, but he said nothing.”
“Do you think he does?” you ask, remembering the look on his face when he first saw you. “But he’s just not saying it?”
Yoongi shrugs. “Might be. If he does remember you though, he’ll say something.”
“Are you going to tell them?” you ask, looking at him.
“Only if you want me to.”
After a few quiet seconds, you shake your head. “At least not yet.”
Yoongi nods and it goes quiet again. You close your eyes, leaning against the headboard as you think back on everything that’s happened, and then it comes to you.
“Dani and Siho,” you say, opening your eyes again as a heavy weight settles on your chest. “Did you get them out?”
Solemnly, Yoongi nods. “I sent them back to their families and have offered to make all the necessary arrangements for anything else they need.”
“Thank you,” you murmur. “Let me know what they say, I’ll sort it out for them..”
Yoongi nods again, pursing his lips as this time he reaches forward to take your hand and comfort you. “They knew the risks, Y/N, better than anyone else.”
“I know,” you sigh. “But it’s different, they were there because of me.”
“Yeah, but they made that choice, they wanted to fight for you,” Yoongi says, shifting on the bed. When you look at him, he winces slightly. “Sorry if this isn’t helping, you know I’m shit at comforting people.”
You smile. “I know.”
“Hey, you’re not any better though,” he says defensively, “you didn’t even hug me properly when my mom passed away.”
“What?” you chuckle. “I tried to, but I know you don’t like hugs.”
Yoongi shrugs. “Not normally, but then I would've liked it.”
“Oh…” Now you feel bad. “Really?”
He nods, only looking up at you when you fail to respond. Seeing your face, he smiles. “It’s okay though, I got lots of hugs from the guys here.”
Scoffing, you absentmindedly pull the covers over your legs again, feeling cold from the aircon. “Yeah, you’re telling me Park Jimin was giving out hugs?” It comes out sarcastically and without much thought.
“Yes, actually,” Yoongi answers simply.
Pausing, you realise what you said and his response. You don’t know why you feel surprised when the Jimin you knew was nothing but caring and considerate towards others, oftentimes more than he was towards himself.
As though he can read your mind, Yoongi smiles. “Surprised?”
“Kind of.”
“You knew him though,” he says, as though that makes it so obvious.
“Knew,” you repeat. “I didn’t expect him to still be the same.”
Yoongi hums in agreement. “I wouldn’t say he’s changed, but I wouldn't exactly say he’s the same either…” looking up, he smiles again. “I guess you’ll get to see for yourself now.”
“I guess so,” you say, reaching for an apple from the bowl beside you. Seeing Jimin again has been weird, but you can’t ignore the part of you that is ready to welcome a part of your old life back, someone familiar, someone you liked very much. Like Yoongi said though, you’ll get to see for yourself if he’s anything like you remember him. Although you were both younger then, you don’t think he would’ve changed much from what Yoongi has told you so far.
“D’you want something a bit more filling than that?” Yoongi asks, nodding to the apple you’ve just bitten into. “Dinner is just about to be served so you can come down to eat or I can bring it up for you?”
“Oh, yeah, actually,” you answer, hearing your stomach growl after receiving a tiny morsel of food. “I am quite hungry, so I think I'll come down.”
“Sure,” Yoongi chuckles, “you must be hungry, you’ve been sleeping for almost three days.”
You look up at him with wide eyes. “Three days?!” When he nods, you immediately reach for your phone. “I need to call Moni, she’s probably wo–”
“I already have,” Yoongi says, interrupting you quietly.
Fingers freezing over her name, you look up at Yoongi. “What?”
“I already called her.”
A frown settles on your face. “What did you say?”
Yoongi has always been aware of your wish to keep everything hidden from your grandma, so he hesitates now, knowing this would be your response when he told you he called her. “Everything, but Y/N, she needed to know.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make.”
“I know,” Yoongi sighs. “Sorry.”
For a moment, it goes quiet and you lower your phone to the covers. Yoongi is right, she did need to know about this, and it’s not like she’s a stranger to this kind of stuff. Besides, what happened wasn’t related to any of the stuff you’ve been doing for Yoongi, which is what you always wanted to keep from her, and what’s happening now does seem to involve you, and therefore her.
“Sorry,” you say. “You’re right, I just didn’t…” you sigh, trailing off as you think about how worried she must be. Your grandma is a strong woman and you’re everything to her, just as she has been yours.
“I know,” Yoongi says, understanding what you mean without you saying it; he knows your grandma well enough too.
“What did she say?”
“First, she just wanted to know if you were safe,” Yoongi answers. “After that, she didn’t say much except that she’ll come as soon as she can.”
You nod. Knowing she’s coming brings a smile to your face, you’ve missed her a lot. Before you can respond, your stomach growls again.
“Come on,” Yoongi says smiling, getting up and pushing the covers back, “let’s get you some food.”
“You still remember it?” Yoongi asks, a tone of surprise in his voice.
Taking another step, you shrug. “I wasn’t that little when I was last here, I must’ve been, what, eleven? Twelve?”
“Hm, Yoongi hums. “Still impressive.” He keeps a hand hovering around you should you need him, but you’re doing just fine, walking slowly down the hall you recognise as being the third floor.
The Park Estate isn’t much different from what you remember. The estate sprawled across acres, is a masterfully designed blend of elegance and practicality. The entrance opens to a grand foyer, splitting into two distinct wings. The East Wing houses the biggest office which used to belong to Jihoon, and now you assume it would be Jimin’s. It’s flanked by a suite of offices, all of which are bathed in polished woods and leather tones, belonging to his closest men. The West Wing, larger and more personal, feels more like a home. It rises three floors (taking the space above the East Wing) to accommodate the family’s quarter’s on the top most floor, a lounge and other rooms on the second, and downstairs is a dining room, a sleek kitchen caters to formal gatherings and another lounge.
Yoongi points out his room as you pass it, as well as naming some of the other guys whose names you try to pay attention to as you ignore the mild pain that spreads through your leg.
As you approach the stairwell, you notice another dimly lit corridor leading off the main hallway. You can’t see anything down the corridor as you pass, only a wall with light coming from the left and you assume it continues on.
“Jimin’s room is down there,” he says, answering your unspoken question.
“Ah,” you nod, carrying on. It makes sense for his room to be separate from the rest.
The second floor has a few extra guest bedrooms which are rarely used, and a private lounge which is different to what you remember, with a huge balcony that overlooks the gardens and the furniture has changed from mostly dark colours to a much warmer colour palette.
Downstairs, the split between the East Wing, and the West Wing is much more noticeable. The entrance to the West Wing from the grand foyer is always guarded and behind is a much more private hallway with more guards at the end for extra security, and the only way to go upstairs is from the two staircases within the West Wing. The staircase you’re approaching now takes you downstairs where the kitchen is.
As you approach the stairwell, you freeze, your eyes landing on a painting hung up on the wall at the far end of the hall. Yoongi says your name as you begin to walk towards it, but you don’t respond as an old memory suddenly returns to your mind, from the night your father was murdered.
“Lightning… is it a storm?” you asked, standing next to your dad in front of the easel.
“Yes,” he said, ruffling your hair with his elbow as his hands were smudged with paint.
“What does it mean?”
“Sometimes it can mean power,” he answered, turning back to the canvas in front of him. “But sometimes it can also mean punishment.”
You looked up, frowning.
He smiled. “Sometimes, too much power isn’t a good thing. If you’re not a good person, then it can be dangerous.”
“Oh…” You looked back at the canvas, admiring the deep shades of blue and black and grey he’d used to paint the night sky. In the centre, a spear of light struck the violent waves of the sea below. “Who is it for?” you asked.
Your dad’s smile disappeared as he looked back at the canvas. “An old friend.”
The painting is just as vivid as you remember, and seeing it now brings tears to your eyes as you feel a bout of nostalgia.
“My dad painted this,” you say quietly as Yoongi joins you in front of the huge canvas.
He doesn’t say anything, but instead looks up at the painting, admiring it in its entirety as though he’s never seen it before. “It’s beautiful.”
Nodding, you blink a few times to get rid of the stinging sensation in your eyes.. You realise now that Park Jihoon was the old friend your dad mentioned; realising he called him an ‘old friend’, you know your father must’ve known in those months leading up to his death that he couldn’t trust Han-jae and Jihoon.
Just then, Yoongi’s phone vibrates in his pocket. Reading a text, he quickly excuses himself. “Come down if you can, or I’ll ask someone to come up,” he calls out as he’s already walking off towards the stairwell.
“Okay,” you answer absentmindedly, still looking at the painting.
It’s not often you allow yourself to dwell on the past, but it’s also not often that you find yourself face to face with things that remind you so much of the past. There’s a reason your grandma decided to leave Seoul all those years ago and it’s a decision you agreed with. Even when you moved back to Seoul, you knew you couldn’t return to your old home, not when all you had there was fond memories of a life that was so unfamiliar to you now. But now, standing in front of your father’s own hand painted work, a flood of memories return and you find it harder to fight the lump that settles stubbornly in your throat.
You don’t realise you’re standing there for long until you hear someone approaching behind you. Turning around, you recognise the man approaching you as one of the ones who were with Jimin that night at your home. He smiles as he comes to a stop beside you.
“Admiring the art?” he asks.
“Mhm,” you hum, still watching his face – you didn’t realise then but now you see just how handsome he is, you feel like you can’t stop staring.
He chuckles, glancing at the painting. “You know I was talking about the painting, not me?”
Shaking out of your daze, you smile. “Yes, sorry. I just recognised you from the other night.”
“Ah, yeah, sorry we had to meet in such a way,” he nods, still smiling. “I’m Seokjin, but call me Jin.” He extends his hand which you shake.
“Y/N, and it’s okay, not your fault.”
“How’s the wrist?” he asks, pointing to your wrist.
“Oh, it’s okay,” you answer, lifting your arm for him to see. You can still move your fingers fine, just the occasional stretch or twist of your wrist hurts.
“Good. And the leg?”
“It’s mostly fine,” you nod.
He smiles again. “That’s good. Your wrist will heal fast, the leg might take a few weeks but it’s looking good so far. I didn’t expect you to be up so soon though,” he adds, raising a brow as though impressed.
You shrug.
“I take it this isn’t your first time getting hurt like this?” Seokjin says casually.
“What makes you think that?”
“You didn’t flinch that night, when we all aimed our guns at you. And the way you handled your own gun…” he shakes his head, smiling. “It definitely wasn’t your first time, and no normal person would point their gun at a mafioso at that.”
Chuckling, you turn back towards the painting again. “I guess I like getting shot at.”
“Just like everyone else here,” he laughs. “Well, you must be hungry, Yoongi asked me to walk down with you.”
“Sure,” you nod, turning away from the painting. You can return to it later. “So what about you?” you ask Seokjin as you approach the stairwell.
He watches carefully as you descend the first few steps. “What about me?”
“This definitely isn’t your first time stitching someone up,” you remark.
“Ah,” he nods. “Definitely not.”
You have to pause, reaching out for the banister to continue on. “So you’re a doctor?”
He snorts, stepping along beside you. “No, but I should be. I’ve done this kind of stuff enough times.”
Smiling, you know his statement is true enough. Injuries like yours must be a regular occurrence in the Park household. Stepping onto the landing, you take a breather and sit on the bottom step for a moment before you continue on. At the same time, you hear hurried footsteps running towards you and Seokjin.
“Jin hyung!” A bubbly voice sounds from down the corridor. You look towards the source and see two men who you recognise from that night – the man bun guy and the slender brown haired one behind him. They can’t see you sitting on the bottom step but as they get closer, Jin nods in your direction, turning their attention to you.
They both smile warmly when they see you, bowing their heads.
“Oh, miss L/N,” the first one comes forward, extending a hand. “I’m Jungkook, nice to meet you.” He has an adorable bunny smile and you can’t help but return it with one of your own.
“Nice to meet you Jungkook,” you reply, shaking his hand. “And you can call me Y/N.”
“Y/N, got it,” he nods, taking a step back so his other friend can greet you properly.
“Hi, Y/N, I’m Hoseok, Hobi for short,” he grins, shaking your hand.
“Hey.” You return his handshake, feeling slightly taken aback by how relaxed these guys are compared to their stoic looks from when you first saw them. Jungkook looks like a bunny rabbit in human form, and Hoseok beams like a ray of sunshine.
“How are you feeling?” Hoseok asks, motioning towards your leg.
“Um, it’s okay,” you smile. “I can still walk at least.”
He smiles with you, helping you as you start to get up. “Will you be joining us for dinner?”
You hum in response, allowing Seokjin to continue walking beside you as Jungkook walks ahead, leading you to the extensive lounge.
Distractedly, you look around the familiar room. The coffee table you’re sitting at is still the same as it was when you used to have extra helpings of dessert with Jimin, secretly given to you by the housemaid who had a soft spot for Jimin. Being here reminds you so much of your father too, and knowing how much of a huge part of his life this family was makes you miss him dearly.
Before any of the guys notice you’re not tuned into the conversation, you return your attention to what they’re saying. It hasn’t escaped you that none of them have said anything about your identity, and you reckon it must be because Jimin hasn’t recognised you – if he did, surely he would’ve told these guys since they were there too. You’re not sure if they know anything at all about you – perhaps you should’ve asked Yoongi about that before you came down.
Whether they know anything or not though, they keep the conversation away from anything that would involve you from sharing too much, and you realise now, how their warm smiles and easy conversation is a stark contrast to the tense memory you have of first meeting them the other day. However, there’s some missing.
“Are there more of you?”
Jin, in the middle of swallowing a big sip of water, nods and hums.
Hoseok answers for him. “There’s Yoongi, who you saw already, and Taehyung, Namjoon and Jimin.”
“They were there the other day,” Jungkook says, his tone dimming slightly.
“Namjoon and Taehyung will be joining us,” Jin adds, ignoring the last comment and keeping up his chipper attitude. “We always eat together whenever we can and they’re about somewhere.”
It doesn’t escape you that he didn’t mention Jimin’s name though.
“Taehyung is probably in the wine cellar,” Hoseok says.
“Ah, yes, Taehyung loves to pick out the wine for dinner.”
Jungkook snorts. “He thinks he’s a sommelier.”
You smile. “Well, does he make a good choice?”
“I can never tell,” Jungkook shrugs.
Hoseok jerks a thumb in his direction. “He’s not matured enough.”
“Hey!” Jungkook starts, but is interrupted by Jin, glancing toward the doorway.
“Ah, speak of the devil!”
You look up and see two more men entering. One has dark curls and sharp features, his posture relaxed but his gaze calculating as it sweeps over the room. The other one has dark grey hair and broad shoulders, wearing glasses that give him a sophisticated air. You recognise both of them from the other day.
“Yoongi said you’d come down,” the man with dark curls remarks as he approaches. His tone is calm, and a slight smile plays on his lips. “I’m Taehyung. Nice to meet you, Y/N.”
“Hi, Taehyung,” you reply, shaking his hand. His grip is firm but not overbearing. He’s undeniably striking, and there’s something about his presence that feels both inviting and enigmatic.
The broad man steps closer, adjusting his glasses as he nods at you. “I’m Namjoon. I handle most of the boring work around here.” His smile is disarming, and his voice carries a hint of dry humour. “Finances, logistics, making sure this place doesn’t fall apart.”
“Nice to meet you, Namjoon,” you say, shaking his hand. His words make you curious about just how much he handles behind the scenes.
Namjoon takes a seat in the armchair across from you and sinks into it comfortably. “How are you? I imagine this isn’t how you thought your day would go.”
You smile wryly, keeping your responses guarded. “Not exactly, no.”
Taehyung sits down next to Jungkook and returns his attention to you immediately. “Yeah, you put up quite the fight. Most people would’ve frozen in your position.”
“Not the first time I’ve had to defend myself,” you reply simply, not offering much else.
There’s a beat of silence as they all exchange glances, clearly intrigued but not pressing further. You appreciate the lack of prying.
“So,” Hoseok pipes up with an ever-cheerful tone. “Yoongi mentioned you might like spicy food. We had the chef prepare something special just in case.”
“Spicy works for me,” you say, grateful for the change in subject.
Jungkook claps his hands together. “Great! That makes two of us. The food here is amazing – you’ll love it.”
As the conversation shifts to lighter topics, you glance around the room again. The faces around the table are new, but the setting is steeped in nostalgia. Flashes of your childhood in this house flit through your mind – running down these halls, playing games late into the night, and the quiet presence of your father when he was here.
You force yourself to focus, tuning back into the conversation just as Seokjin asks, “So, Y/N, what’s your impression of the estate so far?”
“It’s... different,” you reply honestly, but keep your tone light. “Bigger than I remember.”
Seokjin tilts his head. “You’ve been here before?”
You curse yourself for slipping up but recover quickly. “Not this one exactly. Just a similar setup.”
Namjoon raises a brow but doesn’t say anything else, and you’re thankful for the reprieve.
The door from the far end of the room opens, and an older woman with an apron tied around her waist steps in, carrying a pitcher of water. Her hair is neatly pinned back, and her face is composed but kind. You immediately recognize her – Ara, one of the housemaids from your childhood.
Your eyes meet for a brief moment, and something flickers in her expression. She knows who you are. You’re certain of it. But to your surprise, she doesn’t say a word. Instead, she places the pitcher on the coffee table and begins pouring water into the glasses.
“Thanks, Ara,” Jungkook says warmly, and she nods with a small smile.
When she reaches you, she hesitates ever so slightly before pouring the water, her gaze lingering on you. You hold her gaze for a beat, searching her face for any sign that she might say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she finishes and steps back, her expression carefully neutral.
“If you need anything, let me know,” Ara says softly, glancing at the rest of the table before leaving the room.
Namjoon watches her leave, then turns back to you with a faint smile. “She’s been here for a long time. Reliable, like everyone else here.”
You nod, trying to mask the unease and nostalgia that her presence has stirred up.
On the opposite side of the room, Yoongi comes in from the corridor you came through. With a smile at you, he then nods at everyone. “Dinner’s ready. Let’s eat before Jungkook inhales the entire table.”
Jungkook laughs, not bothering to deny the accusation. Everyone rises from their seats, and Yoongi gestures for you to follow them to the adjoining dining room.
"Taeheyung, did you choose a bottle for dinner then?" Hoseok asks.
"Of course. It’s spicy food so I brought up a Riesling."
"Nice one," Yoongi murmurs in approval.
"I want a beer," Jungkook says, with no regards to Taehyung's expression.
"More for us then."
As you walk, Namjoon falls into step beside you. “You’ll find this place can be both a refuge and a maze,” he says softly. “It’s easy to get lost, but it has its charms.”
You glance at him, wondering if there’s a deeper meaning to his words. “I’ll try not to get lost, then.”
He smiles faintly. “If you do, just call out. Someone will find you.”
Returning the smile, you find that any uneasiness you'd been feeling, begins to dissipate. It’s clear these men, while different in personality, share a bond that goes beyond mere loyalty to Jimin. You can see why they’ve been by his side for so long – they feel like a family in their own right.
Once everyone is seated at the table, conversation flows more freely and the atmosphere is surprisingly warm. Jin sits at one end of the table, serving himself a generous helping of the roasted chicken and rice dish.
“Jin-hyung, don’t hog all the drumsticks,” Jungkook whines as he watches Jin’s plate pile up.
“Then grab faster,” Jin quips with a smirk, not slowing his pace.
Taehyung leans back with an amused grin, observing the chaos. “I’m telling you, Jungkook, he does this every time. You should know better by now.”
“Should I?” Jungkook huffs dramatically. “Maybe next time I’ll just take the whole plate first.”
“Do it, and I’ll poison your portion,” Jin deadpans, but with a twinkle in his eye.
Hoseok chuckles as he passes you the salad bowl. “Don’t worry, Y/N. They act like this every meal. You get used to it.”
You smile faintly, watching them banter. It’s strange to see these men, who just days ago were all sharp glares and deadly precision, behaving like siblings teasing each other.
“Y/N,” Taehyung’s deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “Do you always eat so quietly? Or are you just plotting something?”
You blink at him, caught off guard. His face is serious, but his lips twitch with suppressed amusement.
“Maybe I’m just afraid to get between Jin and his drumsticks,” you reply lightly.
Laughter ripples around the table, and Taehyung raises his glass in salute. “Smart answer.”
Jungkook grins at you between bites of food. “Yeah, but next time, you should at least try to grab a piece before Jin wipes out the whole plate.”
“I heard that,” Jin retorts, mock-offended. “I’m ensuring quality control.”
“You’re ensuring there’s nothing left for the rest of us,” Hoseok counters, sipping his water.
As the banter continues, you allow yourself to relax a little. It’s a stark contrast to what you expected when you first woke up in the Park estate.
“By the way, hyung,” Namjoon says, turning to Jin. “Have you checked the medical inventory reports? They were due yesterday.”
“Oh, are we doing shop talk at the table now?” Jin sighs dramatically. “Can’t a guy just eat in peace?”
“It’s your own fault for procrastinating,” Namjoon replies smoothly, adjusting his glasses.
“Don’t drag me into your world of schedules,” Jin retorts. “I’m a free spirit.”
“You’re just lazy,” Jungkook interjects, earning a flick of a bread roll from Jin.
“Enough guys,” Hoseok says, raising his hands in mock exasperation.
Namjoon’s phone buzzes on the table, followed immediately by Hoseok’s. They both glance at their screens, and their smiles fade slightly. Exchanging a look, they nod in unison before standing up.
“Sorry, something’s come up,” Namjoon says, sliding his phone into his pocket. “We’ll catch up later.”
“Don’t eat all the dessert without us,” Hoseok adds with a wink as they head out.
“Like we’d wait for you,” Jin calls after them before turning his attention back to the table.
“Do they always leave like that?” you ask, genuinely curious.
“Pretty much,” Taehyung replies, leaning back in his chair. “They’ve got the busiest jobs out of all of us. It’s a miracle they even sit down for meals sometimes.”
“Or they just like to be mysterious,” Jin adds, rolling his eyes. “Half the time, it’s probably nothing.”
You smile, but you feel the weight behind it all. These men might act carefree, but there’s no denying the underlying layers to their lives.
After a while, another two housemaids quietly enter to clear some of the empty dishes.
“You okay?” Taehyung asks, drawing your attention back to the table. “You’ve been pretty quiet.”
You nod, brushing it off. “Just tired, I guess.”
“Understandable,” Jin says, rising from his seat. “You should rest. Recovering from an injury takes time.”
The others murmur in agreement as they begin to disperse, leaving you with a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. The warmth of their camaraderie is undeniable, but beneath it all, you can’t shake the feeling of what’s happened, and what is undoubtedly yet to come.
Only Yoongi remains at the table. He sits across from you and smiles. “It’s bringing back memories, huh?” He asks, seeing right through you.
“Yep.” You look around. “Loads. I don’t know how this might sound, but it feels like I missed it.” You look across at Yoongi, expecting to see a puzzled expression but he just smiles.
“I think it’s normal. You were young when you came here and I don’t think you have many bad memories associated with the place. Only good ones, right?”
He’s right. Back then, coming here usually meant evenings filled with laughter, hiding in closets with Jimin, and Jiyoung’s occasional teasing if she was here. Your dad was still alive, and this house, in a strange way, felt like an extension of home. Now, it’s like walking through a memory you can’t decide if you’re grateful for or aching to forget.
You smile softly at Yoongi and nod, letting the silence stretch as you stand. He doesn’t press you further, only watching as you cross the room to the wide, cushioned window seat at the far end. The large pane of glass offered a view of the front of the house. Settling into the seat, you lean against the frame, your gaze drifting outward.
Outside, the estate is alive with movement. Men are stationed around the house, their presence a constant reminder of the life you’re now steeped in. From the East Wing, you spot four men climbing into a sleek black Escalade. Then your attention shifts to the house’s front steps, where Namjoon and Hoseok emerge, walking with purpose.
Behind them, another figure appears and you recognise him instantly.
Jimin, dressed sharply from head to toe, walks across the front drive. He pauses briefly in front of his Porsche, glancing back toward Hoseok, who says something you couldn’t hear. A moment later, Hoseok and Jin climb into the car, and Jimin gets into the driver’s seat. The engine roars softly to life, and within moments, his Porsche is gliding down the private lane, the Escalade following closely behind.
Your gaze lingers on the lane until the cars disappear into the distance. Though you can’t see the estate’s gate from here, you can picture it clearly in your mind – a familiar marker from years ago.
“Where are they going?” you ask without turning, your voice quiet but curious.
“Something’s wrong with one of the shipments we received from the Takahashis. They’ve been a bit of a pain these past few months. Jimin reckons they’re now involved with the Lees and are trying to keep us distracted.”
You hum in response, saying nothing more, but your eyes stay fixed on the far-off trees that bordered the estate. Centred in front of the west wing, a fountain catches your attention, its centrepiece intricate and elegant. It reminds you of the one in Jimin’s mother’s garden and absently, you wonder if that fountain was still there.
As you shift, a sharp pang shoots through your leg, where the knife wound throbs dully. Your wrist isn’t much better, but the pain in your leg is what makes you wince audibly.
Yoongi notices immediately, his gaze darting toward you. “I think you’re due for your meds again.”
You exhale softly, nodding. “Yeah, I think so.”
“You wanna stay here or go back up?”
You push yourself to stand, biting back a groan as the strain makes your voice tight. “Mm, I know I slept for days, but I’m actually still exhausted.”
Yoongi chuckles, rising to help steady you. “That’s to be expected. Don’t worry.” He gestures toward the far end of the room. “We’ll go up, but this time we’re taking the lift.”
You can’t help but smile faintly at his consideration. “Appreciate that,” you murmur as he slides a steadying arm under yours.
The dim light of the ensuite glows behind you as you step into the bedroom, a towel draped over your head. You had just woken up after another long nap, your internal clock utterly thrown off by the days of rest. It's late now, just past midnight and the night is quiet, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric and the soft padding of your feet on the carpet.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, you absentmindedly rub the towel through your damp hair.
Your gaze drifts to the shelves by the dresser table, now stocked with an array of skin and hair care products. A small smile tugs at your lips as you stand to examine them, fingers lightly trailing over the meticulously arranged items. Appreciatively, you sit and carry out a full skin and hair care routine – after three days without it, you definitely need it. You wonder if it was Ara who must have put them here. You're certain she recognised you at dinner and when you think about it now, you think it would be nice to speak with someone familiar.
Your thoughts are interrupted by the buzz of your phone on the bed. Turning, you see the screen light up with an incoming FaceTime call. The name on the screen sends a swell of emotion through you.
“Moni?” you answer, settling back on the bed as your grandmother’s face appeared.
The sight of her brings a pang of guilt and relief all at once. Her tired eyes search your face and you can tell she must have been worrying nonstop. “Y/N,” she says softly, her voice warm. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” you reassure her quickly, though your heart aches knowing she must have been so anxious. “Really.”
She gives you a sharp look, the kind only she can manage, and her tone turns brisk. “Good. Stay safe there, you hear me? We're figuring out what's going on and Yoongi will tell you more when he can."
You nod, knowing better than to argue. Her expression softened just a little as she continued. “Tell me about Jimin.”
“He hasn’t said anything.”
“About recognizing you?” she asks, her brow lifting slightly.
You nod. “Nothing.”
She sighs, a mixture of fondness and exasperation crossing her features. “I don’t imagine he would. But I have no doubt he does. You haven’t changed much. He, however... he’s different.”
Her words hang in the air, and you find yourself looking up, your thoughts turning to Jimin.
“Life hasn’t been kind to him,” she continues, her voice tinged with melancholy. “When I last saw him, I didn’t see the same little boy I knew.”
A bittersweet smile crosses your lips. “Life hasn’t been kind to any of us.”
Your grandmother purses her lips, acknowledging the truth of your words. “Do you remember his father?”
“Of course I do,” you say without hesitation. “It’s hard to forget a man as cold as him.”
“And Mr. Lee?” she asks, her tone cautious.
You nod, already anticipating where this was headed. “I know, Moni,” you say quietly, cutting her off.
She looks up at you, her expression briefly surprised, but it fades just as quickly. "Of course, I should have expected you would piece it together."
“I know it was them,” you say, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “They did it. They killed Dad.”
She lets out a slow breath, her gaze steady on yours. “They were his best friends,” she says softly. “And then, all of a sudden…” She trails off.
You nod. You can only imagine that the sting of betrayal is still fresh even after all these years. Your grandmother's gaze remains on you, sharp and searching. “You’re there now, though… so, do you trust Jimin?”
You pause, memories of the night at your house flashing through your mind -- seeing Jimin in your kitchen with your gun aimed at him and he didn't retaliate in the slightest.
“I didn’t, at first,” you admit. “But I think I do. Besides, I trust Yoongi, and Yoongi trusts him."
She exhales slowly, relief evident on her face and a small smilw touches her lips. “You’re safe there, Y/N.”
You tilt your head slightly, meeting her gaze. “You trust Jimin?”
“I do,” she says without hesitation. “I trust him with you, and you’re my everything.”
The words wrap around your heart, and you wish you could reach through the screen to hug her. Instead, you nod and smile.
“You need to rest,” she instructs, her tone turning firm again. “I’ll call you later. Baek-hyun and I might come to see you. I think he wanted to see Yoongi too.”
Your lips quirk up at the thought. “That would be nice.”
"Good," she nods, and you eventually exchange goodbyes.
As the screen goes dark, you set the phone down, feeling a renewed sense of comfort. The thought of her visiting makes you smile softly as you sit in the quiet of the room.
Still restless though, you wander to the window, gazing out at the sprawling grounds bathed in the moonlight. You spot three men stationed at the back of the house, conversing together as they keep watch. The gardens stretch endlessly, just as you remembered. You can’t see the part of the grounds where Jimin’s mother’s garden would have been as it's hidden beyond the trees, but it would be nice to visit it tomorrow when the light returned.
As you shift, you feel your leg still aches, but it's different this time, more like the dull stiffness of inactivity than pain. Restless energy courses through you, and you decide a walk would do you good. The house is big enough and you need to keep your legs moving.
Stepping out of your room, you close the door quietly behind yourself and hear the faint hum of distant voices and sounds that tells you that not everyone is asleep yet.
As you move through the corridors, memories of Jimin filtered into your mind -- moments you hadn’t thought of in years now rising to the surface with startling clarity and they give you a strange sense of familiarity.
Eventually, your wandering brings you to your dad's painting again. You stop in front of it, the vivid strokes of lightning and sea send a wave of nostalgia over you, gratitude mingling with sadness. You remember you have a few of your father's paintings hanging up at home too and you make a mental note to ensure they're safely retrieved.
“Can’t you sleep, little bear?”
The voice, familiar and gentle, pulls you from your reverie. You turn to see Jimin standing a few feet away.
Dressed casually now, his white shirt unbuttoned at the top and his sleeves rolled up, he looks markedly different from the composed figure you saw earlier. There’s a softness to him now, something that reminds you of the boy you once knew. His smile, small and tentative, feels as though it might disappear if the silence breaks too loudly.
You smile back, and the corners of his lips lift a little more.
Realising what he just said, his words stop you short – it’s the name of the book you gave to him the first time you met him, so many years ago.
Jimin steps closer, the lamp’s dim light casting soft shadows on his features. As he nears, the subtle scent of his cologne reaches you – a delicate blend of cedarwood and something faintly sweet, familiar yet grounding. It lingers in the air between you, quietly drawing your attention to his presence. Despite the weariness evident in his eyes, there’s a steadiness about him, a calmness that feels both reassuring and disarming.
“Y/N,” he says, your name leaving his lips quietly, as though testing how it feels after all these years. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognise you?”
“I wasn’t counting on it,” you admit, your voice soft. “I’m surprised you remember the book.”
Jimin’s smile grows, faint but genuine. “How could I not? I never got to thank you for it properly.”
“Thank me?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.
He nods, shifting as if the memory is a tender one. “It was a comfort to me for a long time. I wasn’t allowed picture books of my own, so… thank you.”
You remember then how he once told you about his father’s strict rules. A cold man, his father likely saw no value in picture books – if they didn’t teach something useful, they weren’t worth having.
“You’re welcome,” you say softly.
Jimin’s gaze lingers on your face, and you feel a warmth creeping into your cheeks. Turning back to the painting, you focus on the familiar strokes of your father’s work.
“He was talented,” Jimin says quietly, standing beside you.
You smile faintly. “He was.”
After a moment, he adds, “I can have it moved to your room, if you like.”
You shake your head. “No, no. It’s okay. This is where it belongs.”
Jimin laughs softly, the sound low and soothing. “It’s actually covering up a stain we couldn’t remove. You might remember it since it was you who put it there.”
“Me?” you ask, eyebrows rising in surprise as you look at him.
He nods, a playful glint in his eyes. “Yep. One of the nights our fathers were away, and you had to stay over. Jiyoung was babysitting us, and we were painting. When it was time for bed, you didn’t want to sleep, so you ran away from her – with all the paints.”
As he speaks, the memory surfaces, vivid and sheepishly embarrassing. “Oh gosh, I remember. I tripped, and the paint went everywhere.”
Jimin smiles wider now, clearly suppressing a laugh. “We tried to paint over it a few times, but the colours were too bright. Eventually, my dad decided to put this up.”
You shake your head, laughing softly, though you still feel a twinge of embarrassment. “I can’t believe that’s still here.”
Jimin’s smile lingers, and the space between you feels quieter, weighted by an unspoken familiarity. His eyes flicker back to the painting, then to you. “It’s been a long time since then,” he says, his voice gentle, almost reflective.
You glance at him, catching the subtle shift in his tone, something deeper beneath the surface. “Yes,” you reply, turning your gaze back to the painting. “Though being here again… it almost feels like no time at all.”
Jimin studies you for a moment, his expression softening. “I imagine it feels different,” he says, “without your father?”
“Exactly,” you answer, the memory stirring a pang of longing. “It felt safe wherever he was.”
“And now?” His question is soft, careful, as though he’s weighing each word before speaking.
You hesitate before answering, meeting his gaze. “I want to say yes,” you admit honestly, “but experience tells me not to feel safe anywhere.”
Jimin nods, his expression contemplative, and something about his calm presence makes your honesty feel less vulnerable. “You’ve learned not to trust anyone,” he say, his voice carrying a quiet understanding.
You look at him, searching his face, but his steady gaze gives nothing away except an openness that feels disarming. “You’re right to think that,” he continues, his tone neither judgmental nor apologetic, as if he understands the walls you’ve built all too well.
The words sit between you for a moment before you ask, carefully, “Can I trust you?”
His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, silence fills the space between you.
“Yes,” he says, his voice quiet but certain. “But you’ll make that decision on your own.”
You nod slowly, his answer settling something inside you. There’s no urgency in his response, just a quiet assurance that feels like a small but solid anchor. It’s not a promise – it’s an invitation.
“Until then,” he continues, his voice softening, “please, make yourself at home. You’re safe here.”
The sincerity in his words lingers, and while they aren’t a guarantee, they feel real.
Jimin doesn’t say anything else, but you catch the way he watches you, something unspoken but soft in his expression. You feel it yourself too – after so many years there is so much to say, to ask, but for now you take the peaceful quiet for what it is.
His presence feels closer now and you let out a faint smile, glancing back at the painting.
It occurs to you now, how strange it is, that this time, there is something familiar that Jimin’s presence stirs in you – a reminder of what it feels like to trust, even if only a little.
note. thank you all so much for reading! please share your thoughts w me -- i really wanna know what you guys think! and rb toooo <3333
I love how Jimin hasn't let himself become like his father despite everything he endured because of him. It's amazing to see how he's making up for everything he couldn't have as a child. Like, he has found a new family—fellow, loyal men who, though not related by blood, have sticked by him.
And that very first exchange between Y/n and Jimin was *chef's kiss*! I mean, finally!!!! I can only imagine how guilty Jimin must feel about what happened to her family. Thankfully, she seems calm and rational, not holding a grudge against him for his father’s actions. It's as if everything remains the same between them, despite how much has changed. I loved it a lot!!!
genre ↠ mafia AU — romance/action (angst, fluff, smut)
summary ↠ Blood, business and betrayal is all that Park Jimin has ever known, but when you cross paths again, the stakes are raised even higher and he finds himself battling his conscience, and his heart.
word count ↠ 13.3k
18+ | warnings ↠ drinking, explicit sexual content, violence, all sorts of crime (please see the series masterlist for a complete list of warnings).
taglist is open – dm/comment/send an ask to be added <3
notes ↠ please enjoy and shareeeee xxoxoxox and pls share your thoughts w me as we get into it ;)
also in case its not clear, jimin's birth year in the fic is 1995, same as real life, and Y/N is 2 years younger than him. I always put the year for any flashbacks so you can work out how old they are :) any confusion, please let me know (i might make a mistake!) thanks angels! <3
17th July 2009
The heavy scent of cigar smoke lingered in the room, curling around the dark oak furniture. Jimin sat quietly beside his father, his small legs barely brushing the floor. Across from them, Lee Han-Jae exhaled a long puff of his cigar, looking tired.
“They confirmed the crash?” Jihoon asked, his tone devoid of warmth.
Jimin did not know what accident his uncle and father had planned but he knew that his father had been on edge all day because of it.
Han-Jae nodded. “Mostly. But he's gone.” He downed what was left of his drink. “Did we take care of the family?”
Jihoon swirls his glass. “We’ll let them go, they have no one.”
“Except Kija and Min-Baek-hyun,” Han-jae counters.
“They mean nothing to us.”
“But they were loyal to Sehun.”
Upon hearing this, Jimin goes still, realising what’s happened.
“Their loyalty was not just to Sehun but the entire Han family. They will protect them at all costs and they’ve been in this long enough to know not to retaliate if they want to keep themselves safe.”
Han-Jae says nothing else of the matter but his face does little to mask his disapproval. He took another puff of his cigar before he spoke again. “The other two men survived. Escaped before the flames could finish the job. They’re digging through the wreckage, but the police are sniffing around."It seems dental records are proving... inconvenient.”
Jihoon’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. “Inconvenient?” he echoed. “The detectives are a problem?”
Han-Jae waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing we can’t handle.”
“Funny,” Jihoon said, leaning forward slightly. “You said the same thing about the last case they opened. And now I hear whispers about them building something bigger — trafficking charges. Another detective’s on the case, isn’t he?” His tone sharpened. “You’ve been careless, Han-Jae.”
The room tensed, the air thick with unsaid threats. Han-Jae stiffened, his smirk faltering for the briefest moment. “Watch your tongue, Jihoon.”
Jihoon’s lip curled. “You’ve been playing dirty, using our resources to fund your side business."
Han-Jae remained indifferent. "You'll be asking for a share soon. All the pieces are almost complete and this detective is nothing more than a bump in the road. I'll deal with it."
"That's besides the point. I trusted you and you're acting foolishly."
"Foolishly?"
"Is it not?" Jihoon asked, patronising.
Jimin watched as Han-Jae got up wordlessly and walked over to his cabinet. He picked up the decanter and generously poured himself some whiskey.
“I’ve given you more than enough leash,” Jihoon continued, his voice rising. “But if you think I’ll let you drag my name down with yours, think again.”
Han-Jae emptied his glass before he turned, his face a mask of fury. “We’ll talk about this later,” he spat. “We have somewhere to be.”
Jihoon didn’t bother responding. Instead, he turned his attention to Jimin, his gaze cold and commanding. “Get a gun.”
Jimin froze, his blood turning to ice. His lips parted, but no sound came out.
“Now,” Jihoon snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut. "Then meet me by the car."
Jihoon left the room and Jimin followed, his legs moving before his mind could catch up. He went towards the basement, down the stairs and past the training floor, all the way to the locked room at the back. Some of his father's men watched as he walked, but none said a word. Hands trembling, he pressed his thumb to the scanner and waited for the door to unlock, revealing an entire array of weapons lining the walls.
Jimin didn't think. He picked up the first handgun he saw, checked it was loaded and then walked out with the cold metal feeling alien in his grasp, the weight far heavier than he anticipated.
Without realising it, his feet carried him to the kitchen, where his mother stood slicing vegetables. She turned at the sound of his shaky breathing, her eyes immediately softening when she saw the gun in his hands.
“Jimin,” she whispered, crossing the room in an instant. She crouched down in front of him, pulling him into a gentle hug. The faint scent of lavender filled his nose, momentarily drowning out the suffocating reality around him.
“I can’t,” he mumbled against her shoulder. “I can’t do it.”
His mother’s embrace tightened. “I never wanted this for you, Jimin,” she murmured, her voice thick with regret. “I’m so sorry.” She pulled back, brushing his hair from his face with trembling fingers. “But this is your life now. Your father won’t wait. If you don’t go back, he’ll only get angrier.”
Jimin shook his head. “Why do you let him—” His voice broke off and a single tear rolled down his cheek.
"I'm so sorry." Her face crumpled, but she quickly composed herself and closed his fingers around the gun. “You have to go now, before he comes looking for you.”
Reluctantly, he nodded, his small frame trembling as she kissed his forehead and guided him toward the door.
The container yard smelled of damp concrete and iron, the air thick and stifling. As Jimin stepped out of the car, he immediately spotted Kwan and Duri ahead of them.
Jihoon and Han-Jae walked ahead while Taemin and Jimin followed behind. As they went further into the yard, around a dark corner, Jimin glanced at Taemin, hoping for some kind of answer. Taemin, barely older than Jimin, gave a reassuring smile of sorts when Jimin glanced his way, but it did little to make him feel better. Jimin figured he knew where they were going since he and his dad spoke often.
Duri pulled the heavy door of one of the containers open as they approached and both fathers stopped short outside of the container. Han-Jae laughed mirthlessly and they both stepped aside for Jimin and Taemin to see.
Two detectives knelt on the floor, their faces bloodied and swollen, their hands tied tightly behind their backs.
Suddenly, the dead weight of the gun in his hand felt heavy again.
Jihoon glanced over his shoulder. “Stay here,” he ordered both boys.
Taemin, barely older than Jimin, gave a solemn nod but said nothing.
Jihoon stepped into the container, and crouched in front of one of the detectives, his voice low but menacing. “I warned you to stay out of my business. But now, you’re here. What do you have to say for yourself?”
The detective spat at Jihoon’s feet, earning himself a sharp backhand. Jihoon stood, motioning to Jimin. “Come here.”
Jimin hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest.
“Now, Jimin."
Taemin looked between them and gently nudged Jimin forward. "Go on," he whispered.
Reluctantly, Jimin got closer, his eyes glued to the ground.
"This man is a threat to us,” Jihoon said, calmly. “End him.”
Jimin’s breath hitched. “I-I can’t—”
Jihoon’s hand lashed out, striking him hard enough to send him stumbling. “You’re weak,” he snarled, stepping close to Jimin and speaking low in his ear. “Your mother’s made you soft.”
Jimin’s head snapped up and he ignored the harsh stinging sensation on his cheek. “Is that why you always send her away?” he asked, teeth gritted. “To keep her away from me?”
Jihoon froze, his face darkening. For a moment, Jimin thought he might strike him again. But instead, Jihoon looked right at Jimin and spoke, his voice icy. “She chooses to leave. Every time she walks out that door, it’s her choice. And it’s time you grew up and realised that.”
Jimin’s grip on the gun tightened, his knuckles white. He didn't look at the man before him but raised his arm, finger closing around the trigger. "You're right," Jimin said, voice low. "It is time I grew up."
The gunshot echoed through the warehouse, the sound ringing in Jimin’s ears long after the man’s body hit the floor.
Jihoon’s voice cut through the haze. “Finally.”
But Jimin didn’t hear him. All he could see was the blood, pooling and spreading across the cold concrete. All he could feel was the weight of his father’s shadow, pressing down on him, suffocating him.
Jihoon glanced at Han-Jae, his lip curling in irritation. “You deal with the other one.”
Han-Jae smiled thinly, his hand settling on Taemin’s shoulder. “Go on, son.”
Taemin hesitated, his youthful face pale under the dim light of the yard's lights. He glanced at Jimin, whose expression was frozen in a mix of horror and detachment, and then back at his father.
Han-Jae’s smile faded. “Do you want to disappoint me?”
The weight of that question hung heavy in the air, and Taemin swallowed hard, but slowly, he stepped forward.
The second detective, bloodied and trembling, began to plead incoherently, his words dissolving into a sob.
Jimin’s stomach churned violently. He couldn’t bear to watch as Taemin raised the gun with far steadier hands than his own, nor could he endure the suffocating tension of the warehouse any longer. His voice was hoarse as he muttered, “I’m going to the car.”
Jihoon turned his head slightly but didn’t object. “Fine. Go.”
The indifference in his father’s voice stung more than any reprimand. Jimin moved toward the exit, his legs unsteady but quickening with each step.
The sound of the gunshot rang out just as he stepped out of the container, the echo chasing him into the night.
The air outside was still warm despite it being well past midnight. Jimin usually loved late summer nights like this but not today. As he walked around the bend, he felt more hot, and the humidity worsened the thick, suffocating tension inside.
He made it only a few steps further before his stomach betrayed him. Rushing over towards a stack of crates, he retched violently. The contents of his dinner surged upwards and all Jimin could hope was that he was far away enough from his dad.
His throat burned, and his body trembled as he leaned a hand against the cold metal for support.
When the heaving subsided, the silence around him felt deafening. His mind was a storm of guilt and revulsion. He could still see the detective’s lifeless eyes in his mind, and worse, as he still held the gun now, he kept imagining his finger was still around the trigger.
“This is your life now,” his mother’s voice echoed in his head, her words a hollow comfort against the growing ache in his chest.
His throat tightened, and for a brief moment, he felt the urge to cry. But the tears didn’t come. They couldn’t — not here, not now. He took a deep breath, forcing air into his lungs until the sharpness of it dulled his emotions. He repeated the motion over and over, steadying himself, quieting the chaos within.
Jimin wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and straightened up. His legs felt heavier than before as he trudged toward the car, but by the time he reached it, his breaths had evened out, and his face was expressionless once more.
Sliding into the back seat, he leaned his head against the window and the chill of the glass grounded him.
As he sat there in silence, the weight of his actions settled like stones in his chest, and he knew this wouldn't be the last time.
Present day
It takes you a while to come to your senses, your fuzzy mind drifting in and out of sleep, telling yourself that you’re dreaming every time your eyes half open to see the surroundings of a room which isn’t yours. Your head sinks back into the feather filled pillow, your breathing is slow and steady and you remain completely still as you wait to wake up in your own bed, in your own home.
But it doesn’t happen.
As you start to focus on the feeling of your chest rising and falling with each breath, your eyes flutter open fully and everything comes rushing back to you. Seojun lying helplessly on your kitchen floor, Minjun and the men flooding your kitchen, Dani and Siho dying to protect you. And Jimin.
The thought of it all hurts your head, and you push the thoughts down, focusing on something else for now. You have many questions and you’ll make sure to get answers, but right now, one thing you’re sure of, is that you’re safe.
Looking around the room you’re in, you faintly recognise the large wooden doors and particular coving style on the walls. You spent more than a few days running around the halls of this estate, hiding and playing in the rooms belonging to the boy you were once friends with — now the man who saved your life…
It hasn’t escaped you, that had Jimin and his men not walked in when they did, Minjun would’ve killed you after he got whatever information he needed from you.
You’ve never forgotten him, and now it seems like an odd sort of fate that you’ve ended up entangled in some kind of mess with him, thanks to Seojun.
There’s definitely something going on, because there must’ve been a reason why Seojun was in your house, why he spent those late evenings at the cafe just trying to have a conversation with you.
Looking next to you on the nightstand, you see your phone and purse, as well as a few of the other items you had in your pocket and your first thought is to call Yoongi. Whatever’s going on, you need to tell him and he might know something too.
There’s also a small bowl of fresh fruit on the nightstand and a bottle of water — a small reminder that you’re safe here.
As you reach for your phone, you feel a mild throbbing pain in your wrist. You almost forgot that Minjun cut you, but the wound is neatly bandaged now. Pushing the sheets back, you look down at your thigh to see it’s also been bandaged and you’re almost certain you’ll find stitches under there. You’re also wearing clothes that aren’t yours — a loose tee and baggy basketball shorts. You don’t remember anything since falling unconscious but you’re sure one of the housemaids must’ve dressed you.
Reaching for your phone again, you expect to see a call from your grandma since she normally calls you every morning, but your home screen shows no notifications except the many security camera notifications which you’re sure must show the events that took place at your home – you might be able to use it to identify a few of the men who were there, Yoongi certainly would be able to help you with that.
Unlocking your phone, you open up your contacts and scroll through to find Yoongi’s name. Just before you can press call, there’s a knock at the door. Pausing, you look up and a few seconds later, the handle turns slowly.
A slim man enters the room, dressed sharply head to toe in a suit… Your eyes widen, and suddenly, everything makes sense.
“Yoongi.”
He smiles, though somewhat apologetically.”Y/N.” Walking over to your bed, he doesn’t hesitate to pull up the chair that sits in front of the dressing table and bring it beside your bed. While your thoughts race, Yoongi sits quietly and waits.
He’s been working for Jimin, of course he has – his dad was close with yours and Jimin, and after your father’s death, his dad, Min Baek-hyun, stayed close with your grandparents and still resides close to your grandma in Namwon, while Yoongi stayed in Seoul. All these years, you’ve stayed close friends with Yoongi, not knowing he was so close with Jimin too – someone you once considered a best friend.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” you ask finally.
“I didn’t want to complicate things,” he murmurs, looking up. As soon as you meet his gaze, you know what he means by that…
You still remember that night, a few months ago, when Yoongi asked you to take out the Cheong men at the warehouse holding the drugs. For the first time, you asked for something in return – for him to help you find who killed your dad. It was the fact that he looked away as soon as you said the words that told you he already knew.
“I need something in return.”
Yoongi lifted his head calmly. “Is everything okay?”
You nodded, placing the key down on the table. “Just, promise me you’ll do it first.”
At this, Yoongi’s expression changed to one of concern and he hesitated.
Meeting his gaze, you said his name. “Please.”
“Alright.” Yoongi shifted, keeping his eyes on you. “I promise.”
There was a moment of silence as you mulled the words over in your head. It had been on your mind for a while, something you’d been considering often for the last few months, since you passed what would’ve been your father’s fifty fifth birthday. Not a day had gone by that you didn't miss him, and you’d known since his death that the last place he was called to, wasn’t a timely coincidence. You may have only been 12 at the time of his death, but your father always taught you to be aware of everything, and you’d noticed the tension between him and his friends for months before that night. Even the fact that you hadn’t seen Jimin in years, and the way Jihoon always disregarded your presence – that is before your father limited their visits to your family home. He was trying to protect you from them.
“I want to know who killed my dad.”
The words felt strange on your tongue – though your dad’s murder wasn’t a secret to you, you didn’t often speak about it so forwardly, especially not to Yoongi.
Concern returned to the lines in his face, brows furrowing as he shook his head and reached for your hand. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
You moved your hand from the table before he could hold it. “You know.”
He paused, eyes flitting down to where your hand was. Releasing a slow sigh, he closed his eyes. “And I think you already know.”
The anger and frustration you’d been holding on to for years began to surface.“It was them, wasn’t it?”
Yoongi looked up. “Y/N–”
“Lee Han-jae? And Park Jihoon?”
Yoongi gave the smallest of nods, and your fist curled in your lap.
“Do you know why?”
“Y/N, please, don’t–”
“You promised, Yoongi.”
Meeting your gaze, Yoongi sighed. “Alright, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
“Everything.”
So he did…
Na Doyun was a corrupt prosecutor who worked for the Lee’s, keeping them out of trouble as long as they paid her well enough. It was the perfect deal until some of the DA became suspicious of Doyun’s intentions and motivations, and she panicked, demanding more money, as well as a way for her to launder all the funds she was receiving.
The Lee’s had no choice but to comply since she had enough dirt on them to put them away for life, (as well as a supposed contingency plan that would expose them should they try anything to harm her), and so Han-jae developed a nightclub under his name and added Doyun as a majority shareholder, as well as a few others under his influence. It became one of the most popular nightclubs in all of Seoul and the perfect place for any illicit activity,
“The one that closed down months ago?” you asked, vaguely remembering. You were sure you'd followed more than a few unsuspecting victims of Yoongi’s from there on one of your errands for him..
“Yes. They have a few all over Seoul but none as big as that one. And you remember Taemin?”
“Lee’s son?”
“Yes.”
You barely saw Lee Taemin growing up. Though he was close in age to Jimin and you, his father had sent him to school in the United States. There were a few occasions where you were there together but unlike Jimin, he barely spared you more than a glance.
“Closing the club was intentional on their part. Han-jae wanted Taemin to replace it with something much bigger and better.”
“The Benitoite.”
Yoongi nodded. “A clever move on his part. The nightclub was becoming a hot spot and that was risky for them. After years of illegal trading, predatory lending and more, they had to find a way to get rid of any liabilities who used to frequent the club for their own gain, and with the Benitoite, they got the DA off their backs while attracting a whole new world, as well as another way to make their money clean again.” Looking up, Yoongi carried on. “Once that was done, Doyun had nothing left to hold over them.”
“They killed her?”
Another nod.
Your hand tightened around the fob. You couldn’t say you felt bad for the woman, she was corrupt after all and served men doing worse than herself, but it still didn’t make any of this easier to hear.
Yoongi sighed, his hand moving towards yours. “You okay?”
“Fine. Tell me.”
“When that nightclub before the Benitoite first opened, your dad wasn’t opposed to it so he never said anything. But, Jihoon or Han-jae weren’t just abiding by what Doyun wanted, they both saw an opportunity and wanted to run part of the nightclub as a secret brothel for invited guests only, those who would pay enough.”
Yoongi looked up apprehensively, but he saw your expression and continued.
“They knew anyone who knew of them, or had any kind of business with them, feared them, so they used that. If there was anyone who had done them wrong, or owed them money, they offered them a way out. Hundreds and millions worth of debt in exchange for years of service, and they didn’t care who it was.
“A mother, father, son, daughter, brother or sister. Any relation to the person who owed them was good enough and as you can imagine, none of the actual offenders offered themselves so it was all innocent family members being taken in. They would kidnap them and coerce them into working there doing whatever it was that needed to be done too. The whole thing was set up as a way for them to earn honest money to pay back whatever was owed.”
You looked up, repulsed. These are the men you once regarded as your uncles, seeing them as your dad’s friends you thought of them as family while growing up. It’s true that as you got older, you started to feel a certain way towards Jihoon because of how cold he was, especially with Jimin, but this was still beyond anything you would’ve expected of them.
“So that’s why they killed my dad?”
Yoongi shook his head. “Not exactly.” Pausing, he studied your expression for a few seconds before he leaned over the table to grasp your hand. After a gentle squeeze, he let go. “There was a lot happening around that time, I don’t know the details but the way Han-jae and Jihoon saw it, is that your dad became soft. When he first found out about the nightclub he was angry and threatened both of them.”
Your stomach curled.
“They wanted to appease him so they said they would reconsider.”
“But they didn’t.”
“No. And truthfully I don’t think your dad ever believed them anyway.”
It went quiet, the distant humming of car engines along a nearby busy road carried the sound of your thoughts as they ran endlessly.
Yoongi took another sip of his milk, watching you carefully. “Y/N,” he spoke softly. “I can tell you the rest another time.”
You looked across at home, taking a slow breath. You do feel like you’ve heard enough, but you need to know. “What more is there? They killed him after that, no?”
Traces of a grimace appeared on Yoongi’s face. “Not quite.” He paused, waiting.
Wordlessly, you nodded for him to continue.
“Did you know Han-jae was married twice?”
Nodding, you remembered his step-daughter, Jiyoung. She looked after you occasionally, but like Taemin, she wasn’t always there. “Yeah, his first wife passed away but Jiyoung was from her, right?”
“Not exactly, Jiyoung wasn’t Han-jae’s daughter.”
Now, this was news to you.
“And her mom wasn’t a huge fan of Han-jae, their marriage was arranged after her first husband died, and she had plenty of reasons to dislike the man and he felt the same, except she always threatened to expose him.”
The arranged marriage wasn’t a surprise to you, as it was common amongst many of your father’s affluent friends, including your own parents, but you hadn’t known that Han-jae’s first wife despised him.
“After she died, Jiyoung got older, she looked more like her mother, acted more like her, and Han-jae didn’t like her just as much as she didn’t like him, so… he saw an opportunity to get rid of her.”
Eyes widening, you asked, “The nightclub?”
Yoongi nodded, looking down. “But your dad saved her.”
Despite the warm evening breeze, you feel your skin go cold.
Yoongi continues. “He knew something was going on and he happened to be there the night she was being taken. He killed the men and took her away to a safe place, out of the country.”
And just like that, it all made sense. “So that’s why they killed him.”
Taking your hand again, Yoongi nodded silently. “It was a means to an end for them,” he murmured. “Han-jae and Jihoon had changed. They weren’t who your dad befriended and their morals and ambitions were far from the same.”
Yoongi’s words were said to comfort you, but they only fueled your anger… your dad’s closest friends, the men who he regarded as brothers, were the ones who killed him.
That conversation felt like a lifetime ago, and as you see Yoongi sitting in front of you now, you understand why he chose not to tell you, but you can’t help but feel a tiny bit betrayed.
“Still could’ve told me,” you mumble, looking away from him.
“Would it have made a difference to anything?” he asks, leaning forward with a playful smile.
Realising he’s right, you frown indignantly. “Might’ve stopped this,” you say, knowing it’s a weak point.
Yoongi’s expression darkens. Shaking his head slowly, he meets your gaze. “Nothing could’ve stopped this.”
Seojun is the first person that comes to your mind, and you feel your stomach coil.
Reaching to hold your leg over the covers, Yoongi says your name. “You need to tell me everything you know.”
Nodding, you push the mental image of Seojun out of your mind. “I don’t actually know much,” you start, “Seojun had been coming into the cafe around once a week and would talk to me, just small talk. He must’ve known who I was but I didn’t realise until the last time. He seemed worried about something and kept asking me about grandma, and when she called, he’d left and there was a note on the table.” Looking towards the night stand where your belongings are, you see the note you pocketed then, and the drive is there too. You take them both, handing the note to Yoongi. “This is what it said.”
Yoongi takes a few seconds to read the simple words, She’s the only family you have left. You should stay with her. Frowning, Yoongi lowers it to the bed. “He must’ve known, but I don’t know how.” Looking up, he asks, “you never told him anything about your grandma?”
“No,” you shake your head. “He just knew.” Thinking of this, you suddenly remember all those conversations you had with Seojun… he had a girlfriend. “Yoongi?” You meet his gaze with worried eyes. “He had a girlfriend.”
Yoongi’s expression softens, lips pursing. “Yeona. She knows. She lives here with us, she moved in with Seojun a year ago.”
Nodding your head slowly, you look away. You don’t bother asking how she’s doing, that would be a pointless question – you could tell how much Seojun loved her and from the stories he told you, you’re certain she loved him just as much, she must be heartbroken. The thought of it reminds you of the night your dad passed away… you’d never seen your mom in so much pain.
As your emotions begin to swirl heavily again, you look up at Yoongi. “Did he not say anything at all about what he’d been doing?”
Yoongi shakes his head. “We knew he was up to something, but Jimin told us to let him be.” Again, Yoongi’s expression looks pained.
“Why?”
“A few weeks back, Jimin had one of their clubs raided by the police on the same night they were receiving a weapons shipment and there’s since been a good few detectives on their case. Taemin’s uncle got some time in prison for it and even though he’s out, they still wanted to send a message to Jimin, a way to get back at him… so they killed Seojun’s mom.”
The words wound the knot in your stomach even tighter. “So Seojun wanted to get back at them?”
Nodding, Yoongi shakes his head. “Jimin warned him not to, he promised they’d work it out together and end things for once, but Seojun was angry. Once we figured out he was up to something, Jimin told us to leave him and once Seojun had a plan, we’d join in on it.” Releasing a shaky breath, Yoongi looks down. “We never got to find out what it was, and each week we’d see him less and less. Everyone here knows how to look after themselves, but now I wish we’d taken more care.”
Seojun was a friend to everyone here, Yoongi included, you realise. You know you ought to comfort him but you don’t think you know how. “I’m sorry, Yoongi,” you murmur.
He gives a small smile. “Finish telling me what happened.”
Sitting back into the cushions again, you recall the events from that night. “I left work as normal, came home and when I went upstairs, something felt off. So I went back down, and then I saw him in my kitchen, he was bleeding, barely conscious on the floor and I ran over to him. I tried to help him but he kept apologising, and then he gave me this.” Looking down, you hand the drive to Yoongi.
Confused, Yoongi turns it over in his hand. “Did he say what’s on it?”
“No,” you shake your head. “And it’s probably protected too since the Lee’s wanted it as well. But he told me to take it and find Jimin.” At this, Yoongi looks up and meets your gaze. “He kept saying he’d keep me safe and that I should leave him and go.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I couldn’t. He needed help, but it was too late. When I was about to get out, Minjun and some of his men came in. Seojun tried to help me but in the end…” you trail off, looking down. “In the end it was Minjun questioning me, asking me who I am. I lied, of course.” You finish telling Yoongi the rest of what happened, up until when Jimin and his men came in.
When you’re done, Yoongi is cursing under his breath. “Minjun was a fucking psychopath.”
“Yeah, he seems like it,.” You remember the way he laughed when Jimin was punching him.
“He has a brother, Kwan, he’s just as crazy, if not worse.”
The thought of it leaves you shuddering. Minjun was ruthless and you can’t imagine how much worse his brother is. You hope you never have to meet him, although luck hasn’t really been on your side recently.
“Hey,” Yoongi says quietly, moving from his seat to the bed. “You okay?”
“Mhm,” you nod.
He smiles softly. “Your wrist should be better in a few days, but your leg might take two or three weeks to heal well. I got you some crutches in case you wanna use them.”
“Thanks, I probably won’t use them though.”
“Yeah, I thought you’d say that.”
Smiling at him, you push the sheets back to look at your bound leg. “It’s not deep is it?”
Yoongi shakes his head. “You got lucky. Only an inch or so. Ah, also,” he looks up at you apologetically, “you’ll need to stay here for a while until your house gets fixed.”
“Oh.” You remember how the windows were smashed in as Minjun attacked, and you’re sure there’s more damage to the property that you’re not even aware of.
“Jimin is making all the arrangements,” Yoongi continues, “but he’s trying to keep things quiet so I don’t know exactly when things will be sorted.”
“He doesn’t have to, I can do it myself.”
“He wants to,” Yoongi responds. “He blames himself for what’s happened, so just let him please.” His words appear to carry more meaning, and you can’t imagine how he must feel after seeing Seojun dead. You still remember the look on his face when he saw the body.
“Why?”
“He blames himself for a lot of things,” Yoongi murmurs with a soft sigh. “This hasn’t helped.”
Even though it’s been years since you were close with Jimin, you still find yourself feeling a familiar twinge in your chest – ever since you’ve known him, Jimin has had to suffer so much hurt, you couldn’t even count on your hand the amount of times you saw him looking so defeated and terrified in front of his father. He seemed to prefer the company of Lee Han-jae over his own father, although you don’t know how much better Han-jae was as a father since his son, Taemin, was in America most of the time to study. All you know is how he treated Jiyoung.
Now, curiosity (or care) gets the better of you, and you ask, “What happened between them? Han-jae and Jihoon?”
Yoongi looks up, grimacing. “It started with money. Han-jae got greedy and wanted the Benitoite to be only his, but Jihoon insisted it belong to them both since the nightclub was half his effort, though he never really cared for the extra money, he just needed the front. Han-jae reluctantly agreed but it was clear he wasn’t happy.
“And then Jihoon found out that Han-jae planned on going behind his back and he got angry. Han-jae was drunk one night and started threatening Jihoon, which only made him more angry. But before he could do anything, Taemin stepped in and shot him.”
“Taemin?!” you ask, surprised..
Yoongi nods. “He knew of his dad's plan for the Benitoite and he wasn’t fond of Jihoon, so he did what he had to to protect his dad. But Jimin was there.” His expression darkens. “He watched his best friend shoot his dad, who was bleeding out in front of him. I’m so grateful we were with him that day…” He trails off, exhaling as he looks down.
He doesn’t need to say anymore for you to know what he means – Taemin was going to have Jimin killed too.
Your head lowers too. You don’t allow your thoughts to wonder what would’ve happened if Jimin had been alone, you’re just glad he got out. Though you can’t imagine what he must’ve felt given his relationship with Jihoon.
“Did he get to have a funeral for his dad?”
“Yeah,’ Yoongi answers. “Han-jae had just lost another one of his friends and the blood was on his hands, so he sent the body back to Jimin and tried to make amends, but Jimin wasn’t having it. He was already against everything they were doing and now that his dad had gone and he’d lost Taemin as a friend, he had no reason to keep ties with them.”
Leaning back into the cushions, you mull over everything he’s just said. For years, you stayed away from these families who were such a big part of your life growing up, and now you learn that they’ve fallen apart as well.
After a moment, Yoongi speaks again. “I was surprised when they brought you in.” You look up at him as he continues. “I thought he might’ve recognised you, but he said nothing.”
“Do you think he does?” you ask, remembering the look on his face when he first saw you. “But he’s just not saying it?”
Yoongi shrugs. “Might be. If he does remember you though, he’ll say something.”
“Are you going to tell them?” you ask, looking at him.
“Only if you want me to.”
After a few quiet seconds, you shake your head. “At least not yet.”
Yoongi nods and it goes quiet again. You close your eyes, leaning against the headboard as you think back on everything that’s happened, and then it comes to you.
“Dani and Siho,” you say, opening your eyes again as a heavy weight settles on your chest. “Did you get them out?”
Solemnly, Yoongi nods. “I sent them back to their families and have offered to make all the necessary arrangements for anything else they need.”
“Thank you,” you murmur. “Let me know what they say, I’ll sort it out for them..”
Yoongi nods again, pursing his lips as this time he reaches forward to take your hand and comfort you. “They knew the risks, Y/N, better than anyone else.”
“I know,” you sigh. “But it’s different, they were there because of me.”
“Yeah, but they made that choice, they wanted to fight for you,” Yoongi says, shifting on the bed. When you look at him, he winces slightly. “Sorry if this isn’t helping, you know I’m shit at comforting people.”
You smile. “I know.”
“Hey, you’re not any better though,” he says defensively, “you didn’t even hug me properly when my mom passed away.”
“What?” you chuckle. “I tried to, but I know you don’t like hugs.”
Yoongi shrugs. “Not normally, but then I would've liked it.”
“Oh…” Now you feel bad. “Really?”
He nods, only looking up at you when you fail to respond. Seeing your face, he smiles. “It’s okay though, I got lots of hugs from the guys here.”
Scoffing, you absentmindedly pull the covers over your legs again, feeling cold from the aircon. “Yeah, you’re telling me Park Jimin was giving out hugs?” It comes out sarcastically and without much thought.
“Yes, actually,” Yoongi answers simply.
Pausing, you realise what you said and his response. You don’t know why you feel surprised when the Jimin you knew was nothing but caring and considerate towards others, oftentimes more than he was towards himself.
As though he can read your mind, Yoongi smiles. “Surprised?”
“Kind of.”
“You knew him though,” he says, as though that makes it so obvious.
“Knew,” you repeat. “I didn’t expect him to still be the same.”
Yoongi hums in agreement. “I wouldn’t say he’s changed, but I wouldn't exactly say he’s the same either…” looking up, he smiles again. “I guess you’ll get to see for yourself now.”
“I guess so,” you say, reaching for an apple from the bowl beside you. Seeing Jimin again has been weird, but you can’t ignore the part of you that is ready to welcome a part of your old life back, someone familiar, someone you liked very much. Like Yoongi said though, you’ll get to see for yourself if he’s anything like you remember him. Although you were both younger then, you don’t think he would’ve changed much from what Yoongi has told you so far.
“D’you want something a bit more filling than that?” Yoongi asks, nodding to the apple you’ve just bitten into. “Dinner is just about to be served so you can come down to eat or I can bring it up for you?”
“Oh, yeah, actually,” you answer, hearing your stomach growl after receiving a tiny morsel of food. “I am quite hungry, so I think I'll come down.”
“Sure,” Yoongi chuckles, “you must be hungry, you’ve been sleeping for almost three days.”
You look up at him with wide eyes. “Three days?!” When he nods, you immediately reach for your phone. “I need to call Moni, she’s probably wo–”
“I already have,” Yoongi says, interrupting you quietly.
Fingers freezing over her name, you look up at Yoongi. “What?”
“I already called her.”
A frown settles on your face. “What did you say?”
Yoongi has always been aware of your wish to keep everything hidden from your grandma, so he hesitates now, knowing this would be your response when he told you he called her. “Everything, but Y/N, she needed to know.”
“That wasn’t your decision to make.”
“I know,” Yoongi sighs. “Sorry.”
For a moment, it goes quiet and you lower your phone to the covers. Yoongi is right, she did need to know about this, and it’s not like she’s a stranger to this kind of stuff. Besides, what happened wasn’t related to any of the stuff you’ve been doing for Yoongi, which is what you always wanted to keep from her, and what’s happening now does seem to involve you, and therefore her.
“Sorry,” you say. “You’re right, I just didn’t…” you sigh, trailing off as you think about how worried she must be. Your grandma is a strong woman and you’re everything to her, just as she has been yours.
“I know,” Yoongi says, understanding what you mean without you saying it; he knows your grandma well enough too.
“What did she say?”
“First, she just wanted to know if you were safe,” Yoongi answers. “After that, she didn’t say much except that she’ll come as soon as she can.”
You nod. Knowing she’s coming brings a smile to your face, you’ve missed her a lot. Before you can respond, your stomach growls again.
“Come on,” Yoongi says smiling, getting up and pushing the covers back, “let’s get you some food.”
“You still remember it?” Yoongi asks, a tone of surprise in his voice.
Taking another step, you shrug. “I wasn’t that little when I was last here, I must’ve been, what, eleven? Twelve?”
“Hm, Yoongi hums. “Still impressive.” He keeps a hand hovering around you should you need him, but you’re doing just fine, walking slowly down the hall you recognise as being the third floor.
The Park Estate isn’t much different from what you remember. The estate sprawled across acres, is a masterfully designed blend of elegance and practicality. The entrance opens to a grand foyer, splitting into two distinct wings. The East Wing houses the biggest office which used to belong to Jihoon, and now you assume it would be Jimin’s. It’s flanked by a suite of offices, all of which are bathed in polished woods and leather tones, belonging to his closest men. The West Wing, larger and more personal, feels more like a home. It rises three floors (taking the space above the East Wing) to accommodate the family’s quarter’s on the top most floor, a lounge and other rooms on the second, and downstairs is a dining room, a sleek kitchen caters to formal gatherings and another lounge.
Yoongi points out his room as you pass it, as well as naming some of the other guys whose names you try to pay attention to as you ignore the mild pain that spreads through your leg.
As you approach the stairwell, you notice another dimly lit corridor leading off the main hallway. You can’t see anything down the corridor as you pass, only a wall with light coming from the left and you assume it continues on.
“Jimin’s room is down there,” he says, answering your unspoken question.
“Ah,” you nod, carrying on. It makes sense for his room to be separate from the rest.
The second floor has a few extra guest bedrooms which are rarely used, and a private lounge which is different to what you remember, with a huge balcony that overlooks the gardens and the furniture has changed from mostly dark colours to a much warmer colour palette.
Downstairs, the split between the East Wing, and the West Wing is much more noticeable. The entrance to the West Wing from the grand foyer is always guarded and behind is a much more private hallway with more guards at the end for extra security, and the only way to go upstairs is from the two staircases within the West Wing. The staircase you’re approaching now takes you downstairs where the kitchen is.
As you approach the stairwell, you freeze, your eyes landing on a painting hung up on the wall at the far end of the hall. Yoongi says your name as you begin to walk towards it, but you don’t respond as an old memory suddenly returns to your mind, from the night your father was murdered.
“Lightning… is it a storm?” you asked, standing next to your dad in front of the easel.
“Yes,” he said, ruffling your hair with his elbow as his hands were smudged with paint.
“What does it mean?”
“Sometimes it can mean power,” he answered, turning back to the canvas in front of him. “But sometimes it can also mean punishment.”
You looked up, frowning.
He smiled. “Sometimes, too much power isn’t a good thing. If you’re not a good person, then it can be dangerous.”
“Oh…” You looked back at the canvas, admiring the deep shades of blue and black and grey he’d used to paint the night sky. In the centre, a spear of light struck the violent waves of the sea below. “Who is it for?” you asked.
Your dad’s smile disappeared as he looked back at the canvas. “An old friend.”
The painting is just as vivid as you remember, and seeing it now brings tears to your eyes as you feel a bout of nostalgia.
“My dad painted this,” you say quietly as Yoongi joins you in front of the huge canvas.
He doesn’t say anything, but instead looks up at the painting, admiring it in its entirety as though he’s never seen it before. “It’s beautiful.”
Nodding, you blink a few times to get rid of the stinging sensation in your eyes.. You realise now that Park Jihoon was the old friend your dad mentioned; realising he called him an ‘old friend’, you know your father must’ve known in those months leading up to his death that he couldn’t trust Han-jae and Jihoon.
Just then, Yoongi’s phone vibrates in his pocket. Reading a text, he quickly excuses himself. “Come down if you can, or I’ll ask someone to come up,” he calls out as he’s already walking off towards the stairwell.
“Okay,” you answer absentmindedly, still looking at the painting.
It’s not often you allow yourself to dwell on the past, but it’s also not often that you find yourself face to face with things that remind you so much of the past. There’s a reason your grandma decided to leave Seoul all those years ago and it’s a decision you agreed with. Even when you moved back to Seoul, you knew you couldn’t return to your old home, not when all you had there was fond memories of a life that was so unfamiliar to you now. But now, standing in front of your father’s own hand painted work, a flood of memories return and you find it harder to fight the lump that settles stubbornly in your throat.
You don’t realise you’re standing there for long until you hear someone approaching behind you. Turning around, you recognise the man approaching you as one of the ones who were with Jimin that night at your home. He smiles as he comes to a stop beside you.
“Admiring the art?” he asks.
“Mhm,” you hum, still watching his face – you didn’t realise then but now you see just how handsome he is, you feel like you can’t stop staring.
He chuckles, glancing at the painting. “You know I was talking about the painting, not me?”
Shaking out of your daze, you smile. “Yes, sorry. I just recognised you from the other night.”
“Ah, yeah, sorry we had to meet in such a way,” he nods, still smiling. “I’m Seokjin, but call me Jin.” He extends his hand which you shake.
“Y/N, and it’s okay, not your fault.”
“How’s the wrist?” he asks, pointing to your wrist.
“Oh, it’s okay,” you answer, lifting your arm for him to see. You can still move your fingers fine, just the occasional stretch or twist of your wrist hurts.
“Good. And the leg?”
“It’s mostly fine,” you nod.
He smiles again. “That’s good. Your wrist will heal fast, the leg might take a few weeks but it’s looking good so far. I didn’t expect you to be up so soon though,” he adds, raising a brow as though impressed.
You shrug.
“I take it this isn’t your first time getting hurt like this?” Seokjin says casually.
“What makes you think that?”
“You didn’t flinch that night, when we all aimed our guns at you. And the way you handled your own gun…” he shakes his head, smiling. “It definitely wasn’t your first time, and no normal person would point their gun at a mafioso at that.”
Chuckling, you turn back towards the painting again. “I guess I like getting shot at.”
“Just like everyone else here,” he laughs. “Well, you must be hungry, Yoongi asked me to walk down with you.”
“Sure,” you nod, turning away from the painting. You can return to it later. “So what about you?” you ask Seokjin as you approach the stairwell.
He watches carefully as you descend the first few steps. “What about me?”
“This definitely isn’t your first time stitching someone up,” you remark.
“Ah,” he nods. “Definitely not.”
You have to pause, reaching out for the banister to continue on. “So you’re a doctor?”
He snorts, stepping along beside you. “No, but I should be. I’ve done this kind of stuff enough times.”
Smiling, you know his statement is true enough. Injuries like yours must be a regular occurrence in the Park household. Stepping onto the landing, you take a breather and sit on the bottom step for a moment before you continue on. At the same time, you hear hurried footsteps running towards you and Seokjin.
“Jin hyung!” A bubbly voice sounds from down the corridor. You look towards the source and see two men who you recognise from that night – the man bun guy and the slender brown haired one behind him. They can’t see you sitting on the bottom step but as they get closer, Jin nods in your direction, turning their attention to you.
They both smile warmly when they see you, bowing their heads.
“Oh, miss L/N,” the first one comes forward, extending a hand. “I’m Jungkook, nice to meet you.” He has an adorable bunny smile and you can’t help but return it with one of your own.
“Nice to meet you Jungkook,” you reply, shaking his hand. “And you can call me Y/N.”
“Y/N, got it,” he nods, taking a step back so his other friend can greet you properly.
“Hi, Y/N, I’m Hoseok, Hobi for short,” he grins, shaking your hand.
“Hey.” You return his handshake, feeling slightly taken aback by how relaxed these guys are compared to their stoic looks from when you first saw them. Jungkook looks like a bunny rabbit in human form, and Hoseok beams like a ray of sunshine.
“How are you feeling?” Hoseok asks, motioning towards your leg.
“Um, it’s okay,” you smile. “I can still walk at least.”
He smiles with you, helping you as you start to get up. “Will you be joining us for dinner?”
You hum in response, allowing Seokjin to continue walking beside you as Jungkook walks ahead, leading you to the extensive lounge.
Distractedly, you look around the familiar room. The coffee table you’re sitting at is still the same as it was when you used to have extra helpings of dessert with Jimin, secretly given to you by the housemaid who had a soft spot for Jimin. Being here reminds you so much of your father too, and knowing how much of a huge part of his life this family was makes you miss him dearly.
Before any of the guys notice you’re not tuned into the conversation, you return your attention to what they’re saying. It hasn’t escaped you that none of them have said anything about your identity, and you reckon it must be because Jimin hasn’t recognised you – if he did, surely he would’ve told these guys since they were there too. You’re not sure if they know anything at all about you – perhaps you should’ve asked Yoongi about that before you came down.
Whether they know anything or not though, they keep the conversation away from anything that would involve you from sharing too much, and you realise now, how their warm smiles and easy conversation is a stark contrast to the tense memory you have of first meeting them the other day. However, there’s some missing.
“Are there more of you?”
Jin, in the middle of swallowing a big sip of water, nods and hums.
Hoseok answers for him. “There’s Yoongi, who you saw already, and Taehyung, Namjoon and Jimin.”
“They were there the other day,” Jungkook says, his tone dimming slightly.
“Namjoon and Taehyung will be joining us,” Jin adds, ignoring the last comment and keeping up his chipper attitude. “We always eat together whenever we can and they’re about somewhere.”
It doesn’t escape you that he didn’t mention Jimin’s name though.
“Taehyung is probably in the wine cellar,” Hoseok says.
“Ah, yes, Taehyung loves to pick out the wine for dinner.”
Jungkook snorts. “He thinks he’s a sommelier.”
You smile. “Well, does he make a good choice?”
“I can never tell,” Jungkook shrugs.
Hoseok jerks a thumb in his direction. “He’s not matured enough.”
“Hey!” Jungkook starts, but is interrupted by Jin, glancing toward the doorway.
“Ah, speak of the devil!”
You look up and see two more men entering. One has dark curls and sharp features, his posture relaxed but his gaze calculating as it sweeps over the room. The other one has dark grey hair and broad shoulders, wearing glasses that give him a sophisticated air. You recognise both of them from the other day.
“Yoongi said you’d come down,” the man with dark curls remarks as he approaches. His tone is calm, and a slight smile plays on his lips. “I’m Taehyung. Nice to meet you, Y/N.”
“Hi, Taehyung,” you reply, shaking his hand. His grip is firm but not overbearing. He’s undeniably striking, and there’s something about his presence that feels both inviting and enigmatic.
The broad man steps closer, adjusting his glasses as he nods at you. “I’m Namjoon. I handle most of the boring work around here.” His smile is disarming, and his voice carries a hint of dry humour. “Finances, logistics, making sure this place doesn’t fall apart.”
“Nice to meet you, Namjoon,” you say, shaking his hand. His words make you curious about just how much he handles behind the scenes.
Namjoon takes a seat in the armchair across from you and sinks into it comfortably. “How are you? I imagine this isn’t how you thought your day would go.”
You smile wryly, keeping your responses guarded. “Not exactly, no.”
Taehyung sits down next to Jungkook and returns his attention to you immediately. “Yeah, you put up quite the fight. Most people would’ve frozen in your position.”
“Not the first time I’ve had to defend myself,” you reply simply, not offering much else.
There’s a beat of silence as they all exchange glances, clearly intrigued but not pressing further. You appreciate the lack of prying.
“So,” Hoseok pipes up with an ever-cheerful tone. “Yoongi mentioned you might like spicy food. We had the chef prepare something special just in case.”
“Spicy works for me,” you say, grateful for the change in subject.
Jungkook claps his hands together. “Great! That makes two of us. The food here is amazing – you’ll love it.”
As the conversation shifts to lighter topics, you glance around the room again. The faces around the table are new, but the setting is steeped in nostalgia. Flashes of your childhood in this house flit through your mind – running down these halls, playing games late into the night, and the quiet presence of your father when he was here.
You force yourself to focus, tuning back into the conversation just as Seokjin asks, “So, Y/N, what’s your impression of the estate so far?”
“It’s... different,” you reply honestly, but keep your tone light. “Bigger than I remember.”
Seokjin tilts his head. “You’ve been here before?”
You curse yourself for slipping up but recover quickly. “Not this one exactly. Just a similar setup.”
Namjoon raises a brow but doesn’t say anything else, and you’re thankful for the reprieve.
The door from the far end of the room opens, and an older woman with an apron tied around her waist steps in, carrying a pitcher of water. Her hair is neatly pinned back, and her face is composed but kind. You immediately recognize her – Ara, one of the housemaids from your childhood.
Your eyes meet for a brief moment, and something flickers in her expression. She knows who you are. You’re certain of it. But to your surprise, she doesn’t say a word. Instead, she places the pitcher on the coffee table and begins pouring water into the glasses.
“Thanks, Ara,” Jungkook says warmly, and she nods with a small smile.
When she reaches you, she hesitates ever so slightly before pouring the water, her gaze lingering on you. You hold her gaze for a beat, searching her face for any sign that she might say something, but she doesn’t. Instead, she finishes and steps back, her expression carefully neutral.
“If you need anything, let me know,” Ara says softly, glancing at the rest of the table before leaving the room.
Namjoon watches her leave, then turns back to you with a faint smile. “She’s been here for a long time. Reliable, like everyone else here.”
You nod, trying to mask the unease and nostalgia that her presence has stirred up.
On the opposite side of the room, Yoongi comes in from the corridor you came through. With a smile at you, he then nods at everyone. “Dinner’s ready. Let’s eat before Jungkook inhales the entire table.”
Jungkook laughs, not bothering to deny the accusation. Everyone rises from their seats, and Yoongi gestures for you to follow them to the adjoining dining room.
"Taeheyung, did you choose a bottle for dinner then?" Hoseok asks.
"Of course. It’s spicy food so I brought up a Riesling."
"Nice one," Yoongi murmurs in approval.
"I want a beer," Jungkook says, with no regards to Taehyung's expression.
"More for us then."
As you walk, Namjoon falls into step beside you. “You’ll find this place can be both a refuge and a maze,” he says softly. “It’s easy to get lost, but it has its charms.”
You glance at him, wondering if there’s a deeper meaning to his words. “I’ll try not to get lost, then.”
He smiles faintly. “If you do, just call out. Someone will find you.”
Returning the smile, you find that any uneasiness you'd been feeling, begins to dissipate. It’s clear these men, while different in personality, share a bond that goes beyond mere loyalty to Jimin. You can see why they’ve been by his side for so long – they feel like a family in their own right.
Once everyone is seated at the table, conversation flows more freely and the atmosphere is surprisingly warm. Jin sits at one end of the table, serving himself a generous helping of the roasted chicken and rice dish.
“Jin-hyung, don’t hog all the drumsticks,” Jungkook whines as he watches Jin’s plate pile up.
“Then grab faster,” Jin quips with a smirk, not slowing his pace.
Taehyung leans back with an amused grin, observing the chaos. “I’m telling you, Jungkook, he does this every time. You should know better by now.”
“Should I?” Jungkook huffs dramatically. “Maybe next time I’ll just take the whole plate first.”
“Do it, and I’ll poison your portion,” Jin deadpans, but with a twinkle in his eye.
Hoseok chuckles as he passes you the salad bowl. “Don’t worry, Y/N. They act like this every meal. You get used to it.”
You smile faintly, watching them banter. It’s strange to see these men, who just days ago were all sharp glares and deadly precision, behaving like siblings teasing each other.
“Y/N,” Taehyung’s deep voice pulls you out of your thoughts. “Do you always eat so quietly? Or are you just plotting something?”
You blink at him, caught off guard. His face is serious, but his lips twitch with suppressed amusement.
“Maybe I’m just afraid to get between Jin and his drumsticks,” you reply lightly.
Laughter ripples around the table, and Taehyung raises his glass in salute. “Smart answer.”
Jungkook grins at you between bites of food. “Yeah, but next time, you should at least try to grab a piece before Jin wipes out the whole plate.”
“I heard that,” Jin retorts, mock-offended. “I’m ensuring quality control.”
“You’re ensuring there’s nothing left for the rest of us,” Hoseok counters, sipping his water.
As the banter continues, you allow yourself to relax a little. It’s a stark contrast to what you expected when you first woke up in the Park estate.
“By the way, hyung,” Namjoon says, turning to Jin. “Have you checked the medical inventory reports? They were due yesterday.”
“Oh, are we doing shop talk at the table now?” Jin sighs dramatically. “Can’t a guy just eat in peace?”
“It’s your own fault for procrastinating,” Namjoon replies smoothly, adjusting his glasses.
“Don’t drag me into your world of schedules,” Jin retorts. “I’m a free spirit.”
“You’re just lazy,” Jungkook interjects, earning a flick of a bread roll from Jin.
“Enough guys,” Hoseok says, raising his hands in mock exasperation.
Namjoon’s phone buzzes on the table, followed immediately by Hoseok’s. They both glance at their screens, and their smiles fade slightly. Exchanging a look, they nod in unison before standing up.
“Sorry, something’s come up,” Namjoon says, sliding his phone into his pocket. “We’ll catch up later.”
“Don’t eat all the dessert without us,” Hoseok adds with a wink as they head out.
“Like we’d wait for you,” Jin calls after them before turning his attention back to the table.
“Do they always leave like that?” you ask, genuinely curious.
“Pretty much,” Taehyung replies, leaning back in his chair. “They’ve got the busiest jobs out of all of us. It’s a miracle they even sit down for meals sometimes.”
“Or they just like to be mysterious,” Jin adds, rolling his eyes. “Half the time, it’s probably nothing.”
You smile, but you feel the weight behind it all. These men might act carefree, but there’s no denying the underlying layers to their lives.
After a while, another two housemaids quietly enter to clear some of the empty dishes.
“You okay?” Taehyung asks, drawing your attention back to the table. “You’ve been pretty quiet.”
You nod, brushing it off. “Just tired, I guess.”
“Understandable,” Jin says, rising from his seat. “You should rest. Recovering from an injury takes time.”
The others murmur in agreement as they begin to disperse, leaving you with a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. The warmth of their camaraderie is undeniable, but beneath it all, you can’t shake the feeling of what’s happened, and what is undoubtedly yet to come.
Only Yoongi remains at the table. He sits across from you and smiles. “It’s bringing back memories, huh?” He asks, seeing right through you.
“Yep.” You look around. “Loads. I don’t know how this might sound, but it feels like I missed it.” You look across at Yoongi, expecting to see a puzzled expression but he just smiles.
“I think it’s normal. You were young when you came here and I don’t think you have many bad memories associated with the place. Only good ones, right?”
He’s right. Back then, coming here usually meant evenings filled with laughter, hiding in closets with Jimin, and Jiyoung’s occasional teasing if she was here. Your dad was still alive, and this house, in a strange way, felt like an extension of home. Now, it’s like walking through a memory you can’t decide if you’re grateful for or aching to forget.
You smile softly at Yoongi and nod, letting the silence stretch as you stand. He doesn’t press you further, only watching as you cross the room to the wide, cushioned window seat at the far end. The large pane of glass offered a view of the front of the house. Settling into the seat, you lean against the frame, your gaze drifting outward.
Outside, the estate is alive with movement. Men are stationed around the house, their presence a constant reminder of the life you’re now steeped in. From the East Wing, you spot four men climbing into a sleek black Escalade. Then your attention shifts to the house’s front steps, where Namjoon and Hoseok emerge, walking with purpose.
Behind them, another figure appears and you recognise him instantly.
Jimin, dressed sharply from head to toe, walks across the front drive. He pauses briefly in front of his Porsche, glancing back toward Hoseok, who says something you couldn’t hear. A moment later, Hoseok and Jin climb into the car, and Jimin gets into the driver’s seat. The engine roars softly to life, and within moments, his Porsche is gliding down the private lane, the Escalade following closely behind.
Your gaze lingers on the lane until the cars disappear into the distance. Though you can’t see the estate’s gate from here, you can picture it clearly in your mind – a familiar marker from years ago.
“Where are they going?” you ask without turning, your voice quiet but curious.
“Something’s wrong with one of the shipments we received from the Takahashis. They’ve been a bit of a pain these past few months. Jimin reckons they’re now involved with the Lees and are trying to keep us distracted.”
You hum in response, saying nothing more, but your eyes stay fixed on the far-off trees that bordered the estate. Centred in front of the west wing, a fountain catches your attention, its centrepiece intricate and elegant. It reminds you of the one in Jimin’s mother’s garden and absently, you wonder if that fountain was still there.
As you shift, a sharp pang shoots through your leg, where the knife wound throbs dully. Your wrist isn’t much better, but the pain in your leg is what makes you wince audibly.
Yoongi notices immediately, his gaze darting toward you. “I think you’re due for your meds again.”
You exhale softly, nodding. “Yeah, I think so.”
“You wanna stay here or go back up?”
You push yourself to stand, biting back a groan as the strain makes your voice tight. “Mm, I know I slept for days, but I’m actually still exhausted.”
Yoongi chuckles, rising to help steady you. “That’s to be expected. Don’t worry.” He gestures toward the far end of the room. “We’ll go up, but this time we’re taking the lift.”
You can’t help but smile faintly at his consideration. “Appreciate that,” you murmur as he slides a steadying arm under yours.
The dim light of the ensuite glows behind you as you step into the bedroom, a towel draped over your head. You had just woken up after another long nap, your internal clock utterly thrown off by the days of rest. It's late now, just past midnight and the night is quiet, broken only by the faint rustle of fabric and the soft padding of your feet on the carpet.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, you absentmindedly rub the towel through your damp hair.
Your gaze drifts to the shelves by the dresser table, now stocked with an array of skin and hair care products. A small smile tugs at your lips as you stand to examine them, fingers lightly trailing over the meticulously arranged items. Appreciatively, you sit and carry out a full skin and hair care routine – after three days without it, you definitely need it. You wonder if it was Ara who must have put them here. You're certain she recognised you at dinner and when you think about it now, you think it would be nice to speak with someone familiar.
Your thoughts are interrupted by the buzz of your phone on the bed. Turning, you see the screen light up with an incoming FaceTime call. The name on the screen sends a swell of emotion through you.
“Moni?” you answer, settling back on the bed as your grandmother’s face appeared.
The sight of her brings a pang of guilt and relief all at once. Her tired eyes search your face and you can tell she must have been worrying nonstop. “Y/N,” she says softly, her voice warm. “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” you reassure her quickly, though your heart aches knowing she must have been so anxious. “Really.”
She gives you a sharp look, the kind only she can manage, and her tone turns brisk. “Good. Stay safe there, you hear me? We're figuring out what's going on and Yoongi will tell you more when he can."
You nod, knowing better than to argue. Her expression softened just a little as she continued. “Tell me about Jimin.”
“He hasn’t said anything.”
“About recognizing you?” she asks, her brow lifting slightly.
You nod. “Nothing.”
She sighs, a mixture of fondness and exasperation crossing her features. “I don’t imagine he would. But I have no doubt he does. You haven’t changed much. He, however... he’s different.”
Her words hang in the air, and you find yourself looking up, your thoughts turning to Jimin.
“Life hasn’t been kind to him,” she continues, her voice tinged with melancholy. “When I last saw him, I didn’t see the same little boy I knew.”
A bittersweet smile crosses your lips. “Life hasn’t been kind to any of us.”
Your grandmother purses her lips, acknowledging the truth of your words. “Do you remember his father?”
“Of course I do,” you say without hesitation. “It’s hard to forget a man as cold as him.”
“And Mr. Lee?” she asks, her tone cautious.
You nod, already anticipating where this was headed. “I know, Moni,” you say quietly, cutting her off.
She looks up at you, her expression briefly surprised, but it fades just as quickly. "Of course, I should have expected you would piece it together."
“I know it was them,” you say, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. “They did it. They killed Dad.”
She lets out a slow breath, her gaze steady on yours. “They were his best friends,” she says softly. “And then, all of a sudden…” She trails off.
You nod. You can only imagine that the sting of betrayal is still fresh even after all these years. Your grandmother's gaze remains on you, sharp and searching. “You’re there now, though… so, do you trust Jimin?”
You pause, memories of the night at your house flashing through your mind -- seeing Jimin in your kitchen with your gun aimed at him and he didn't retaliate in the slightest.
“I didn’t, at first,” you admit. “But I think I do. Besides, I trust Yoongi, and Yoongi trusts him."
She exhales slowly, relief evident on her face and a small smilw touches her lips. “You’re safe there, Y/N.”
You tilt your head slightly, meeting her gaze. “You trust Jimin?”
“I do,” she says without hesitation. “I trust him with you, and you’re my everything.”
The words wrap around your heart, and you wish you could reach through the screen to hug her. Instead, you nod and smile.
“You need to rest,” she instructs, her tone turning firm again. “I’ll call you later. Baek-hyun and I might come to see you. I think he wanted to see Yoongi too.”
Your lips quirk up at the thought. “That would be nice.”
"Good," she nods, and you eventually exchange goodbyes.
As the screen goes dark, you set the phone down, feeling a renewed sense of comfort. The thought of her visiting makes you smile softly as you sit in the quiet of the room.
Still restless though, you wander to the window, gazing out at the sprawling grounds bathed in the moonlight. You spot three men stationed at the back of the house, conversing together as they keep watch. The gardens stretch endlessly, just as you remembered. You can’t see the part of the grounds where Jimin’s mother’s garden would have been as it's hidden beyond the trees, but it would be nice to visit it tomorrow when the light returned.
As you shift, you feel your leg still aches, but it's different this time, more like the dull stiffness of inactivity than pain. Restless energy courses through you, and you decide a walk would do you good. The house is big enough and you need to keep your legs moving.
Stepping out of your room, you close the door quietly behind yourself and hear the faint hum of distant voices and sounds that tells you that not everyone is asleep yet.
As you move through the corridors, memories of Jimin filtered into your mind -- moments you hadn’t thought of in years now rising to the surface with startling clarity and they give you a strange sense of familiarity.
Eventually, your wandering brings you to your dad's painting again. You stop in front of it, the vivid strokes of lightning and sea send a wave of nostalgia over you, gratitude mingling with sadness. You remember you have a few of your father's paintings hanging up at home too and you make a mental note to ensure they're safely retrieved.
“Can’t you sleep, little bear?”
The voice, familiar and gentle, pulls you from your reverie. You turn to see Jimin standing a few feet away.
Dressed casually now, his white shirt unbuttoned at the top and his sleeves rolled up, he looks markedly different from the composed figure you saw earlier. There’s a softness to him now, something that reminds you of the boy you once knew. His smile, small and tentative, feels as though it might disappear if the silence breaks too loudly.
You smile back, and the corners of his lips lift a little more.
Realising what he just said, his words stop you short – it’s the name of the book you gave to him the first time you met him, so many years ago.
Jimin steps closer, the lamp’s dim light casting soft shadows on his features. As he nears, the subtle scent of his cologne reaches you – a delicate blend of cedarwood and something faintly sweet, familiar yet grounding. It lingers in the air between you, quietly drawing your attention to his presence. Despite the weariness evident in his eyes, there’s a steadiness about him, a calmness that feels both reassuring and disarming.
“Y/N,” he says, your name leaving his lips quietly, as though testing how it feels after all these years. “Did you think I wouldn’t recognise you?”
“I wasn’t counting on it,” you admit, your voice soft. “I’m surprised you remember the book.”
Jimin’s smile grows, faint but genuine. “How could I not? I never got to thank you for it properly.”
“Thank me?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.
He nods, shifting as if the memory is a tender one. “It was a comfort to me for a long time. I wasn’t allowed picture books of my own, so… thank you.”
You remember then how he once told you about his father’s strict rules. A cold man, his father likely saw no value in picture books – if they didn’t teach something useful, they weren’t worth having.
“You’re welcome,” you say softly.
Jimin’s gaze lingers on your face, and you feel a warmth creeping into your cheeks. Turning back to the painting, you focus on the familiar strokes of your father’s work.
“He was talented,” Jimin says quietly, standing beside you.
You smile faintly. “He was.”
After a moment, he adds, “I can have it moved to your room, if you like.”
You shake your head. “No, no. It’s okay. This is where it belongs.”
Jimin laughs softly, the sound low and soothing. “It’s actually covering up a stain we couldn’t remove. You might remember it since it was you who put it there.”
“Me?” you ask, eyebrows rising in surprise as you look at him.
He nods, a playful glint in his eyes. “Yep. One of the nights our fathers were away, and you had to stay over. Jiyoung was babysitting us, and we were painting. When it was time for bed, you didn’t want to sleep, so you ran away from her – with all the paints.”
As he speaks, the memory surfaces, vivid and sheepishly embarrassing. “Oh gosh, I remember. I tripped, and the paint went everywhere.”
Jimin smiles wider now, clearly suppressing a laugh. “We tried to paint over it a few times, but the colours were too bright. Eventually, my dad decided to put this up.”
You shake your head, laughing softly, though you still feel a twinge of embarrassment. “I can’t believe that’s still here.”
Jimin’s smile lingers, and the space between you feels quieter, weighted by an unspoken familiarity. His eyes flicker back to the painting, then to you. “It’s been a long time since then,” he says, his voice gentle, almost reflective.
You glance at him, catching the subtle shift in his tone, something deeper beneath the surface. “Yes,” you reply, turning your gaze back to the painting. “Though being here again… it almost feels like no time at all.”
Jimin studies you for a moment, his expression softening. “I imagine it feels different,” he says, “without your father?”
“Exactly,” you answer, the memory stirring a pang of longing. “It felt safe wherever he was.”
“And now?” His question is soft, careful, as though he’s weighing each word before speaking.
You hesitate before answering, meeting his gaze. “I want to say yes,” you admit honestly, “but experience tells me not to feel safe anywhere.”
Jimin nods, his expression contemplative, and something about his calm presence makes your honesty feel less vulnerable. “You’ve learned not to trust anyone,” he say, his voice carrying a quiet understanding.
You look at him, searching his face, but his steady gaze gives nothing away except an openness that feels disarming. “You’re right to think that,” he continues, his tone neither judgmental nor apologetic, as if he understands the walls you’ve built all too well.
The words sit between you for a moment before you ask, carefully, “Can I trust you?”
His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, silence fills the space between you.
“Yes,” he says, his voice quiet but certain. “But you’ll make that decision on your own.”
You nod slowly, his answer settling something inside you. There’s no urgency in his response, just a quiet assurance that feels like a small but solid anchor. It’s not a promise – it’s an invitation.
“Until then,” he continues, his voice softening, “please, make yourself at home. You’re safe here.”
The sincerity in his words lingers, and while they aren’t a guarantee, they feel real.
Jimin doesn’t say anything else, but you catch the way he watches you, something unspoken but soft in his expression. You feel it yourself too – after so many years there is so much to say, to ask, but for now you take the peaceful quiet for what it is.
His presence feels closer now and you let out a faint smile, glancing back at the painting.
It occurs to you now, how strange it is, that this time, there is something familiar that Jimin’s presence stirs in you – a reminder of what it feels like to trust, even if only a little.
note. thank you all so much for reading! please share your thoughts w me -- i really wanna know what you guys think! and rb toooo <3333
titsay
snowghoul
germansingergirl
origamiaround
gummygunk
theartofmadeline
janainaart
