Agent Emerald
Episode 2; Only When I Have Something to Lose
❧words: 3,737
❧ warnings:gun violence, violence, blood, minor deaths, one sided love
❧pairing: agent!jimin x agent!y/n ft jungkook
❧genre: strangers to lovers
❧au: national intelligence service/agents/bodyguards
summary: Protecting Jungkook as you work for the secret service was a walk in the park, until things change for the worse and a new recruit is assigned as your partner, Agent Dorem.
The silence that follows Jin’s announcement is thick, almost suffocating, a charged pause stretched between breaths, broken only by the soft hum of the lights above and the occasional distant echo of footsteps down sterile NIS corridors.
Jimin, or rather, Agent Dorem, moves with quiet precision as he lowers himself into the seat at the far end of the long briefing table. His posture is relaxed, almost casual, but his eyes sweep the room like a blade in the dark. Calculating. Measuring. Assessing.
They pause on Jungkook.
Then flick to you.
The contact is brief, but you catch it. He offers you a nod. Polite. Controlled. Confident. Too confident.
There’s calm in his expression, yes, but it’s the kind of calm forged in fire. Not the absence of danger, but the control of it. And it’s unnerving.
Jungkook shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his body stiff with unease. He doesn't like this, doesn’t like surprises, and certainly doesn’t like strangers being added to his detail without explanation. Especially not when his life already feels like it’s spiraling out of control.
He finally speaks, voice low and hoarse. “Why do I need another agent?”
His words aren’t aggressive. But they’re not welcoming either.
Jin, standing at the head of the table, folds his hands carefully in front of him. His gaze is steady, but there's weariness behind his eyes, the kind that only comes from carrying too many secrets for too long.
“Because you’re the primary target now,” Jin says plainly. “And Agent Emerald can’t be expected to handle everything alone, not with the threat level we’re facing.”
He pauses, letting the weight of that statement settle before continuing.
“Dorem was pulled from deep undercover operations in Prague for this mission. That should tell you something.”
Your eyes drift to Jimin, studying him more closely now. Agent Dorem. You’ve heard the name whispered through NIS hallways. Sometimes with respect. Sometimes with fear. The kind of operative who didn’t just complete missions, he ended them. No mess. No witnesses. No fingerprints.
The ghost behind a locked dossier.
And now he’s been assigned to your mission. Your mission.
Your fingers twitch against the fabric of your tactical pants, your gut tightening. You’re not afraid of Jimin. But you’ve learned enough to know: people like him don’t walk into rooms without knowing how they’ll walk out of them.
Jimin finally speaks, his voice smooth, warmer than you expect, but with something unmistakably sharp beneath it. Like honey poured over broken glass.
“Don’t worry, Jeon Jungkook,” he says evenly, leaning back slightly in his chair. “I’m not here to replace anyone.”
Jungkook’s jaw tenses. “I want to know why I’m being hunted like prey,” he snaps, voice suddenly cracking with the weight of anger he’s been holding back. “Why I can’t walk across my own campus without wondering if there’s a bullet with my name on it.”
There’s a beat of silence. And then Jin sighs softly. Not out of frustration, out of grief. “You’ll know everything in time,” he says gently, but firmly. “For now, Agent Dorem and Agent Emerald will operate as your protection team, effective immediately. Full co-operative oversight. We’ll be running intel on the Choo Mafia around the clock, tracking Sunghoon’s every move.”
The name slices through the air like an unsheathed knife.
Sunghoon.
Your father.
You keep your expression unreadable, but Jin notices the shift in your body, the way your shoulders tense, the way your jaw clenches.
President Jeon, silent until now, leans forward at the end of the table, fingers steepled. His voice is low and cold. “And when we find him?”
Everyone’s gaze turns to Jin. There’s a pause, long, deliberate.
Jin doesn’t hesitate out of fear. He hesitates because he knows the weight of what he’s about to say.
He looks at you.
“We eliminate the threat.”
The words land like a gunshot. You swallow hard. You know exactly what eliminate means. And you know exactly who will be expected to pull the trigger when that time comes. You.
Your hand curls into a fist under the table, fingernails digging into your palm. You’ve trained your entire life for moments like that. But this one… this one cuts differently. Because the man you're being asked to kill isn't just a target in a file. He’s your blood.
The meeting dissolves slowly, tension rising like steam as chairs scrape back and agents begin to file out, murmuring among themselves. You stay seated, unmoving, until Jin steps to your side and places a hand gently on your shoulder. “Stay back a moment, Agent Emerald.”
Jungkook turns in the doorway, his dark eyes locking on yours, searching. For what, you’re not sure. You offer him a nod. “I’ll be right there,” you murmur. It’s the softest thing you’ve said all day. He doesn’t look satisfied, but he nods once and walks out.
The door clicks shut. And then it’s just you and Jin. The silence stretches between you, heavy with things neither of you want to say out loud.
Finally, Jin speaks. “Y/N…” His voice is soft. Careful. “Where’s your head?”
You answer automatically. “I’m focused.” He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. “Try again.” You look away. He steps forward, standing directly in front of you now. “I know what he did to you,” he says quietly. “I was there when you showed up on NIS steps, bruised and bleeding, begging for a new life. I took you in. Trained you. Gave you a mission.”
You meet his gaze. “And now,” he continues, “you’re going to have to look him in the eye again. But this time… it’s not just memory.”
His eyes hardened slightly. “This time, if it comes to it, you may have to kill him.” Your heart kicks against your ribs, but your voice doesn’t shake.
“If he threatens Jungkook. Or the president. Or anyone else I’m assigned to protect… I won’t hesitate.” Jin studies your face for a long time.
What he sees there seems to satisfy him. Finally, he nods once. “Then let’s start preparing.” He turns away, but before he can reach the door, he adds over his shoulder: “Because war is coming, and it’s going to hit closer to home than either of us expected.”
When you step into the hallway, the air feels different. Charged. Thinner somehow. Jimin leans casually against the wall, hands in his jacket pockets. He’s watching you with a knowing smile, not mocking, just amused. Like he’s already ten steps into the game.
“Hope you’re ready to share the spotlight, Emerald,” he says with a wink. You roll your eyes, brushing past him. “Just try not to slow me down.” Jungkook stands between the two of you, arms crossed, shoulders tight with tension. His gaze shifts from you to Jimin and back again, confusion flickering behind his eyes. He doesn’t say anything.
He doesn’t need to. He’s caught between two lives. Two protectors.
The three of you fall into step, walking side by side down the corridor toward the briefing room. Your boots click softly against the linoleum, your shadows stretched long under the cold ceiling lights.
You, Agent Emerald — trained, loyal, deadly, haunted by blood that won’t wash off.
Jimin, Agent Dorem — a mystery wrapped in charm, precise and unshakable.
And Jungkook — the boy at the center of a war he never asked for.
And as you walk together into the unfolding storm, one truth rises above all the others: This mission isn’t just about justice anymore. It’s personal. And it always has been.
Jimin broke the silence as the elevator descended, rocking slightly on his heels. “So… are we all pretending this isn’t painfully awkward, or are we saving that for the ride?”
Jungkook shot him a look. “I was planning on faking sleep the entire way.” You let out a quiet sigh. “Let’s save the whole bonding experience for after we’ve survived our first mission without strangling each other.” Jimin raised an eyebrow, hand over his heart with exaggerated offense. “Noted. I’ll cancel the trust fall and campfire songs.”
You finally looked up. “Prague survived you. That’s impressive.”
“Barely,” Jungkook muttered under his breath.
Jimin pointed at him. “See? He gets it.”
As the elevator dinged open to the underground level, the tension hadn’t quite settled, not distrust, exactly. Just the sharp edges of three very different people trying to figure out if they were teammates, or just passengers in the same doomed carpool.
Jimin casually tossed the keys up. “I’ll drive.” You raised an eyebrow. “You sure that’s wise? First impressions are important.”
“Relax,” he said, grinning as he unlocked the SUV. “I only hit one curb. Ever.” You just rolled your eyes and settled into the passenger seat.
With a low hum, the engine started.
The drive was quiet. Too quiet. The soft hum of the engine filled the air between the three of you, a static lull thick with tension and everything left unsaid. Streetlights cast passing glows across the interior of the matte-black SUV as it cut through the heart of Seoul. Outside, the city was winding down, but inside the vehicle, everything felt like it was still holding its breath.
Jimin drove with one hand draped over the wheel, the other occasionally tapping the turn signal, eyes locked on the road ahead. Calm. Confident. Controlled.
From the backseat, Jungkook was stiff, arms crossed, shoulders squared, chin tilted toward the window as if he could phase through it and vanish into the night. Every so often, his jaw would twitch like he was grinding down a thousand thoughts behind clenched teeth.
You sat beside him, eyes flicking between the rearview and the tension practically vibrating off of him. “Hey,” you said softly, leaning in just a little. “You okay?”
A beat.
“No.”
His voice was quiet, but flat. Honest. You didn’t push. Just waited.
“I trust you,” he muttered after a long pause, not looking at you. “You’re the only one I trust. And now he’s here.”
Your gaze shifted to the rearview mirror, where you could see Jimin’s eyes briefly glance back, unreadable. “I get it,” you murmured. “It’s a lot. And it happened fast. But this isn’t about trust, it’s about keeping you alive.” Jungkook turned toward you, finally, eyes sharp.
“You’re saying I should trust him?”
“I’m saying you don’t have to trust him. Just let him do his job.”
“He’s not you.” The words were raw. Unfiltered. And they landed heavier than you expected. You opened your mouth, but Jimin’s voice cut in smoothly from the front seat. “I don’t plan on being her. But I do plan on keeping you breathing, so if it helps, pretend I’m just another weapon in your arsenal.” Jungkook scoffed.
Minutes later, the car descended into the underground garage of Jungkook’s penthouse. Jimin parked clean and fast, like clockwork. Engine off. Silence again. Jungkook was the first to get out. His movements were brisk, almost like he couldn’t get away fast enough.
You followed close behind. Jimin shut the driver’s door with a quiet thud and took a slow glance around the concrete structure, scanning the corners, exits, and cameras. Always analyzing.
The three of you moved as a unit toward the private elevator. Fingerprint scan. Retinal confirmation. Security code. You completed each step with smooth, practiced ease. Jimin lingered near the keypad, watching. “Not bad,” he remarked.
“Though I would’ve installed a silent failsafe in the hallway. Pressure sensors.”
You arched a brow. “We’re not fortifying a bunker.”
“Might as well be.”
When the elevator dinged and opened, Jungkook stepped in first, not waiting. You and Jimin followed. The tension in the confined space was palpable.
As you ascended to Jungkook’s floor, Jimin broke the silence.
“This place doesn’t make sense,” he said. “You’ve got the president’s son stashed in a luxury apartment complex with a bunch of civilians two floors below. That’s your security plan?” You didn’t look at him, just folded your arms. “NIS has him protected.”
Jimin gave you a look like that wasn’t enough.
You sighed. “High-profile targets get pulled into private safehouses, sure, but keeping someone like Jungkook locked in a bunker 24/7? That would draw more attention than protection. Everyone watches the buildings with the gates and the security. But no one suspects the top floor of a luxury high-rise with a tight internal system and anonymous NIS tech running behind the scenes.”
Jimin raised an eyebrow. “Anonymous?” You smirked. “The neighbors think they’re just lucky to have clean elevators and stable power. They don’t realize the guy next door is being protected by three surveillance satellites, six rotating agents, and a dog trained to kill on command.”
The elevator chimed. You stepped out first, scanning the corridor with muscle memory. Jungkook moved to his door. Jimin trailed behind, still absorbing the unseen layers around him.
“Ok so,” Jimin said casually as he made his rounds, “If you’re supposed to be watching over Jungkook 24/7…” He turned toward you with a smirk. “Why don’t you just live with him?”
You turned mid-stride, your expression unreadable, and raised a finger. “One,” you said, voice calm, “Jungkook is a grown man. I’m sure he wouldn’t want to be rooming with his female best friend. He deserves his privacy.”
Jimin raised a brow.
You lifted a second finger. “Two. He has his panic button. And Bam.”
You stopped in front of the next door, turned, and added a third finger. “Three. I’m his next-door neighbor.”
You flashed Jimin a sly smile and pointed to the door to your own apartment. Jimin blinked. “You’re serious.” You shrugged, leaning against the doorframe. “Close enough to be first if anything happens. Far enough to give him space.” Jungkook, without missing a beat, muttered, “Could’ve fooled me with how often you’re knocking on my door like a neighborhood watch.” That earned a small laugh from Jimin, the kind that was trying very hard not to be a smirk. He simply offered a low chuckle. “Well, this is going to be fun.” You rolled your eyes. Jungkook didn’t say anything else.
He unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped inside. The lights flicked on automatically, revealing the familiar, sleek interior. Marble floors. Chrome finishes. Modern art that probably costs more than most cars. And yet… it didn’t feel like home tonight. A familiar sound echoed from within Bam’s claws clicking against the hardwood as he came bounding into view. “Hey, Bam,” Jungkook murmured, kneeling to greet his dog. Bam immediately pushed his nose into Jungkook’s hands, tail wagging wildly, whining with recognition and relief. Jungkook let out the smallest sigh, pressing his forehead against Bam’s.“Missed you too, buddy.” Then Bam turned, padding toward Jimin with slow curiosity. He gave a cautious sniff, circling once, then looked up at him with narrowed but interested eyes.
“He’s sizing you up,” you commented with a knowing smirk. “Seems fair,” Jimin replied, letting Bam sniff his hand. After a moment, the dog gave a single wag of approval and padded over to you. You knelt briefly, stroking behind his ears.
Jimin did a silent sweep the moment he stepped in. Corners. Windows. Closets. Jungkook didn’t like it. And it showed.
“You’ll be staying at my place. Next door. We rotate shifts, but until we have a read on Sunghoon’s next move, you’re sticking close.”
Jimin didn’t argue. “Got it. Hope you have good coffee.”
You chuckled. “I don’t drink coffee.” Jimin blinked. “Wait, what?”
You shrugged. “It makes me jittery. I like knowing I can be that sharp on instinct alone.” He chuckled under his breath. “Terrifying. And impressive.” As he followed you toward your apartment, Jungkook stood quietly inside his own, watching the door you just disappeared behind.
Your apartment was expected. Neat but lived-in. Weapons hidden in plain sight if you knew where to look. A wall of shelves stacked with case files, weapons manuals, and well-worn copies of novels about betrayal and war. On the coffee table, a half-built pistol sat next to a mug of untouched herbal tea.
Jimin gave a low whistle. "Feels like a safehouse. Smells like vanilla.”
You shrugged, locking the door behind him. "Helps me sleep."
He walked further in, letting his eyes scan every inch, habit more than suspicion. "You always keep your place this ready?"
"It’s not readiness. It’s muscle memory." You gestured to the couch. "You can crash there, or in the spare room down the hall. Sheets are clean. Don’t bleed on them." He chuckled and dropped his bag by the couch. "Not planning to." You studied him for a second longer than necessary, then turned away. "Kitchen’s stocked. Just don’t touch the left cabinet. That’s mine." He glanced at it with mock suspicion. "Explosives?"
"Snacks. You can guess which ones I’m more protective over." Jimin’s laughter softened the edge in the room. It was strange. For two people trained to kill in silence, the quiet between you felt manageable. Even comfortable. Not quite trust. But not quite danger either. You handed him a spare blanket, then paused. "You snore?"
Jimin looked almost offended. "Only when I’m dreaming about saving your life." You rolled your eyes. "Good. Then let’s hope tonight is dreamless."
He didn’t say anything as he sank onto the couch, finally allowing his body to relax. You flicked off the lights and disappeared into your room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
The next morning arrived far too early for anyone's liking.
Before the sun had fully crested the skyline, a sharp, rhythmic knock echoed from Jungkook's bedroom door. The sound wasn’t frantic. It was deliberate.
“Jeon Jungkook,” you called through the door, voice steady. “Up. Now.”
Inside, Jungkook groaned into his pillow, dragging a blanket further over his head like it might protect him from your persistence. He knew better. Seconds later, his door creaked open and you stepped inside with your usual no-nonsense stride.
“Is it an emergency?” he mumbled, face still buried. You marched up to the bed, grabbed the covers, and yanked them off in one smooth pull.
“Only if you consider being helpless in a combat situation an emergency. Which you should.” His eyes cracked open, confusion still hazy. “It’s four. In the morning.”
“That’s when agents train,” you replied without missing a beat. “You want to survive? Then you train like us.” Jungkook sat up slowly, rubbing his face. “You didn’t say anything about this last night.” You tossed him a hoodie. “If I had, you’d have spent the night pretending you were sick. Surprise is a better motivator.”He muttered something under his breath, dragging himself out of bed. “I thought I had two agents assigned to me.”
“You do. But we can’t babysit you forever.” Your voice turned more serious. “If something happens. If we’re not there. You need to be able to hold your own. NIS protocol or not, you’re the president’s son. That makes you a target. Which means now, it makes you one of us.”
“Yay. So honored,” Jungkook deadpanned as he pulled his hoodie over his head.
An hour later, the three of you stood in front of NIS Headquarters under a sky still tinged with dawn. The towering glass and steel building gleamed with a quiet authority, its mirrored surface reflecting the empty roads and shifting clouds overhead.
Security was tight, but no one stopped you. Facial scans, retina recognition, biometric clearance. You breezed through them all.
Inside, the halls buzzed faintly with the pulse of the nation’s intelligence nerve center. Agents moved with purpose, reports in hand or earpieces chirping with coded updates. As the trio descended into the sublevel training complex, the air thickened with energy. The muted thud of sparring hits, the sharp retort of gunfire from the shooting ranges, and the rhythmic pounding of boots against obstacle course pads all formed a pulse you could feel in your bones.
You led them into a private training room reserved for elite ops. Massive, padded floors, reinforced glass observation panels, racks of training weapons, and programmable combat dummies lining the wall.
“Welcome to the jungle,” Jimin muttered with a grin, dropping his gym bag to the floor and stretching his neck until it cracked.
Jungkook looked around, arms still folded across his chest. “This feels excessive.”
“Excessive is staying alive,” you shot back. “You're not just a protected anymore. You’re a liability if you can’t defend yourself.”
You tossed him a pair of grappling gloves and padded forearm guards. He caught them awkwardly. “First lesson,” Jimin said, stepping onto the mat, “is that your body isn’t your enemy. Fear is.” Jungkook groaned, already dreading the soreness he’d be feeling by noon. “Remind me again why I’m doing this?”
“Because I didn’t give you a choice,” you said, voice clipped, but not unkind.
“Let’s start with stance,” Jimin added, motioning for Jungkook to step up. “Basic guard. Legs apart, dominant foot back, fists up. Pretend I’m about to kill you.”
Jungkook blinked. “Again, loving the positive energy in this room.”
You paced around them as Jungkook hesitantly mirrored Jimin’s posture. You observed with sharp eyes, occasionally stepping in to reposition his elbows, widen his stance, lower his shoulders. He was tense, but coachable. You could work with that.
The first hour was nothing but conditioning. Footwork, balance, agility drills, all under your sharp commands. Jungkook fell twice. Then four times. He was drenched in sweat by the time Jimin called a break.
You handed him a bottle of water and a towel, crouching beside him.
“You’re not bad,” you said. “You’re just not used to fighting back.”
He looked up at you, chest heaving. “Didn’t think I’d have to.”
You stared at him a moment longer. “You’re going to have to do a lot of things now.”
“Great. Can’t wait to add dodge-rolls and trauma to my resume.”
Across the room, Jimin was resetting the dummies and entering new difficulty levels into the control panel. He glanced over his shoulder.
“After this, we’ll hit the range. I want to see how well you aim under pressure.” Jungkook’s groan was theatrical. “You guys really don’t believe in breakfast first, huh?”
“Pain before pancakes,” you replied with a smirk.
“Can I at least get pancakes after?”
“No promises.”
Jimin grinned. “If you survive the day without crying, I’ll consider it.” You chuckled softly, surprising even yourself. Jungkook, still sprawled out on the mat, glanced between the two of you. His curiosity finally got the better of him. “Okay,” he said, pointing between you and Jimin, “Be honest. Who’d win in a spar between you two?” You and Jimin exchanged a slow glance. Jimin raised a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “Want to find out?”
You cracked your knuckles. “You sure you want him to see you lose on his first day?”
“Oh please,” Jimin laughed, already stepping onto the mat. “Let’s give him a show.” Jungkook scrambled to the side like a kid at his first martial arts tournament, wide-eyed and eager. “This is the best day of my life.”
You both circled each other on the mat. Tension coiled between you like a live wire. Jimin moved first — a calculated jab that you ducked before sweeping a leg toward his feet. He jumped, spun, and landed with a grin.
“Not bad,” he said.
“You’re slow,” you countered.
They traded blows, swift and fluid. Neither of you gave the other the upper hand for more than a second. Jungkook’s head moved like he was watching a ping-pong match. At one point, you rolled across Jimin’s back and landed on your feet. He managed to block your follow-up kick by a hair.
After five intense minutes, both of you broke into a sweat, breathing hard, grinning. Jungkook stood and clapped, completely invested. “Okay, I take back everything I said about this training being unnecessary. That was sick.”
You smirked at Jimin. “Call it a draw?” Jimin nodded, chest still rising and falling. “Until next time.” Before the sweat could even dry on your backs, you nodded toward the back of the room. “Range. Let’s go.”
Jungkook groaned dramatically from where he still sat, wiping his forehead with a towel. “You two fight like you're auditioning for a spy movie and now you want me to shoot things?” You tilted your head. “Yes. Because people are trying to shoot you. Figure it out.”
Jimin clapped a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder as he passed. “Don’t worry. The first time I held a gun, I dropped it. You can’t do worse than that.”
“You dropped it?” Jungkook asked, both alarmed and curious.
“I was eleven,” Jimin replied with a grin. “Also, it was loaded. Also, it shot a hole through a cement wall.”
“Wow. Okay. Feeling super safe now.” The range was dim, sterile, and humming with pressure-sensitive floor panels. You handed Jungkook a matte black pistol with practiced ease. He stared at it like it might bite him.
“Grip is firm but relaxed,” you said, stepping beside him. “Don't overthink. Just feel the weight. Trust your aim.” Jungkook took the stance Jimin had shown him earlier. Elbows tight. Shoulders stiff. Jimin chuckled. “He’s wound up like a pretzel.” You moved behind Jungkook, gently guiding his arms down, adjusting the angle of his grip. “Relax. If you shoot like you’re bracing for an earthquake, you’ll miss every time.” He let out a breath. “No pressure or anything.”
“Safety’s off. You’re live.” The first shot cracked through the room. It hit wide, barely grazing the edge of the target. Jungkook frowned. “Seriously?”
Jimin leaned against the wall. “Hey, at least you hit the paper. That’s better than my first shot.”
“Liar.” Jungkook narrowed his eyes and took another breath. This time, he adjusted slightly. Fired. A little closer to the center. You gave the faintest nod. “Better.”
“Don’t get cocky,” Jimin warned. “Now do it again. And again. Until your hands don’t shake anymore.” Jungkook glanced at him. “Is that how you learned?” Jimin’s smile faded into something quieter. “Yeah. More or less.”
You watched Jungkook’s grip tighten. There was no shortcut to strength. But he was willing. That was enough for now.
“We’re done for today,” you announced, your voice firm but not unkind as you ejected the magazine from your pistol and set it on the bench. “Gear down.”
Jungkook let out a breath, part relief, part sheer exhaustion. Jimin didn’t speak, already disarming his weapon with the practiced ease of someone who had done this more times than he could count. The range, moments ago filled with the echo of gunfire and sharp commands, now felt too quiet. The only sounds were the distant whir of the air system and the dull clatter of equipment being returned to its place. You stepped back from the shooting lane and pulled off your gloves, watching as Jungkook sluggishly unfastened the gear strapped to his torso. He was slow but focused. It was the kind of exhaustion that came with learning the hard way. He didn’t complain. The three of you moved through the motions in silence, stowing weapons, stripping off vests, and grabbing your bags. The transition from fieldwork to downtime was always a strange shift, a kind of unspoken decompression. But this time, it felt more like survival. Earned and necessary. “Let’s go,” you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder.
No one argued. Jimin opened the door and led the way out of the training floor. The hallway was dim and cold by contrast, lined with concrete and steel. You walked in step behind him while Jungkook followed, slower, his footsteps a little uneven. The elevator hummed as it descended toward the lower level of HQ, toward the locker rooms and that familiar, muted world agents returned to when they needed a breath. Jungkook didn’t ask where you were going. He just kept moving forward.
The locker room was cool and quiet, a sanctuary of steam and silence compared to the chaos below. It wasn’t the communal one used by junior agents; this was tucked deeper inside HQ, lined with reinforced lockers, softly humming air vents, and an atmosphere worn down by experience.
Jimin dropped his bag onto the bench with a grunt and stretched his arms overhead. “Remind me not to volunteer for sparring before coffee again.”
You managed a faint smile. “Remind me why you keep thinking I’d go easy on you.”
Jungkook was the last one in, slower with his movements. He just looked like he’d finally begun to understand how heavy this world could be. After a quick rinse and a change of clothes, you led the way through the corridor past the locker room, a route most agents didn’t know existed. A hidden hallway with no label, just a fingerprint panel and an unassuming steel door. Inside was the lounge reserved for high-clearance operatives: all quiet sophistication, dim lights, and plush chairs that invited exhaustion.
This was where agents went when they didn’t want to be seen. But didn’t want to be alone. And today, it was yours.
Jimin was the first to drop into one of the low armchairs, exhaling slowly like the tension was finally starting to bleed out of his shoulders. He slung a towel around his neck and stared at the ceiling like it might offer answers. You took a seat on the edge of the couch across from him, sipping from a bottle of water, your mind still half on the training floor. Jungkook hovered nearby at first, pacing a little, arms crossed like he hadn’t quite decided if he belonged in this space yet or in any of it.
The quiet settled between the three of you until Jungkook’s voice cut through it. “Do you remember your first mission?”
You glanced over at him. Neither you nor Jimin answered right away.
You leaned back into the cushions and let your gaze wander toward the far wall. “Recovery op,” you said finally. “Two agents went dark. No comms. No intel. They sent us in blind.”
Jungkook tilted his head. “Did you find them?”
“One,” you said, your voice soft but steady. “The other... wasn’t in one piece.”
The weight of the words hung between you all. Even the filtered air felt heavier now. Jimin exhaled, long and slow. “Mine was in New York,” he said, his voice quieter now. “We had to get a scientist out before he was handed over to the wrong people. It was supposed to be quick, in and out.” He paused. “But our intel was off. The exit point was compromised. Everything went sideways. I had to get him out on foot, through crowded streets, in the rain. He was bleeding badly, and I dislocated my shoulder helping him over a wall.” He gave a half-shrug. “Not exactly what they put in the training manuals.”
You arched a brow at him, and for a beat, he gave the ghost of a grin. But he didn’t elaborate. Jungkook finally dropped into the seat beside you, his posture folding in slightly as the weight of what he’d asked and what he’d heard settled into his bones. “So you both almost died,” he murmured. “And now you’re here. Babysitting me.” You looked at Jungkook, your expression softening just a touch. “You’re not dead weight, Jungkook. You’re the mission. And if that means we’re risking our necks to keep you alive, then so be it.”
He studied his hands, fingers twitching faintly. “Does it ever get easier?”
You didn’t answer immediately. You glanced at Jimin, who didn’t say anything either. Finally, you drew a breath. “No,” you said. “But you get better at carrying it. You learn when to put it down. And when not to.”
Jungkook nodded, but it was slow, not because he disagreed, but because he was still parsing the truth of it. The cold, sharp edge of the world you lived in was starting to press into him now. After a while, he leaned forward again, elbows on his knees. His voice was almost hesitant now.
“Do you guys ever get scared?” You didn’t look at him. Instead, you stared down at your hands, at the calluses and fading bruises. You didn’t speak for a long moment. “Only when I have something to lose,” you said quietly.
Jimin’s gaze flicked over to you, unreadable, but something in the tightness around his eyes shifted. He didn’t speak, but you saw the faintest flicker in his expression. Agreement. Or maybe memory. The room fell into another silence, but this one was different. Heavier, yes, but not cold. Not stifling. It was a silence that knew it didn’t need to be filled. For the first time since this mission started, you weren’t just three people thrown together by NIS protocol. You were starting to feel like a team. And underneath all the training and silence and combat drills, that realization was the only thing that offered any comfort at all.
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