Words: 2.4k
Genre: Angst, Mafia!Au
Summary: Blanks and a bullet - it will only take one to die and one chance to live.
Cr.
Keep your friends close but your enemies closer.
A sterling table rusted and tarnished to onyx, concrete walls and floor without a trace of light. The flickering bulb swings above you, moving your shadow despite not breathing and creaking slowly like a metronome; a lullaby to your absolute demise. There is only one set of steel doors, far out of reach and even a scream at the top of your lungs would be heard by empty ears. All barring one.
A man you’ve known your entire life, dark hair and stone, cold eyes; more of a foe than ever a friend.
A suitcase sits on the table between the both of you and you’re too disgusted to even touch it, fully aware of it being brimmed with dirty, green bills. It should be enough to satisfy him.
It takes all your efforts to muster a smile but even then, it’s a smirk of contempt. You don’t know what it’s like for your lips to upturn in joy. You’ve never felt happiness before. “I think it’s safe to say that the both of us can’t leave here.”
Namjoon chuckles, shaking his head with crinkled eyes. “So you got orders too?”
“Of course I did.” You tilt your head in amusement. “It would be strange if I didn’t.”
“One of us has to die.” He murmurs in a twisted smile, speaking as if death is an old friend.
You smirk at that, giggling as you cross your legs and cock your head the other way; staring at him with enthusiasm. “To make things more interesting, I propose we play a game.”
His eyebrow quirks upwards. “A game?”
“Russian Roulette.”
“You’re insane.” He laughs out loud, head pulling back. “I love it.”
The both of you drop all your weapons without peeling your eyes away from each other. He pulls out the hidden guns from his black suit, emptying jacket and pockets while you take out yours, sharpened knives clanking against the stone floors. The both of you drop everything and it skids to the other side of the room as you kick them. Somehow there’s a mutual trust, respect or honour, the both of you know that the other will not cheat.
“To make things interesting…” You smirk again, placing the only weapon you have - a cold revolver on top of the briefcase. “One real bullet goes in and five others will be blank. The person that wins gets the briefcase and their life. Agree?”
He scoffs. “I agree.”
“Let’s make this quick then.” You sneer out, pulling out loose bullets from your pockets. His stare fixes on you, a weight to your shoulders that you can already feel. In one smooth motion, ingrained in you from birth, you place a blank inside the barrel. Closing it without a spin, you hold it to your head and pull the trigger.
Bang!
It fires with a spark and a piercing sound, ringing in your ears. Hot air steams from the barrel and you smile genuinely with closed eyes, the satisfaction of being so close to death makes adrenaline pulse through your veins. “It’s a blank.” You whisper out before opening your eyes once more. Repeating the same action with a golden bullet, you fire towards the concrete wall.
Bang!
The bullet ricochets off the wall and onto the ground, leaving nothing but a tiny dent and a scratched surface, the sound still ringing in your ears. “And that is a real bullet. We don’t play games.”
Namjoon smirks with clasped hands, crouched over and watching you with amusement. “That’s right. But we can make things even more interesting.” His words make you freeze, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. “We shoot each other but beforehand, let’s ask a question and the other must answer.” He chuckles at your disinterest. “What do we have to lose?”
“Fine.”
The both of you are in complete silence as you fill up the revolver’s six chambers, five with blanks and one real bullet. You hand him the gun, and he takes it, spinning the barrel with his hand. He glances up at you with a smile, dimples on each side of his cheek before he slams the barrel into place.
“Ladies first.” Namjoon places the gun on the briefcase and you narrow your eyes in skepticism.
“Never considered you a gentleman.”
“I’m a lot of things that you probably don’t know about.” He murmurs and you take the revolver, palms somehow feeling clammy. All the excitement of having your enemy’s blood on your hands or the sweet and merciful relief of your head on the table is gone.
“So I can ask any question?” You eye the barrel of the gun in fascination.
“Make it count.” He smirks. “I might die.”
In one heartbeat, you point the weapon straight at his forehead, an aim that would blow his brains right out of his skull; exactly practiced and done without any conscious thought. You’ve practiced this a million times over and your hand doesn’t even quiver with the weight. He smiles, almost sweetly but you focus your eyes onto the firing pin; suffocating the guilt that threatens to revive when you killed it so long ago.
“Go ahead.” He senses your hesitation, making a gesture as if for you to come.
You swallow hard before bitter words fall from your lips - a question that has haunted you for years, never leaving your side. It’s a nightmare that appears each time you blink; a desperate scream for help, a cry for her son, a bang and crimson fluid drenching your shoes.
“How did it feel when my father killed your mother?”
Namjoon smirks then rips his eyes away from you, staring straight into the muzzle of the revolver.
“Terrible.”
He finally speaks after a long silence, a one worded answer but carrying the burden of a millennial regrets. Unlike his demeanor and his simplistic reply, the cruelty of the question is seen by the way his eyes shake. Yet, he still gazes at the revolver with an expression of seduction as if welcoming death in open warms. “I wanted to die.”
“Your mother screamed for you…..even in her last moments.” When you close your eyes, you can still hear her shrill cries, the final words tumbling from her lips in desperation. And the way she looked at you, a softened gaze with a sweet smile, never blinking as if you were the last messenger to her son; as if you were her son. “She told me she loved you and she’s never stopped despite what you believe.”
Namjoon swallows hard, like an acid pill too big to swallow. “Then let me ask you this…” His cold eyes connect to yours. “Did you like it?”
“Believe it or not…” Your finger curls at the trigger, feeling the resistance of the object. “I never wanted to be part of this.”
Bang!
Your arm falls and the back of your mind whispers a frantic prayer. Fear holds you in chains and you focus on your shoes but the trickle of crimson never comes. When you raise your head, he’s there with a smile and though it is against everything you’ve ever known, relief kisses your lips.
“Your turn.” You toss the gun onto the briefcase which he takes into his hand, replacing the empty blank with another before spinning it and snapping it shut.
Without another rolled syllable, he holds the revolver to your head; an angle that would make you drop into the Grim Reaper’s arms before the sound would ever pierce your ears.
Your lungs threaten to burst in sadistic laughter; how quickly the tables have turned, how easily you have waltzed into the enemy's hands. But you’re content with him being your sole demise, it would’ve been a shame if it were anyone else, he was the most deserving after all.
Nostalgia seeps into your mind, nauseating and horrific; like Pandora’s box, exploding memories absent of happiness or laughter. You’ve lived your whole life alongside your enemy, weapons like skin, ready to be fired at any tick of the clock. Sickening to the stomach, if fate weren’t so cruel, the both of you would have been childhood companions.
He sat a few desks away and you laughed no matter how fake it was, mustered up as much joy as you could in your smiles, displaying what an untarnished life you lived. And he did the same. When your father demanded a report and you filled in the blanks, decisions were determined on Namjoon’s actions that you observed. Any sign of fear, anger or anguish would be assumed to translate to his family. Happiness meant things were going well, happiness meant cautious steps.
It was ingrained into your mind to show a pretty mask, a perfect facade; bruises and cuts saved for rainy days, loose tears falling in locked bathroom stalls. That was when you were weak. That was when you still wanted love.
Your entire life, you watched him from the corner of your eye, and he watched you.
The two of you were pawn pieces in their games of chess.
“Sophomore year.” Namjoon begins quietly. “I heard your brother died.”
He can’t read past your impenetrable, emotionless expression. You inhale a sharp breath after a long silence. “Did you-”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t do it.”
“Good.” You smirk. “For a second, I was going to become really regretful that I didn’t kill you sooner.”
“One of my father’s men did it.”
“What did you do to his body?”
“We burnt it.” He states simply.
You nod. “And the ashes?”
“I collected them.” Namjoon stares at you and under the intensity, you switch your eyes to the muzzle of the gun, exactly like he did. You wonder what your brother must’ve thought when a gun was pointed at him and pulled before he could even blink. “I threw them in a river.”
“Thank you.” You close your eyes and he pulls the trigger. You’ve never been more prepared.
Bang!
You inhale a last breath, frowning and ready for the blow, a one in six chance of mercy. And you wait and wait and wait for darkness.
But when it never comes, it isn’t disappointment that drowns you but ease.
You never knew you still had the will to live.
“You’re lucky, aren’t you?” Namjoon says in a staggering breath as you inhale and open your eyes. You’re almost a big enough fool to believe the smile on his lips is from relief too.
“Luck easily runs out.” You take the revolver from his hand, refilling the blank with shaking hands. “Let’s just hope yours doesn’t run out first.”
“Are you okay?” He asks with a small laugh, something more genuine and less mocking than you’ve ever imagined it to be. He motions towards your quivering hands, the revolver that shakes and the aim to his forehead that would’ve made a disgrace to your family name, less than flawless.
“I’m fine.” You reassure in a quick scowl, bringing your other hand to hold your wrist. The weapon suddenly feels ten pounds heavier when you’re pointing it at him. “Just answer my question.”
“Ask.”
“Five years ago.” It’s a light at the end of the tunnel but when you chased it, it was nothing more than a firefly, still a flickering light in the suffocating oblivion. It’s been something weighing on your mind, something making you restless. You can’t stop shaking.
“Five years ago..” He smiles gently, recollecting the day you were less of an enemy and more of a human.
“Why did you save me?”
You hold in your breath, desperate for an answer. “Why did you let me live?”
“I was returning a favour.” Dimples appear on both sides of his cheek, shrugging casually as if all he did was lend you a novel. “You let me live.”
“But I was captured. You untied me, led me out and gave me a gun.” You spit out with the utmost confusion. “I just pretended I didn’t see you.”
Namjoon tilts his head to one side. “We both saved each other then.”
“But what was your reason?”
“I could ask you the same question.” There’s a long silence as the both of you stare at each other, a million more questions and a thousand answers that could never be said out loud.
“Shoot me, Y/N.”
Since when did it become so difficult for you to pull the trigger? Since when did the gun become so heavy in your hand? Since when did you ever feel this way?
Bang!
Hot smoke rises from the muzzle and a scream threatens to rip through your voice as you throw the revolver away from you, as if burning your skin. You search for crimson fluid, a straight hole through his head and a lifeless body fallen to the ground. But none of it appears and you’ve never wanted to cry out of sheer relief before.
It’s a blank.
Namjoon doesn’t speak, still connecting his eyes to yours in an unbroken gaze. He takes the revolver and holds it up to your head, cocking the gun back with his thumb. His eyes are cold but only because he doesn’t know anything else. Like you, he knows no happiness. But there’s a desperation too and you can see it.
“Do you love me?”
You close your eyes, murmuring as he pulls the trigger.
“I do.”
Bang!
A shudder runs through your body and your spine threatens to snap, you’ve never been more afraid in your life. But what terrifies you even more is if you don’t fall, he will.
It’s a blank.
You live.
The revolver is already in front of you by the time you open your eyes again and when you look at him, he smiles; so brightly and for once, genuinely happy. It’s foreign to you, making your heart ache but swell at the same time. It’s a withered rose blooming or a dying angel, it shouldn’t be possible that you feel this way. You weren’t made to love or feel it.
You take your aim at his head.
If the both of you were to leave together and escape, like mice in a cat’s world, you’d be killed without a trace of mercy. But maybe the risk was worth it, maybe you’d be able to feel happiness and understand love. Maybe dying in the enemy’s arms was all you ever wanted.
You ask him one simple question, vowing to yourself that if the chances permitted it and life was on the other side of your fire, you’ll run with him in a heartbeat.
