ESCAPISM
CHAPTER TWELVE | RUN BEAUTIFUL
→ Pairing: BTS ( OT7 ) x reader (female)
→ AUs: non idol!au
→ Genre(s): dark romance, smut, mature, mafia
→ Trope(s): club owner, selling pictures, drug use, forbidden romance, dark, slow-burn, seductive, mafia
→ Rating: mature/explicit (this is mature/explicit content, so you have been warned.)
→ warnings + triggers: girl-on-girl ( kissing, heavy making out, grinding) , police , selling drugs, mafia, fight, blood
→ Word count: 6K
→ Author’s note:
Escapism is a dark romance—intense, poetic, and deeply atmospheric. It explores desire, deception, and the pull of the forbidden.
This story is also written by two authors. Both working on the two couple. Please read with caution. For those who stay, welcome to a world where love and darkness intertwine.
SONGS:
The bass was so deep it felt like it throbbed under the skin, a pulse of its own, crawling through the marble floors and velvet walls. Smoke hung thick in the air, laced with perfume and something electric—desire maybe, or danger. Bodies moved like waves beneath the strobing crimson lights, slick with sweat, caught between beats and illusions. Everything inside Kitty Gang shimmered with temptation.
She threw herself onto one of the blood-red leather couches in the lounge, limbs heavy and hair wild, a sheen of sweat glistening on her collarbone. Her black mini dress clung to her skin like ink, the silver chains around her thighs glinting under the flickering light. Her chest rose and fell rapidly—she had danced for what felt like hours.
Moon was exhausted, glowing, alive.
Above her, on the balcony of the VIP lounge, Jimin stood behind the railing, a drink dangled lazily in one hand, his other resting in his pocket. His dark shirt clung to his lean frame; sleeves rolled up just enough to show his veins. His eyes shifted from her to the crowd. Tonight, Kitty Gang didn’t have any supplies, only booz and alcholo. Jimin had something new coming from his deal with Diego later tonight.
Moon’s head lolled to the side, a dazed smile on her lips. Her eyes caught the warm gaze of a young woman sitting nearby—Cho, one of the dancers. Moon sat up slowly, her eyes heavy-lidded, her fingers brushing her hair behind her ear as she tilted her head, studying Cho with a kind of drunken fascination, lips slightly parted.
Cho smiled shyly, clearly unsure whether Moon was teasing or flirting. But then Moon leaned in, and her lips met Cho’s.
It was soft. A gentle press—testing. Cho gasped into the kiss, startled for only a second before responding with equal heat. Her hand slipped behind Moon’s neck, fingers curling into her hair, guiding the angle of the kiss. Moon moaned softly against her mouth as her leg locked around Cho’s thigh and she grinded against it.
The friction sent shockwaves through both of them. Cho’s head fell back, exposing her throat, her moans soft and shaky, like they were being drawn out of her unwillingly. Moon’s lips trailed down her neck, kissing and sucking on the softness of her skin. “Mmm,” Cho moaned as Moon’s hands gripped her thigh, pulling her closer as she continued to grind agasint her.
She rose onto her knees and straddled Moon. Her legs slid on either side, caging her in and her red dress hiked up to her hips. The fabric barely covered anything now. Moon bit down on her lip as Cho rocked forward, grinding down onto her. Her head fell back against the leather couch and her fingers twitched on Cho’s skin.
Cho’s movements were slow and delicious, her hips circling, grinding with intent, teasing Moon, dragging the friction. “Fuck,” Moon breathed out as she licked her lips. She looked up at Cho, her hair framed her face, a few strands falling in her face. Moon reached to cup her cheek with one hand while the other was gluded to her hip guding her back and forth. She tugged her face down towards hers and kissed her again, her tongue slipping into her mouth.
Moon moaned into her mouth, her hand dropped from her face, slipping under the hem of Cho’s dress, feeling the bare skin of her thighs, her ass—gripping her, urging her closer. “You done this before?” Cho smirked agasint her lips, and Moon shook her head. “I know you’re dating my Boss, but fuck, you taste so good.”
“Yeah?” Moon arched a brow as she kissed her neck, and Cho nodded. Moon pushed her own hips up to meet Cho’s rhythm. The friction was hot, and her body arched into it, grinding up as Cho rolled her hips again and slowly.
Cho giggled as she tilted Moon’s chin and kissed her neck while cupping her breast through the fabric of her dress. “Wider,” she whispered against her skin, and Moon’s legs opened wider, needing more of the friction.
Cho’s core dragged against hers, their panties clinging to them like a second skin, damp, wet and delicate and almost useless. “Fuck, that feels…” Moon breathed.
“Mmm, you’re so wet baby,” Cho moaned. She pressed her hips down, making Moon feel every aching inch of contact. Every movement of her hips sent another ripple of pleasure through Moon.
Cho stopped for a moment. She reached for the glass of champage and took a sip before she placed it back down and turned to Moon. She gripped the back of Moon’s hair, tilted her head back and Moon’s lips parted as she gasped. Cho brought her mouth down closer to her and poured the sip she took into Moon’s mouth and kissed her, tongue slipping in, brushing agasint Moon’s. Cho’s core throbbed. She wanted to make Moon come.
Cho rocked harder, slower, then faster again, lost in the rhythm of it. Moon’s moans were soft and broken, slipping past her lips between gasps. Her stomach tightened as she drew Cho closer.
A slow, rising burn that spread through her body in waves, deep and molten, stealing the breath from her lungs. Her hips froze mid-grind, her lips parted, her brows furrowed as her whole body tensed—then melted. She moaned into Cho’s mouth breathlessly, body twitching with the aftershocks, pleasure flooding every inch of her.
Cho smirked as Moon cupped her face and kissed her again, but when they broke the kiss, Jimin now stood in front of them.
The strobe lights cut through the haze, casting flickers of gold and red across his face, but the shadows never left him. His eyes were locked on Moon – the girl draped on the couch like sin incarnate.
Cho got, adjusting the hem of her dress with a smirk still tugging at the corner of her lips, like she’d just stepped off a runway instead of someone’s lap. No guilt. No shame. Just a quiet kind of satisfaction. She didn’t glance at Jimin. She didn’t need to and walked away, hips swaying to the music, melting back into the crowd like she’d only stopped by for a smoke and a good time.
And Jimin’s eyes were locked on Moon the entire time. Not in anger. Not even in disappointment. Jealousy, yes—but the kind that curled around his ribs like silk ribbons set on fire. It wasn’t the possessive kind that came with shouting or storming out. It was an inferno behind glass.
She was looking at him now. Her body still spread across the couch, dress pushed upwards and a flushed face. Moon looked like sin wrapped in velvet. She didn’t sit up. Didn’t flinch. Her fingers toyed lazily with the silver moon chain around her thigh, her lips still parted from the kiss like she was still tasting Cho’s mouth on hers and didn’t mind that he’d seen it. She looked amused and playful.
Yet, there was a twitch in his jaw, a pulse in his neck, betraying his calm demenour. Jimin stepped even closer. He could feel the heat radiating off her, the subtle tremor of her body as she remained so effortlessly composed. He leaned in slightly, his face right in front of hers. "You don’t care that I saw that, Moon?" he murmured, his voice thick with jealousy.
Moon tilted her head. “You look like you want to murder someone.”
He lifted his glass, swirling the amber liquor inside. “Depends,” he said, voice low. “Was it worth the show?”
Moon's lips curved. “If I say yes, will you punish me?”
Jimin let out a slow exhale through his nose, the kind that looked like a sigh but felt more like restraint. “You really want to test me tonight, huh?”
“You didn’t seem to mind watching.” She spoke. “Not angry, are you?” There was a sweetness to her voice laced with. A challenge.
Jimin’s eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. He took another step forward, his presence towering over her like a storm waiting to break. His jaw tightened, the tension in his body palpable. “Angry doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he murmured, his voice dangerously low, almost dark with the weight of his emotions. “Watching you with someone else...” He let the words trail off for a moment. “It doesn’t sit right with me.” Jimin’s hand moved to her waist, pulling her close as if he couldn’t stay away any longer. “You’re mine, babygirl.”
As the night continued, Kitty Gang had never been cleaner. No powders exchanged hands in back hallways. No pills slipped beneath tongues. Jimin had ordered the floors scrubbed, the glasses polished, the security tripled. Not because they feared the law—but because tonight, a different kind of business was on the table. For once, in a long while, the club breathed easy.
To Yoongi’s right Kim Namjoon sat dressed in deep navy, eyes scanning the room like a chessboard. His presence was calm but not soft—there was steel beneath the silk. He was just the consigliere, the mind behind the movement but a man who understood the law well enough to bend it without ever breaking it. When emotion clouded the room, Namjoon cleared it. He was logic made flesh.
On Jimin’s left, Kim Taehyung and Kim SeokJin, cousins. His fingers tapping his glass to the rhythm of the beat. And Jin, who had known Yoongi the same amount of time as Namjoon sat leaning back into the leather of the sofa.
Across from them, Jung Hoseok leaned back with one arm draped along the booth’s curve. Street-born. He handled mostly the Latin territories like second nature and spoke Spanish better than most native speakers. He was their link to the street, the language of the people.
And then, youngest—Jeon Jungkook.
"Control over a demographic isn't a small thing," Namjoon spoke. "Diego’s territory is already hot. But his shipments—those are untouchable. Untouched by the usual market. We’re talking about a gold mine here, but we have to tread carefully. Make sure we don’t upset the balance. If we give him control, we get access to everything premium. Whatever the rest of the world can’t touch."
"What do we get out of it?" Jin asked, his voice deep and familiar, a trace of humor in his tone as he leaned back against the booth.
Everyone turned their heads to Jimin. "We get access to Diego’s shipments—everything he’s holding back,” he said. “Whatever he has that no one else can touch. The kind of things that could make us untouchable, not just in Seoul.”
“Globally,” Namjoon finished, and Jimin nodded.
“And what if it’s too risky?” Taehyung asked.
Namjoon let out a soft sigh. "It is risky, yes,” he said. “But if we don’t get our hands on it, someone else will and they can buy power with the money they will make.”
Jungkook, leaned in slightly. "When do they drop by?”
They exited to the back of the club, the music dulling behind them like a heartbeat slipping into stillness. The alley was narrow, lit only by the moody wash of sodium vapor and the lazy flicker of a faulty bulb. It smelled of old rain and oil-stained pavement, that distinctive scent of a city that never truly dries.
A black van pulled in without headlights. It didn’t need them. The men inside knew exactly where they were going. No horns. No announcements. Just the soft creak of brakes, the mechanical click of doors unlatching, and then the cargo emerged—neat, disciplined, businesslike.
Silver briefcases, the kind that held cash with such numbers that they were hard to even say. No words exchanged. Just glances, nods. One of Diego’s men, face half-shadowed beneath a cap, lifted a hand in greeting. Another opened the crate. Inside, rows of small, tightly packed plastic bags. It wasn’t street trash. This was premium, the kind of product you didn’t find unless you were invited into the room where such things were whispered.
Jungkook banged his fist on the door to Kitty Gang and men dressed in black walked out. They took off quietly, disappearing downside streets and into vehicles already waiting, each heading to a destination – Busan, Daegu, Incheon and a few other districts in Seoul.
They returned inside and the pulse of the chaos wrapped around them once more. They walked back to their table in the VIP section—its surface now dressed not in liquor or crystal ashtrays, but in something far more precious. ten small, clear bags sat in a row beneath the golden glow of a downlight, their contents fine and pale, glittering faintly like powdered pearls. They didn’t hide it. No need to. This wasn’t for sale. Not yet. This was display. Art.
Jimin leaned forward, fingers barely grazing the edge of the glass tabletop as if it were sacred. “Look at that,” he murmured. “It’s like snow that knows its worth.”
Jungkook whistled under his breath. “Diego wasn’t exaggerating.” He opened a swizzels mega dust and poured some into his mouth, the soure lemon flavour caught him off guard. He didn’t expect for it to be this strong. He placed the straw down on the table and didn’t touch it again.
Namjoon’s phone went off and he stood up from the table, exiting the building to answer the caller.
Hoseok frowed as he looked at the bags, his head dipped slighly to the side, and he reached for one. He held it up and saw that there was an empty bag stuck to it. “This one wanted to join the big boys,” he laughed as he pulled apart. “Refined through three filters,” he continted, refering to the other bags. “Costs more to produce than some entire businesses make in a year.”
Then, the atmosphere shifted—like tension before the thunderstorm. The low hum of the bass that had vibrated through the club’s walls fell silent. The vibrant, intoxicating lights dimmed, flickering as if the electricity itself felt the change and the bright lights came on. And the club's front doors slamming open with a force that seemed too deliberate.
“This is the police! Everybody remain where you are!”
Police officers—scores of them wearing bulletproof entered Kitty Gang. Their boots clacked against the polished floor as they filed in with military precision, making the floor beneath their feet tremble. The air in the club thickened with the weight of their presence, a rush of panic clinging to the space like smoke. But that panic didn’t touch the men at the table.
Hoseok quickly grabbed the bags off the table and sprinted to Moon and Rachel, making sure not to bump into anyone due to the ocean of people running around. “You two,” he said, his voice low, but edged with authority as he stuffed the bags in their bras. “Blend in with the crowd. Don’t look back. Go.” Moon and Rachel blinked, their eyes wide as they looked at him, not understanding what was going but they nodded with pale faces and did as they were told.
“Move it!” the officers yelled at people. “Everybody out! Now!”
Yoongi sat still, his back relaxed against the leather booth, his eyes unreadable as the room began to churn with the presence of the law. Beside him, Jimin didn’t flinch, his fingers still resting lightly on the edge of his glass, as though nothing had changed. Jin’s eyes shifted to the member for a second before he stood up and belded with the crowd of people. Jungkook kicked Taehyung under the table and flicked his eyes down to the table, and the empty palstic bag Hoseok had laughed at earlier was right in front of him as well as the straw of swizzles mega dust from that Jungkook did not like. He reached out and poured it quickly into the bag before sealing it closed. It was a perfect cover, the colour matching so precisely that it would pass unnoticed in the chaos.
“Namjoon,” Jin called out once he made out of the club. His voice was slightly breathless from running and urgent. “The police.”
“Oh, for fuck's sake,” Namjoon wanted to facepalm himself. “I leave for a few minutes.”
But back inside, Jimin, Hoseok, Jungkook, Taehyung and Yoongi shared a glace as the crowd funneled out, high heels clacking on the floor and murmured panic. But not from them. The five men who remained behind, untouched by the chaos. No sweat on their brows. No urgency in their limbs. They moved with the elegance of men who had done this dance before. Not cowboys. Not gangsters.
Gentlemen.
Yoongi stood up, one hand in his pocket and the other held his glass of whiskey. Hoseok leaned against the column nearest the bar, head tilted like he was contemplating the playlist, not the raid. His hands slipped into his pockets as he nodded to a passing officer with a smile so subtle it was nearly saintly.
Taehyung also stood up and was now standing near the velvet rope at the entrance of the VIP stairwell, fingers brushing the hem of his blazer as he stretched.
And then, Jimin stood, slowly, like a prince rising from his throne, but his hand also casually reached for the bag Taehyung had crafted—Swizzles Mega Dust disguised in the plastic bag. He cleared his throat and walked around to stand in front of Jungkook, passing the plastic smoothly behind his back, letting it fall into Jungkook’s waiting palm like a coin into a well and he stood up with a sigh.
“Eveing gentlemen,” Jimin smiled at the police officers. He walked down the steps and towards the open lounge area of the club.
And so the game began withJungkook, and the officers didn’t even glance at him as he paced toward the bar.
He passed by Yoongi—barely a brush of shoulders—and the bag was gone. Yoongi rolled his wrist behind his back, concealing it like sleight of hand, then walked past Hoseok near the pillar.
“You gentlemen sure do know how to make an entrance,” Jimin said, voice low and laced with amusement.
Hoseok peeled off from the wall, yawning as though mildly inconvenienced, and took the plastic bag from Yoongi mid-motion. He strolled toward the lounge’s far corner, passing Taehyung, who was just about to tuck his hand in his pocket before he took it from Hoseok.
“We have a warrant to search the premises,” the lead officer said. His voice held that tone every one of them hated—the thin veil of legal righteousness layered over something darker. Political. Personal.
“What’s the warrant for?” Jimin asked smoothly. “We’re just hosting music, drinks and a fun time.”
Taehyung walked to the glass surface bar, and the bag slid across the glossy surface until Jungkook arrived—his palm catching it just as Detective Seo Sangjun walked in. No badge needed. The tension that followed him was all the authority he required. He was around Jin’s age if not a year or so older. He was the kind of man who made it his goal to scrub men like them from the city’s underbelly and hated that no matter how hard he tried, the underbelly always looked better in suits.
“Ahh, detective,” Jimin smiled, ever the gentleman. “Welcome to Kitty Gang. My apologies, the bartenters have all been forced out, but can I fix you up with a drink? Or prehaps you’d like to try the Lemon Sour, it’s killer.”
Once upon a time Detective Seo Jinwon’s father was a police officer and murdered in the cold streets of Seoul winters ago. Jinwon knew it was realted to the demons which ruled the darker parts of South Korea.
But Seo’s eyes weren’t interested in pleasantries. He’d seen something—a flicker, a pass, something that didn’t fit. His eyes narrowed, sweeping across the lounge. The five men were now positioned across the room like scattered bishops on a blood-red chessboard. Then his gaze landed on the slight plastic looking at him in Jungkook’s hand. He stepped forward like a blade being drawn. “What’s that?”
Jungkook blinked, then lifted the bag between two fingers like it was the most mundane thing in the world. “This?” He tilted it toward the detective, and the light caught the white, sugary glitter within. “Candy.”
Seo’s jaw clenched. “It does not look like- “
Jimin arched a brow, all mock surprise. “Then I suggest you revisit your narcotics training center,” he said. “This one’s from the U.K.—lemon flavored. Very sour. You should try some, detective?”
The detective’s eyes flicked between the bag and the men around the room, and his eyes finally fell properly on Yoongi. His blood boild at the sight of him. “Take ‘em in,” Jinwon barked. “All of them. Ans sweep this place. I want every corner and inch searched.”
Min Manor rose on the hillside, cloaked in the kind of silence that demanded reverence. It was not flashy. It didn’t need to be. The manor’s façade stretched with solemn elegance, white barble stone and some wrapped in ivy and trimmed by wrought-iron balconies that overlooked manicured grounds so pristine they looked painted. A wide, sweeping marble staircase curved towards the glass-double doors with iron designs.
Namjoon and Jin stepped out of the car and before the maid could open the front door of the manor, Namjoon walked in with Jin.
Inside, the manor was no less magnificent than the Min Hotel. The same architectural lineage, the same uncompromising taste. A double staircase split the entrance hall, the marble floors gleamed, interrupted only by rugs so fine they could have been stitched by Persian ghosts. And the chandeliers didn’t twinkle; they glared.
They walked through the hallways of the manor until they reached the study. The walls were made out of brown oak and the hardwood floor was a deep brown colour. Bookshelves were stuffed with all sorts of books. Some were new and some were old with dust on them. There was a massive marble fireplace on the right which had yellow and orange flames dancing wildly with a velvet black sofa and armchairs and a small coffee table in the middle. Opposite the fireplace were four tall and large French windows that stretched from the ceiling down to the polished floor, overlooking the estate. A chandelier hung down from the tall ceiling, and lastly there was a long, polished, and ornate table in the middle of the room which looked as though it could have been a mirror.
Min Hyun, Yoongi’s father, stood near the window, looking out onto the garden as if the moonlight itself reported to him. And at the head of the table, Min Sihyuk—the grandfather, the patriarch.
“Ah,” Sihyuk stood when he saw Jin and Namjoon with a smile. The two young men stood side by side and bowed their heads slightly out of respect. “Seokjin. Namjoon. You have been keeping up with the football game, right?”
“Two goals and one yellow card, sir” Jin said, and the man chuckled in aprovel.
But Min Hyun knew they did not come here to speak of football games. There was something that danced in Jin’s and Namjoon’s eyes that told a a story. And it didn’t go unnoticed to the two men. “But we can speak about the game later,” Sihyuk placed his hands behind his back. “Something happened.” It wasn’t a question.
Namjoon and Jin looked at each other, a silent exchange of words before Namjoon spoke. “There has been a raid at Kitty Gang.” The two men didn’t flinch, but the silence thickened. “About thirty officers came in with a warrant in hand.”
“They had all been taken to the station,” Jin finished.
Hyun and Sihyuk looked at each other before turing back to the two young men. “All?” Hyun arched a brow.
“Taehyung, Jungkook, Jimin, Hoseok and Yoongi,” Namjoon listed. He knew that this was heavy news. The Min family were quiet about their involvent in the underwold, so for this to happen and with everything that took place at Kitty Gang, they knew the elders would have to step in and take care of it.
“Kitty Gang exists because we allow it,” Hyun sighed. “It keeps the peace among the youth, so they do not cause havoc amongst each other. Tell me, was the club clean tonight?”
“Crystal,” Jin nodded. “Even with alcohol selection. Jimin made sure that it was limited.”
“Detective Seo Sangjun was the one who led the raid,” Namjoon said.
The police station hummed with the sterile air of tension, fluorescent lights casting a cold, harsh glow over the bland, beige walls. The clatter of phones and low murmurs drifted through the space as the officers went about their work. “So,” Jungkook drawled, his voice low, smooth, yet tinged with an almost mocking undertone, “how much longer are we going to be held here?”
The officer, a burly man with a stony face, glanced up, clearly unamused by how nonchalance this young man sounded. The air was thick with tension, but the men weren’t showing.
“If you keep doing this, you’ll rot in jail for twenty years.”
“Twenty years?” Jimin asked as he looked at the feamle officer with a slight pout. “Twenty years is too much. Please reduce it.”
The woman sighed. “I can.”
“Mmm?” Jimin smiled at her. “How many years?”
“One year,” she looked at him, her tone flat. “So, you have nineteen left.” She looked at the police officer standing behind Jimin and gave him a small nod. “Take him to the others.” The officer reached for Jimin arm and led him to where the others sat.
Unlike his companions, Yoongi said nothing. Every officer in the room passing glanced at him from how calm he was. The only time he spoke was when he gave the officers his name. Detective Seo Sangjun closed the fiel with their names and sighed as he walked towards the bars of the cell. The way he walked was like he was attempting to project authority.
He was waiting for two repots to come in; one from Kitty Gang and the other from the testing lab. He could not wait to send these bastards behind bars. “You all know why you’re here,” he said as his eyes darted between the men sitting in front of his desk. “You were all found in possession of illegal substances.”
“Did the lab results tell you that?” Jungkook asked, and Sangjun’s right eye twitched slightly.
The detective slammed his hand on the table, yet none of the five men fliched. He inhaled like he was trying to stay calm. “You think this is funny?!” he gritted his teeth. “You’re not as untouchable as you think you are,” Sangjun said, eyeing each one of them. “We have you this time.”
“Tsk no,” Hoseok shook his head, feigning seriousness. “It isn’t funny.”
“You’re absolutely right, detecive,” Taehyung nodded.
“You’re sitting in a room where we’re waiting for results, and you’re all cracking jokes?” Sangjun said. “I think you lost touch with reality.”
Jimin’s smirk didn’t waver, but there was a dangerous glint behind his eyes now, like a snake preparing to strike. "I lost touch with reality the moment you all dragged me in here without even so much as a 'hello, how do you do' first," his voice dripped with mock sweetness. "Seriously, is this how you treat all your guests? No wonder no one wants to hang out with you."
There was a pause, a collective intake of breath from the rest of the room. Yoongi’s eyes never left Jimin, his usual calm presence now slightly tight, like a coiled spring ready to unhinge at the slightest misstep. Hoseok, ever the peacekeeper, exchanged a glance with Taehyung, but neither of them spoke. Jungkook, sitting off to the side, remained silent as always, but his eyes were locked onto Jimin’s form, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.
"You bastards could put comedians out of business,” one of Sangjun’s officers laughed in disbelif. “But I wonder if your humor will save you…” he paused, trailing off as his eyes shifted to each member. “Once we get the lab results.”
“Is it so hard to say the full sentence?” Jimin asked and got up, but Yoongi reached out for his sleeve and tugged him back down. “I’m genuinely curious,” Jimin continued and stood up once again. ” Is it so hard to say the full thing- “
The officer’s hand swung out, a fist connecting with Jimin’s jaw.
Jimin tasted blood in his mouth. His head flew to the side and his body followed, but he did not fall. He moved his hand to his mouth and wiped. "Well, now I’m really having fun," he chuckled as he looked down at the blood on his palm and fingers, his eyes lighting up with a manic glint. "I’ve been punched before. Congratulations, you officially have a reason to feel like a big shot.”
The police station hummed with an undercurrent of tension, the kind that only arrived when something dangerous was about to spill over but hasn't yet.
And then,
“I am Kim Namjoon, the attorney for these men,” he said, and the words did not echo—they landed, like a stone dropped into still water, reverberating outward in silence.
The officers in the entire police station stopped, their postures shifting instinctively, as if the very air had grown heavier. Namjoon stood behind the seated men like a man who had never once considered being told no. Jin next to him, his expression held no emotion only calculation.
Namjoon contunied before the detective or the officers could speak. His voice was calm and measured. “I understand that my clients were brought in under suspicion though—oddly enough—no substances were found. No weapons. No violations. Yet you’ve had them here for over ninety minutes.”
Sangjun blinked and exhaled a laugh, he stood up from his chair. “You cannot- “
Namjoon didn’t even bother with hearing. He held his hand out and Jin pulled out a file handing it to him. Namjoon walking around the members and stood in front of the Detective. His eyes never left his face as he dropped the file onto his desk. “In here, you’ll find the security footage from Kitty Gang’s entire week,” he said. “Clean. You'll also find statements from every staff member present and a chain of custody log for the night’s product inventory—none of which, I should note, include narcotics. Mr. Park is a businessman, not a crimianl– and neither are Mr. Kim, Mr. Jeon, Mr. Jung and Mr. Min – Oh, and Jin hyung.”
Jin reached inside his blazer and handed a letter to Namjoon. “Oh, and this,” he continued. “Is the injunction. Signed fifteen minutes ago by Judge Hwang. You’re in direct violation of it. So, either you release these men now, or you explain to a judge why you held innocent men hostage after the court explicitly ordered their release.”
“Boss?” an officer approched the detective with two papers and handed them to him.
Sangjun’s face looked paler than a ghost when he read the report of Kitty Gang and the lab results. He opened his mouth but closed it again. He was at loss for words. He really thought he had them. No, he really wanted to have them. He allowed his emotions to cloud his judgement. Nothing was found at theclub, and that damned plastic bag really was filled with candy.
Namjoon leaned in one final time. “You picked the wrong night to play cowboy, detective,” his voice was low, but laced with iron. “We’ve documented every second of this farce. I suggest you return my clients now and quietly, or tomorrow morning your badge will be a nameplate in a courtroom you can’t afford to stand trial in.”
Seo Sangjun’s jaw tightened, his teeth crushed down on each other, shooting pain down his neck as he looked into Namjoon’s dark eyes. “Release them,” he managed to say.
Namjoon straightened his posture and nodded to the detective once as if satisfied with the performance “And one more thing,” he added. “This all is to be wiped from their records. Effective immidiet.”
Sangjun gave him one tight nod that made every muscle in his body feel like it was on fire. The heavy glass doors of the police station closed behind them with a sigh—like the night exhaling. No one said a word at first. Not Jimin, not Jungkook, nor the others. Their silence wasn’t guilt—it was gravity. The kind that settled deep in the chest.
A sleek, matte-black car sat at the curb, silent as a panther. And Hyun, Yoongi’s father stepped out followed by his grandfather, Sihyuk. The five men instinctively straightened like schoolboys before a headmaster they feared and loved in equal measure. A few paces to the side of them, Namjoon and Jin back, side by side, saying nothing, their faces unreadable watching like lieutenants trained to assess damage in silence.
Sihyuk’s gaze swept across the five men with surgical precision. No rage. Just the weight of decades behind his eyes.
Then Hyun, Yoongi’s father spoke with dry wit. “Tell me,” He said, “was the plan to get arrested before the fianl matchgame or after?”
Taehyung opened his mouth but closed it again.
“Christ!” Hyun snorted lightly. “Not even a decent lie among you. All of a sudden neither one of you is allergic to silence.” He turned to Hoseok. “You? Have you tried to hold back from laughing when you’re questioned by the police, or are you allergic to that as well?” he then looked at Jimin, who had a busted lip and his own dry blood on his hand. “You knew better,” Hyun said. “This happened in your house, Kitty Gang. Do not let it happen again.” Jimin gave the man a small nod.
And then the father turned to son. For a long moment they just looked at each other before finally he spoke. “You forget how many of them look at you first. What you say. What you do. What you don’t stop.” Yoongi looked away, lowering his eyes to the ground.
Min Hyun wasn’t speaking to them like this to scold them, but to understand the gravity how their actions could lead them to end up in situations like this. No matter how smart they all thought they were.
Hyun’s eyes then shifted to Jungkook and he held back a smile. He had a soft spot for the maknae. “And you,” he said, “You have no goddamn business being out so late on a school night – especially involved in this kind of stuff. Your mother assusms you’re at our house, did you know that?”
Jungkook’s throat bobbed. “I was just—”
“—just proving you still have no discipline.” Hyun’s words cut clean. “Neither one of you.”
They all lowered their heads slightly. “We’re sorry.”
Sihyuk finally stepped, his voice like twilight. “I don’t expect you to be saints,” he said. “But next time – if there is a next time – handle it not with your egos.”
As the clock struck two am they had all reached Jimin’s house. “Aish,” Jungkook muttered finally. “I feel like I just got baptized in fear.”
Hoseok chuckled, low and humorless. “Better than being buried in it.”
“What took you so…” Moon’s voice faded when she saw Jimin. His handsome face…he had a busted lip. Her heart sank at the sight of him. “What happened?” she asked softly, her voice barley above a whisper.
“Some officer finally became a big shot,” Jimin laughed, and for a short moment pain reached his head. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
Rachel grabbed her leather jacket and walked towards Taehyung, and he kissed her on the cheek. “Sleepy?” he asked her, and she nodded.
Moon kept her eyes on Jimin the entire time. It was like she could not move. She watched him silently move around the living room and give each of the members an envelpoe where within there was a code number to their share of profit that had been delivered to their houses.
They bid the members goodbye, and they were left alone.
