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Music blares through the speakers of the club, too loud and too overwhelming. It makes Jongdae want to slam his hands over his ears to try to block out some of the noise. But he doesn’t, just grits his teeth and bears it as he feels the thumping of the bass in his gut. It stinks like too much alcohol and high-quality weed, lines of white powder on the bar that he doesn’t want to think about. 

He skirts around the edge of the dancefloor to find somewhere far away from the speakers and the sweaty, grinding crowd to sit down and think. The place is packed full of people, tables full of girls and boys from the local university, women in their mid-twenties watching the younger girls like mother bears, like guardian angels swooping in when one that’s had a little too much to drink is approached by someone with a sickly-sweet smile. Jongdae’s never been a part of the club scene before, can only watch in awe as the girl is surrounded by women offering water and bar nachos. The club is so different on the weekends, nightlife a whole other world than the one he lives in.

Jongdae’s only ever come here during the week when it’s a casual karaoke bar. He likes to stop by for a few hours after work every so often, shed some of the stress from his job by crooning to the old ballads his parents used to listen to. It’s quiet then, no more than a handful of people at any given time, everyone keeping to themselves as they listen to the music and sip at their beers.

He likes that so much better than the wild, unhinged chaos of the club scene. He’ll have to swallow down the displeasure though, at least for tonight.

Tonight, he has some fucking business to attend to.

Climbing the stairs to the quieter, emptier second level of the club overlooking the dancefloor, Jongdae sees a tall, lanky man leaning against the railing next to the VIP section. He watches as the man toys with the red velvet rope to his left, a deep, nervous frown on his face as he stares out at the mass of cross-faded partiers. The bouncer beside him says nothing when he steps over the rope and shuffles over to one of the big, obnoxiously luxurious couches. He sits down next to an even taller man with a resting bitch face, fits himself under his arm and rests against his side.

Jongdae pauses at the top of the stairs and watches Chanyeol cuddle up to Kris. Chanyeol meets Jongdae’s eyes from across the room and his frown deepens even more, guilt coloring his face. He must stiffen, because Kris’ gaze immediately shifts from where he’d been staring fondly at Chanyeol’s face to scanning the room. 

When he sees Jongdae, he shrugs and turns his attention back to Chanyeol. Jongdae doesn’t matter to him, no more than another random person in the club, one of the baristas at the café Chanyeol likes to frequent. Kris pays Jongdae no mind, but that makes sense.

Jongdae isn’t the one Kris is planning to kill.

Jongdae’s phone vibrates in the front pocket of his pants, the constant buzzing of a phone call. He doesn’t answer, not even when one call ends and another begins. He doesn’t answer because he knows it’ll be Baekhyun’s sweet, goofy face on the caller ID, Baekhyun’s voice on the other line, begging him to come back home, to not do this, to let Baekhyun face the consequences of his actions. But Baekhyun doesn’t think about the consequences, not even when they’re staring him in the face, not even when he’s staring down the barrel of a gun. 

If Jongdae lets Baekhyun handle this on his own, he’ll lose him. And Jongdae can’t lose him.

Part of him wants to blame it all on Chanyeol, because he’s the one who went running to Kris, his fiancé, and told him how Baekhyun had been flirting with him for the past few months. He knew what he was doing, knew he was making Baekhyun a target of one of the strongest gangs in the city, putting him in the crosshairs of best fucking assassin in the country, 

But it’s not his fault. He told Baekhyun so many times that he was engaged, that he liked being friends but that was it. Baekhyun just didn’t listen. Baekhyun was so caught up in proving to himself and everyone else that he wasn’t head-over-heels for Luhan that he didn’t notice how uncomfortable Chanyeol was with all the flirting.

Jongdae wants to blame Luhan. He does blame Luhan, because Luhan runs a rival gang, the only gang that Kris’ could consider a rival, and he’s doing nothing to keep Baekhyun safe. Months of spending time together, dating, falling in love—Jongdae doesn’t care what either of them say, he knows love when he sees it—it all means nothing now that Baekhyun is disloyal . Jongdae heard Luhan say it over the phone, heard the asshole pin it all on Baekhyun like he wasn’t the one jerking Jongdae’s best friend around for months.

Luhan said he wasn’t going to start shit with Kris’ gang over someone like Baekhyun. Jongdae hates him for that— hates him. Because Luhan didn’t even bother to say it to Baekhyun’s face, hung up before he broke down in Jongdae’s arms.

You were right, I love him. I love him so much, Jongdae. Why can’t he just love me back? Why aren’t I good enough for him?

Jongdae stayed up with him for hours on end, curled up together as Baekhyun sobbed out his pain and heartbreak. Jongdae watched as he sat up and wiped at his red, puffy, tear-stained face and said that it was all his fault.

And Jongdae doesn’t care if it was his fault or not. Jongdae doesn’t give a single fuck if one hundred percent of the blame can be laid upon Baekhyun’s shoulders, because Baekhyun hasn’t left the house in a week, refuses to be in the same room as Jongdae so that he won’t be injured when Kris decides to finally take him out.

Jongdae wipes at a tear that runs down his cheek. He bites down on his tongue until the pain outweighs the ugly, twisting despair in his stomach, the fear running under his skin. Time is running out for Baekhyun and they both know it. Kris is giving him a little bit of time to say his goodbyes, but he’s not going to let Baekhyun live after flirting with Chanyeol for so long. 

The only things that can save Baekhyun now are Luhan’s protection, which he’s made very clear he isn’t going to give, or an order from the only person Kris obeys. 

The bouncer standing in front of the red velvet rope that sections off the VIP area watches Jongdae with wary eyes. Jongdae doesn’t know why he looks so wary, he’s about three times Jongdae’s size and can probably hurl him across the club like a football. But when Jongdae steps up close to the VIP section, the bouncer crosses his arms over his chest and puffs up like he’s facing off some bodybuilding champion and not a five-foot-seven barista. “You got a reason to be here,” he asks.

Jongdae nods. He’s got a reason, a better reason than any of the men and women drinking on the other side of the rope have. “Looking for someone, need to talk to him about something important.”

The bouncer’s eyes narrow. “And who are you looking for? Because I think what you’re looking for is trouble and I’d rather you don’t find it.”

Fear, that’s what’s in the bouncer’s eyes. He’s afraid, not for himself, but for Jongdae, for the young man he sees throughout the week that only comes to sing and eat some of the surprisingly good nachos. Jongdae wonders how many people he’s seen disappear into the VIP section and come out broken, how many he’s tried to turn away for their own good.

“Trouble’s already found me.” He offers the bouncer a small smile, tries to appear more confident than he is. “Devil you know or the devil you don’t?”

Chanyeol’s voice breaks through the moment of sad, solemn silence, the bouncer staring at Jongdae like he’s sending a child off to war, “Let him through, he’s with me.”

“I don’t think you know this devil as well as you think you do,” the bouncer whispers as he unclips the red velvet rope. “Be careful, don’t take a single thing that’s offered unless it’s from Mr. Park. And even then, don’t drink anything.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Jongdae nods dutifully, “Just here to talk.”

Chanyeol rushes over to meet him the moment he’s past the bouncer. “I’m so sorry,” the words gush out of him like a fountain, big, sweet eyes filling up with tears. “I’m so, so sorry, Jongdae. I didn’t—I thought maybe Kris would just go threaten him. I didn’t think it would get to this point. I’ve tried to talk him out of it, drop it down to just permanently injuring, but he’s stubborn. I-I have no way of getting a message to Luhan; maybe if I gave you a letter explaining what happened he’d understand Baekhyun never did anything and put him back under his protection?”

Guilt pours off him in waves. Jongdae can’t find it in him to be angry, not when it’s so obvious that Chanyeol is just like Baekhyun—never thinks of the consequences, never realizes the hold they have on people. 

Kris loves Chanyeol too much. He might have let Baekhyun off with a warning if it was just a one-time thing, if Baekhyun had listened when Chanyeol said he was engaged. But it wasn’t, and Baekhyun didn’t, so Jongdae knows that Kris isn’t going to just let this go. Maybe if Chanyeol threatens to leave him if he kills Baekhyun, but that won’t happen because Chanyeol loves Kris too much too.

And maybe Luhan would listen if he got a letter from Chanyeol, but Jongdae doesn’t know how it would get to him in time. He doesn’t know if Luhan would even bother to read it until after Baekhyun died. Luhan’s a spoiled brat running one of the biggest gangs in the city, thinks he’s too good to take responsibility for his actions, to give anyone the time of day if they’re not completely and wholly subservient—God, Jongdae fucking hates him.

It’s all coming down to Jongdae. He knew it would the second he saw the king of hearts taped to their front door, the image of a dragon spray-painted underneath it. 

Jongdae shivers suddenly. He can feel eyes on him, a cat tracking its prey as Chanyeol attempts to pull him over to Kris, rambling about how maybe if Jongdae pleads on Baekhyun’s behalf something will happen. 

Jongdae knows these eyes, this feeling of being watched.

He remembers them from nearly every night he went to the bar, never straying from him as he sang his heart out, his own personal audience of one. Jongdae remembers the face they belonged to as well. Sometimes he’d see that face peering down at him from the second level, sometimes sequestered away in one of the nice, cozy booths in the corner by the bar. And no matter who that face was surrounded by, pretty boys, gorgeous girls, people dressed up in suits more expensive than Jongdae and Baekhyun’s apartment, it never turned away from Jongdae.

Jongdae turns his head to the left and sees that face now, watching him even though the people it’s surrounded by are vying for attention. It’s a handsome face; he’s a handsome man, eyes sharp, feline, hungry . 

He’s the man with the power to keep Jongdae’s best friend alive

Xiumin, that’s what Zitao had called him when Jongdae came to him, begging for help. Zitao had said that while Kris is mostly left to his own devices, free to take any jobs he wants, kill whoever he wants so long as he cleans up the evidence, if Xiumin tells his assassin to stand down, he stands down. Jongdae remembers the relief he felt when Zitao pulled up a picture of Xiumin and it was the same man from the bar. 

Jongdae knew that he was going to have to give something up to save Baekhyun’s life. He has a good idea of what Xiumin is going to want from him, and he’s ready and willing to give it—it makes him sick to his stomach to think about, he knows he’s going to go home and cry in the shower for hours afterwards, but it’s worth it because Baekhyun’s going to be there to pull him out of the shower. It’s worth it because Baekhyun will be safe.

Xiumin and Jongdae lock eyes for the first time. Jongdae had always been careful to never look Xiumin in the eye, kept his gaze averted like he was face-to-face with a wolf. 

The smile that spreads across Xiumin’s face is canine, wolfish, a predator reveling in the fact that its prey is going to display itself belly up for a feast. He beckons Jongdae over with two fingers. 

The people sitting beside him, dripping gold and jewels, simpering at him for just a glance, just a moment of his time, are all shoved aside. Xiumin gives a grand, faux-polite gesture for them to leave as Jongdae slides into the pristine white booth directly opposite him, but Jongdae can see the hurt in their eyes. They wonder why Xiumin is ignoring them in favor of someone so random, so ordinary. Jongdae wishes he could tell them why, but he isn’t quite sure either.

It doesn’t matter why Xiumin is so interested in him, though, only that the interest is enough to buy Baekhyun’s life.

Once all the pretty, gilded people have disappeared, Xiumin regards Jongdae with a smirk, eyes heavy as they drag down Jongdae’s face and neck. 

Jongdae shivers, bile rising in his throat as the reality of what he’s about to do slams into him. He wants this over, doesn’t want to drag this moment of his life out any longer than he absolutely has to.

“What do I have to do for you to save Baekhyun?”

Xiumin blinks in surprise, black hair falling artfully into his eyes, “You presume I know what you’re talking about. And so rude, not even giving a proper greeting when asking for a favor? Bad manners. Someone should’ve taught you better.”

Jongdae bites his tongue at the swell of anger in his chest. He can’t risk pissing Xiumin off, he can’t . It doesn’t matter how badly his pride smarts, he has to swallow it down. This is bigger than his dignity, more important than the way his instincts scream at him to run from the apex predator across from him.

He swallows roughly and drops his eyes to the table. “My apologies. Hello, good evening. What will it take for you to save Baekhyun? What… what do you want from me?”

“Much better,” Xiumin teases, “but you still presume I know what you’re talking about. Who is Baekhyun? And what is his life worth to you?”

Jongdae can’t help the way his hands curl into fists, angry, embarrassed, frustrated tears prickling behind his eyes. “You’re not stupid. I know you know what I’m talking about. But Byun Baekhyun is my best friend. He makes stupid decisions sometimes, but he’s my best friend an-and he’s worth everything to me.”

He takes a deep breath, lowers his head to hide the fear on his face. “Whatever you want from me, you’ve got it. I’ll do whatever I have to to keep him safe.”

Two cold fingers fit under his chin, force his head back up. Xiumin is staring at him with an unreadable gaze, lips pursed in thought. The fingers under his chin move to wipe away a tear he hadn’t realized he’d shed. They trace the slope of his nose, the outline of his lips. 

Xiumin’s eyes are kind for a moment, voice soft as he rubs at Jongdae’s lower lip with the pad of his thumb. “No need to cry, Jongdae. I can see what you’re thinking—don’t worry—I only have space in my bed for pretty boys who want to be there. I would love to have you should you ever change your mind, but there is nothing fun about sex with someone who doesn’t want you.”

Jongdae’s mouth drops open in surprise. Relief washes over him no matter how hard he tries to tell himself to be realistic, that it’s too good to be true. “Th-then what do you want from me? Selling drugs? Smuggling drugs? I-I don’t have that much money but I can…” Jongdae cuts himself off when Xiumin puts up a finger for quiet.

Xiumin shakes his head. “I don’t want to see a sweet little kitten like you caught up in that kind of life.” He smiles like a creature from long ago, sharp and tempting, offering him a deal he knows Jongdae can’t say no to. “I have been looking for a partner for quite a while. Someone loyal with a good head on their shoulders, a face like an angel and a body built for sin. I think you would make an excellent wife.”

Jongdae can only stare at him in utter shock, mind racing as it tries to process all the information, what Xiumin is implying. 

“This is a very good deal for you,” the man continues, “I will respect your wishes when it comes to that tight ass, as any good husband should. You’ll have access to my bank accounts, so you can do away with those pesky student loans and quit your job to pursue music. And as my wife you will, of course, be able to extend my protection to whomever you would like.”

Xiumin is a cat with his paw on a mouse’s tail, knowing that he’ll win no matter what but trying to coax the mouse to roll belly-up for the sheer satisfaction of willing prey. And goddamn if Jongdae isn’t walking right into the belly of the beast.

He nods. He doesn’t let himself think about what Xiumin isn’t saying, how he’s extolling all the benefits without mentioning what being his wife will mean. He just nods and signs his life away,

What a poor, unfortunate soul.

“Excellent,” Xiumin cheers, claps his hands together and makes to stand, a satisfied grin on his lips. “Come, wife, let’s go and tell Kris and Chanyeol the good news.” Jongdae slides out of the booth and stands on weak, shaky legs. He feels sick, like he’s going to throw up, but he doesn’t pull away when Xiumin grabs his hand and brings it to rest in the crook of his elbow, fabric of his suit jacket soft under Jongdae’s fingers.

Xiumin leads them back through the VIP section to where Kris and Chanyeol are seated. Chanyeol is watching them with obvious excitement and relief. Kris frowns when they approach, rolling his eyes as he tugs Chanyeol into his lap.

“Kris, it seems there’s an issue with your plans for tomorrow.” 

Jongdae nearly passes out. He was so close to losing Baekhyun and he didn’t even know it. His knees buckle and it’s only by sheer willpower that he stays upright.

Xiumin frowns and pats his hand in a mockery of comfort. “The Byun boy is officially under my protection and therefore off-limits. My wife would be very upset if something happened to him, which means that I would be very upset,” he pauses then, face shuttering, emotionless. “I think we all remember what happened last time I was upset, don’t we, Chanyeol?” 

Jongdae’s blood runs cold. 

“Ye-yes, sir, we remember,” Chanyeol says, head down, a white-knuckled grip on Kris’ shirt.

Kris nearly bares his teeth, arms coming around to wrap Chanyeol in a tight, protective hold. “Do not threaten him, Xiumin. I’m not going to touch Byun, you have my word.”

Xiumin relaxes, pleased, and they all relax too, Chanyeol slumping into Kris’ chest with a shuddering sigh as Kris presses a kiss against the bleach blonde hair at his temple. “Perfect! Then I hope you two enjoy your night off. You can stay up late now that you don’t have any business to attend to tomorrow, perhaps go see that movie I’ve heard Chanyeol’s been bugging you about lately. I am going to call Jongin and have him drive Jongdae home so he can get started on packing.”

Jongdae looks over his shoulder as Xiumin leads him away, already on the phone with someone. Chanyeol is staring back at him with two thumbs up. He mouths thank you and Jongdae offers him a weak smile.

The bouncer lets them out of the VIP area with a deep, formal bow and pitying frown, eyes screaming that he told Jongdae to be careful. Jongdae was careful; this is a better outcome than he had hoped for, even if it feel like he’s just signed his life away.

Jongdae makes for the main stairs towards the bar, the somewhat empty dance floor, and the exit, but Xiumin tugs him in the opposite direction, instead taking him through a door marked for staff. He leads Jongdae down a staircase that lets them out in the alley behind the club, a black SUV idling at the curb nearby.

“Jongin will drop you off at home. If you need to stop and get anything on the way, let him know.”

The light from the streetlamps reflects off puddles on the sidewalk. Jongdae catches a glimpse of his and Xiumin’s reflection as they walk—disheveled and tired next to picturesque and satisfied—and wonders when it rained.

Xiumin helps him into the back of the SUV. He opens the door and eases Jongdae in with a hand on his lower back like some twisted version of a gentleman. “I expect you to be packed by three-thirty tomorrow afternoon. If you need boxes, simply text Chanyeol sometime tonight and I’ll have them waiting outside your door tomorrow morning.”

“Packed? Am I moving?” Jongdae stares past Xiumin, out at the dark alley. He can hear the music raging inside the club even all the way out here and feel his head throb in time to the bass.

“Of course, kitten. What sort of husband and wife don’t live together? I’ll have the marriage certificate ready as well. If you’d like a wedding we can always plan that later, but I prefer to have all my paperwork in order.” 

The door of the SUV slams shut. Jongdae has to suck in a deep breath to keep himself from vomiting onto the shiny leather seats. Tomorrow he’ll be moving in with Xiumin and signing a marriage certificate—it hits Jongdae all at once that he’s paying for Baekhyun’s life with his own. 

A hand reaches through the open window and pets through his hair, rings catching on the strands that he’s let grow a little too long, curling at the ends in a way that Baekhyun says makes him look jaw-droppingly gorgeous.

Part of him wishes he’d shaved his head before going to the club tonight, made Xiumin want him as a drug mule instead.

Xiumin leans through the window to kiss Jongdae’s cheek, lips soft and warm against his skin. “Don’t worry, Baekhyun is free to come over so long as you let me know he’ll be stopping by first. And do tell Baekhyun to pay Luhan a visit, will you, kitten? He was much easier to deal with when he had your friend warming his bed and I know he’d forgive him if given a sweet enough apology .”

Jongdae just nods, murmurs, “Baekhyun misses him too.” 

He hates Luhan so much, doesn’t want him anywhere near Baekhyun again , but he’s not about to disobey Xiumin, not when he’s just gotten the promise that Baekhyun is safe. And Baekhyun does miss him, misses him so fucking much Jongdae can hear him crying about it at night through the walls.

“Aw, how precious! I love a good love story. Remember, three-thirty. I’m not going to be happy if I arrive and you’re still packing.” Xiumin’s face goes cold, emotionless, one eyebrow raising as he grabs Jongdae by the chin and forces eye contact.

Jongdae tries to nod but can’t move his head in Xiumin’s grip. He swallows down fear and the saliva that’s been gathering underneath his tongue with each lurch of his stomach. “Th-three-thirty, I got it. I’ll be ready.” 

Xiumin releases him and steps back onto the sidewalk, “I’ll see you tomorrow, kitten. Be good for me until then.”

He gives a little wave as the SUV starts up, engine rumbling through Jongdae’s bones. Jongdae waves back at Xiumin from some deep-seated instinct to appease and feels a wave of relief at the delighted smile he gets in return.

About a block away, Jongdae’s phone buzzes in his pocket, the short double vibration of a text. He opens up his phone to see a message from Baekhyun and a picture of their front door with the spray-painted dragon replaced by a snowflake.

From: Baekhyun

Just got a call from Chanyeol. I don’t know what you did but you saved my life

Thank you so much for not listening to me, Dae. I love you more than anything in the entire world

Jongdae buries his face in his hands and cries in sheer relief.

---

Jongdae packs away the last of his most fragile valuables in a race against the clock, heart pounding as he continues to glance between the clock on the wall and the slowly decreasing pile of stuff at his side. Baekhyun is sitting across from him with tacky tear tracks on his cheeks as he helps Jongdae pack the last box. 

The night before, he’d crushed Jongdae in a hug as soon as he got home, sung Jongdae’s praises like the most sacred of hymns. They’d wrapped their arms around each other and curled up in Jongdae’s bed to cry as the stress of the past few weeks drained out of their bodies. For a few moments, it had been paradise, Elysium in the peace and quiet, danger a far-off concept.

But then Baekhyun asked exactly what Jongdae had done to save his life, voice shaking and scared as he held Jongdae close like a fragile, broken thing. He had had an idea of the plan, of exactly what Jongdae was willing to offer up in exchange for his life, had taken in the way Jongdae was completely unruffled, clothing and hair just as they were when he left for the club, with curious eyes.

Jongdae thought that Baekhyun would be happy that Jongdae was able to save his life and come out physically unscathed; Baekhyun had had a meltdown at the mention of marriage, though, burst into angry tears when Jongdae said he would be moving out the very next day.

“You’re paying for my life with your own, Jongdae! This isn’t—I hated the idea that you were going to use your body, but at least that would have been a one-time thing, something you could get therapy for and maybe move past. But this is the rest of your life you’re giving up!”

“ I’d give up anything for you, Baekkie, anything at all.”

Jongdae remembers the argument that ensued, screaming at each other from opposite sides of the bed. Baekhyun was guilty and Jongdae was scared and they were both so angry at the entire situation that there was nothing to do but fight. 

He’s still not quite sure how the argument ended, just that they found themselves curled up together underneath the covers, sobbing out apologies. Jongdae offered an olive branch by telling Baekhyun what Xiumin had said about Luhan being off-kilter without him and Baekhyun returned the favor by promising to help him pack in the morning.

They stayed up much too late just talking and enjoying each other’s company and woke up the next morning at eleven-thirty, a text on Jongdae’s phone from Chanyeol asking if he needed any boxes. Every moment since then has been a mad dash to pack all of Jongdae’s belongings before Xiumin arrives.

It’s three-twenty-five, three-twenty-six according to the oven clock, and Jongdae’s phone buzzed ten minutes ago with a text from an unknown number. 

From: Unknown

On my way, kitten. I hope you’re ready for me, I’d hate to have to punish you on our first day as a married couple

The text had sent a cold chill down Jongdae’s spine, stomach dropping like lead. He’d been told what sort of man he was getting himself involved with, but it’s something else to see it firsthand, to be Xiumin’s target. It made them work even faster, shoving things into boxes without rhyme, reason, or any sort of care. It doesn’t matter how his boxes were packed so long as there are none left when Xiumin comes knocking.

“Do you think I’ll get to see you again soon,” Baekhyun asks as he puts the final thing, an ugly scarf he knitted Jongdae a few Christmases ago, into the box. He wipes at his face and Jongdae does the same, trying to scrub away the feeling of dried sweat and tears.

“I’m not sure. Xiumin said you can come over so long as I tell him beforehand, so I would assume so, but he might want to keep me to himself for a little while.” Jongdae tastes acid at the idea of being alone with his soon-to-be husband and forces himself to swallow it down, push the idea away. He focuses on taping the final box shut instead.

Baekhyun nods even as his body tenses, jaw clenching. “Not keen on sharing, is he,” Baekhyun forces out the joke through gritted teeth.

“Most men like him aren’t. You know that better than I do.” 

Baekhyun looks up with his jaw dropped and Jongdae wonders if it’s a bit too soon to joke about the fact that Baekhyun was nearly murdered, but then Baekhyun is laughing. “That was so horrible! Why would you say that, you dick! I almost died , that’s not funny!”

“But you’re laughing, so I’d say you find it plenty funny,” Jongdae grins and ducks out of reach of Baekhyun’s swatting hands, giggling when his best friend gets a fistful of his sweatshirt and tries to use it to pull him closer. “Hands off the merchandise, Baekhyun, I’m a married man now!”

“You’re so stupid, making jokes at a time like this. And people say I’m the immature one out of the two of us.” 

They’re just about to escalate into a wrestling match, the two of them laughing and writhing on the floor, when Jongdae’s phone begins to buzz from its place on top of a nearby stack of boxes. The clock on the wall reads three-thirty. Jongdae pushes out of Baekhyun’s hold and scrambles to his feet, heart thumping loud in his ears. 

His caller ID shows the same unknown number from before; he doesn’t hesitate to answer, terrified of what Xiumin will do if he gets sent to voicemail. “H-hello,” Jongdae’s voice shivers and shakes, hand not holding the phone going to the hem of his sweatshirt to worry the fabric.

“ Hello, kitten. All packed?”  

He’d forgotten what Xiumin’s voice sounded like. It’s ice on a lake in the middle of a winter day, pretty and clear like a bell but startlingly cold, hiding the danger below. It’s careful and measured now, expectant like a parent asking a child if they’ve done their chores.

“Yes, everything’s ready.”

Xiumin’s voice smooths out into something delighted, pleased. “ Wonderful! I’m currently in the elevator coming up to your floor. I’ll be there in a minute or so.”

With that, the call ends and Jongdae is left staring at his phone, nerves making his stomach flip. “He’ll be here in a minute.”

Baekhyun stands and dusts himself off. Jongdae watches as he pulls his lower lip between his teeth and shuffles in place, gaze shifting over the boxes stacked around the room. He finally looks back to Jongdae, “Do you want me to go hide out in my room while he’s here or…? I don’t want to make things awkward.”

Jongdae laughs, “It’s already going to be awkward. At least if you’re here I won’t have to face it on my own.”

Someone raps at their door as Jongdae and Baekhyun have finished hauling most of the boxes into the living room and Jongdae is quick to answer. He opens the door to Xiumin wearing a simple but very obviously expensive three-piece suit, hair slicked back from his forehead and a smile on his face. Behind him stand two men; Jongdae recognizes one as Jongin, the man who drove Jongdae home last night, but the other is a stranger, unfairly tall and very much uninterested in anything going on around him. 

“Good afternoon, Jongdae. I hope you were telling the truth about having finished up all your packing.” Xiumin grabs him by the chin to hold him still as he presses a kiss to his cheek. When he pulls back, he nods his head back to the men standing behind him. “This is Sehun, one of my employees. And I’m sure you remember Jongin, don’t you? Lovely, I’ve brought them to help move your things.”

They stare at each other for what feels like eternity, Xiumin’s eyes boring into Jongdae’s. He’s never met anyone who holds a stare like that, like he’s got Jongdae pinned down and is waiting for him to yield. 

Jongdae yields, gaze dropping to Xiumin’s chin. There’s nothing else he can do.

 “Are you going to let us inside or are we going to move the boxes through telekinesis,” Xiumin raises an eyebrow and gestures towards the boxes Jongdae knows are just behind him.

Jongdae startles into action. “Yeah. Yes, of course.” He steps to the side to make room for the men to move past him, heart racing in his chest, palm sweaty where he’s holding onto the doorknob in a white-knuckled grip.

Luhan had made the same face when he first walked into the apartment that Xiumin is making now, disgust carefully disguised as amusement. Jongdae sees right through it. He knows very well that his apartment isn’t anywhere near as nice as wherever Xiumin lives, but he doesn’t really care.

The apartment had always been perfect for him and Baekhyun, enough room for them to have their own space, small enough that they never felt lonely. He loved— loves— it. He still loves every last bit of the apartment, from the kitchen counter cluttered with old mail to the little hole in the wall near Baekhyun’s bedroom door from the time they played Wii bowling without wearing their wrist straps. It’s warm, lived in, memories and love layered over every surface—it’s home .

Jongdae imagines the sort of cold, pristine penthouse Xiumin likely lives in, that Jongdae will be living in, and wonders if he’s going to be able to last in a place like that. Some place that is called a house but is far from anything like a home.

Xiumin turns to Jongdae, mouth open like he’s going to make some comment about the shoebox Jongdae calls an apartment.  Then, fingers drumming on the lid of the closest box, he relaxes his face into something far more pleasant. “Are these all the boxes you have?”

“There are a few more in the bedroom, but yeah. If it’s too much for your car then Baek and I can just load up the rest in a taxi and ride over.” Jongdae silently curses himself for sounding so helpful, so eager. Xiumin just makes him so nervous that he can’t help but want to please him, to put himself on the predator’s good side.

Xiumin smiles at him. He reaches out to run a hand through Jongdae’s hair and Jongdae has to force himself not to flinch away. “No need, kitten, though I appreciate the offer. We drove here separately so there is more than enough space for your boxes. Truthfully, I expected there to be more. No matter, though. Jongin, Sehun, if you’d be so kind as to start carrying my wife’s boxes out to the car?”

Jongin and Sehun nod and immediately start picking up boxes, moving all of Jongdae’s things out into the hallway bit by bit. Jongdae goes to help them, more out of a need to do something before the strange, tense atmosphere in the apartment drives him insane.

Xiumin stops him with a hand on his arm. He guides Jongdae over to the old sofa where Baekhyun is sitting, watching the scene with wide eyes. “So you’re the one who’s been causing all the trouble.” 

Baekhyun tips his head to look at Xiumin through the bangs he’d let grow a little long at Luhan’s request and nods, shifting in his seat. He takes a deep breath, gaze dropping to the coffee table, “I didn’t mean to.”

“Oh, I am well aware that much of this blame can be placed squarely on Luhan’s shoulders, jerking you around the way he did.” Jongdae blinks in surprise at how strangely normal Xiumin sounds, as though he’s just a friend speaking to another friend, venting about a mutual enemy. His face is still predatory, though, eyes feline, hunting. 

“Luhan and I have never quite been friends, but we have been known to drink together on occasion. And all he ever wanted to talk about while drunk was you. He, of course, refused to admit that you were more than a fling.” 

Jongdae’s heart aches when Baekhyun flinches, biting down on his lower lip to hide the pain. He wears his heart on his sleeve and Jongdae watches as it cracks, already broken but fissuring apart all the same. Jongdae wants to go to him, wrap around him as though he can absorb the pain through osmosis. Xiumin still has a grip on his arm, though, and doesn’t appear to be letting go anytime soon.

He doesn’t appear to notice that Baekhyun is hurting either. Or maybe he does and simply doesn’t care. Regardless, he continues, “It’s painfully obvious to everyone in our circle that he does love you. He’s become almost unbearable to work with since your falling out, refusing to negotiate or compromise, insisting that he comes out the undeniable winner. Irritating, really, because he was quite reasonable when he had you.”

“He loves me?” Baekhyun’s fingers pick at a loose thread on the seam of the couch cushion below him. His voice shakes with hope and as much as Jongdae hates Luhan—he cannot think of anyone in the world he might hate more except for Kris—he isn’t too stubborn to admit that Luhan makes Baekhyun happier than any other lover before him. 

“Do you think he would have three of his men stationed around your apartment if he didn’t?”

Jongdae blinks in surprise as Xiumin points out the living room window to the man sitting on the rooftop across the street, only visible once Jongdae knows he’s there. Xiumin says there are two more men in the lobby. 

Jongdae’s stomach rolls, sick with nerves at the thought that he and Baekhyun were being watched and had absolutely no idea. But Baekhyun lights up, jumps up from his place on the couch to rush to the window and try to make out the man on the roof. He stammers, stutters, stumbles over his words, “H-he said he wouldn’t protect me. He said I-I-I was nothing to him anymore...”

And Xiumin laughs, low and genuinely amused. “Luhan says many things when he’s angry, but he very rarely acts on any of them. He may have officially revoked protection for you, but that doesn’t mean he won’t still have men watching your every move until you go to apologize to him. He’s a strangely sentimental man in that respect.”

Countless sleepless nights Jongdae and Baekhyun had spent because Luhan had told Baekhyun in as many words to never contact him again, and then the man had sat back and waited for Baekhyun to come crawling back with an apology. Jongdae’s hands curl into fists at his sides and he turns his head to watch Sehun and Jongin carry boxes so that he doesn’t have to look at the absolute joy on his best friend’s face. 

He wonders if that makes him a bad person, being angry at the way his best friend smiles so wide at the thought that Luhan will take him back. 

And then he decides that he doesn’t care. He’ll support Baekhyun through anything and everything, Luhan included, but it doesn’t mean he has to be happy about it.

“I’m sure the men downstairs would be happy to take you to him if you asked, you know,” Xiumin grins, Cheshire and conniving, “It would be lovely if he was in a good mood for our meeting tomorrow regarding territory boundaries, and my sources say that he is always happiest after spending time with you.”

Jongdae rolls his eyes. He’d thought it was a little strange that Xiumin had been divulging so much helpful information so freely. Zitao had never mentioned anything about Xiumin being particularly altruistic or compassionate, only that he is known for being very strategic in business, not above manipulative competitors’ personal lives to get what he wants. And distracting Luhan with Baekhyun is a pretty easy way to get what he wants out of the other crime lord. 

Baekhyun must see it too, lips drawing into a thin line of concentration. “I don’t want to distract him from something important,” he murmurs. “Maybe I could just help Jongdae unpack today and go see Luhan tomorrow after your meeting.”

Xiumin shifts his grip on Jongdae’s arm to grab him by the waist and pull him into the man’s side. “What could possibly be more important to him than you? And I was actually planning to have Jongdae to myself for a few days if you don’t mind. I’m going to be very busy with the new district attorney being elected and I would like to spend some time bonding with my new wife before I have to leave him alone.”

“I don’t know… What if he’s still mad at me?” Baekhyun hesitates, so, so helplessly in love with Luhan that he’s willing to be lonely and miserable for another night if it means helping him. 

Xiumin frowns at that, quickly shifting into a much less friendly persona.

No one denies Xiumin anything. No one is willing to risk displeasing him. Jongdae’s only seen a hint of what monster lurks under the surface, the tip of the iceberg peering out through Xiumin’s eyes like a great jungle cat. Chanyeol’s face from the night before sits heavily at the forefront of his mind. The fear, the way he curled into Kris’ embrace for protection. Kris had gotten so angry, fury barely restrained because he didn’t want to push Xiumin any farther than absolutely necessary. 

Something happened to Chanyeol because one of them pissed off their boss, something very, very bad. Jongdae can’t even begin to imagine what Chanyeol went through to make him shrink away the way he did, but he knows he doesn’t want the same thing to happen to Baekhyun because he’s a lovesick idiot who doesn’t think about the consequences of his actions. 

So Jongdae swallows down fear that tastes like bile and offers, “If you’re feeling shy about talking to Luhan’s men, maybe we could call you a car.”

Xiumin smiles then, absolutely, undoubtedly delighted, “A wonderful idea! It seems that Jongin and Sehun are nearly done moving your things out into the hallway to put in the elevator. Why don’t I call the car now so that it will be ready by the time we leave?” 

Jongdae nods and forces himself to smile. Relief washes over him like a wave as Xiumin lets go of his waist to step away to make the call. 

“What are you doing? You don’t want me to go to Luhan,” Baekhyun hisses out in a whisper.

“I don’t, but I don’t want you to piss Xiumin off more. He’s not—he’s not a nice person, Baek, I don’t want to give him any reason to dislike you.” Jongdae looks to where Xiumin is talking into the phone and sees a timebomb, switching between moods in the span of nanoseconds at even the slightest hint that something isn’t going his way.

“Just trust me,” Jongdae whispers, “I know what I’m doing.”

“All done, boss.” Jongin and Sehun pass by with the last of Jongdae’s boxes in their arms just as Xiumin ends the call. “Everything’s out by the elevator and ready to go.”

“Lovely! The car for Baekhyun will be here in about fifteen minutes,.”

Jongdae is beckoned towards the door with two curled fingers as Xiumin follows his lackeys out. His pride smarts at being called to heel like a dog, but he goes after grabbing Baekhyun’s hand and forcing him to follow as well. Baekhyun stumbles with a quiet yelp but doesn’t protest; he squeezes Jongdae’s hand in his own.

“Hey,” Baekhyun whispers as they watch Jongin and Sehun load the boxes into the elevator. They had offered to help but were turned down, told that it was a stand-in for the other men’s normal exercise routine.

“Yeah?”

Baekhyun nudges their shoulders together with a little smile, eyes alive and twinkling in happiness. It’s been so long since the last time Jongdae saw this that he almost forgot what it looked like. “Thank you. I’m never going to be able to repay you for what you’ve done for me. Saving my life, helping me possibly get Luhan back. Being my best friend. I know we probably won’t see each other as much now that you’re living like halfway across the city—your fiancé is one of the richest men in the city; you know he doesn’t live anywhere near here. So I guess I just wanted to make sure I thanked you before I forgot.” 

And Jongdae just shrugs and scuffs his shoe on the floor. His cheeks feel a little hot. “Don’t have to thank me, you know. I’d do anything for you. I love you, Baek, you’re the most important person in the entire world to me.”

“Love you too, Dae.”

They stand side-by-side as they watch all of Jongdae’s belongings get shoved into the back of the SUV that drove him home the night before. Most of it fits in the trunk and the back seat, just a few boxes going into the trunk of Sehun’s car, a sensible little four-door thing that doesn’t look like it belongs to a high-ranking gang member. Xiumin’s car is exactly what Jongdae expected, some sleek black sports car that screams money and overcompensation. 

Xiumin waves Jongdae over to the passenger side just as a taxi pulls up for Baekhyun. With no reason to stay together, they part, and Jongdae is left reeling at the idea of not having his best friend around every moment of every day. 

He rubs at the leather of the seats of Xiumin’s car in nervousness as he watches Baekhyun pull away from the curb. Baekhyun is jittering with nerves too, though his are likely much more pleasant than the Olympic gold acrobatics Jongdae’s stomach is attempting.

Suddenly, Jongdae squeaks as he’s grabbed by the back of the neck. His heart races in his chest so fast he wonders if it will explode, if he’ll die of fright like a mouse cornered by a housecat. 

Warm, dry lips press against his cheek a moment later, warm air puffed against his skin as Xiumin laughs. “You’re so scared, how precious. I’m not going to hurt you, kitten, not unless you ask for it. I just wanted to show you some affection. You’re very pretty, you know that? Makes me want to keep you all to myself.”

There are no reassurances that he won’t, in fact, keep Jongdae all to himself, trap him, isolate him in wherever it is that they’ll be living so that he is Xiumin’s and Xiumin’s alone. Instead, Xiumin lets go of the back of Jongdae’s neck to lay a hand on his knee before pulling the car away from the curb and starting off towards the upper-east side of town, whistling a victory tune under his breath.

---

One of the first things Jongdae notices about Xiumin’s apartment is the cold. The elevator doors open to the penthouse on the fifteenth floor, only accessible with either the keycard Xiumin handed to Jongin or the one he slipped into Jongdae’s back pocket or a code for the keypad inside the elevator that changes weekly, and Jongdae isn't able to suppress a shiver at the gust of icy air. It reminds him of being in the walk-in freezer at the cafe, goosebumps breaking out along his arms and legs.

Xiumin steps into the apartment without a care. His suit is made of thicker stuff than Jongdae’s long-sleeved t-shirt and jeans, but it shouldn’t be enough to negate the way the air conditioning is blasting full-force. 

He turns and looks back at Jongdae when he doesn’t immediately follow, a smug little grin on his face. “Is it a bit too chilly for you, kitten?” 

Jongdae clenches his jaw, grits his teeth at the embarrassed anger making his face go hot. He shakes his head. Part of him wants to take off his shirt out of pure spite, just to show Xiumin that he will not be looked down upon and cooed at like a small animal. He doesn’t, reminds himself that it would just be cutting off the nose to spite the face and he would be the only one suffering. He forces himself to take a few steps into the penthouse and allows the elevator doors to close behind him, cutting off the only source of warmth he has. 

“I’ll give you the grand tour once the boys have finished bringing up your things, but for now allow me to show you our bedroom,” Xiumin beckons for Jongdae to follow as he walks further into the ridiculously extravagant apartment.

It’s magnificent, Jongdae will give it that much. It’s crystal and chrome from floor to ceiling, black, silver, and white. It screams money and power, the sort of apartment only someone with the world at their fingertips would have. Every last little thing shines and glitters no matter what way the light hits it. The apartment is spotless, beautiful, the absolute epitome of luxury.

Jongdae thinks it’s fucking boring.

There’s no life here. There could be, could be creases in the black leather of the sofa from too many nights spent packed together with friends watching movies, could be fingerprints in the gunmetal gray of the fridge from too-late late night snacks, could be shoe cubbies at the elevator, mail on the tables, a candle that’s been loved until its wicks gave out. But there isn’t. There’s nothing here but the idea that maybe, just maybe, someone stops in every so often to make sure it’s looking perfect.

Xiumin opens the door to a bedroom that’s just as beautiful as the rest of the penthouse. There’s an alarm clock and a pair of glasses on one bedside table, though, the door to a walk-in closet left open with a few ties hanging off the doorknob. 

Someone lives here, at least.

 “Any empty spaces in the walk-in are yours, organize them however you wish so long as you keep things neat.” They meet eyes for a moment, standing in the middle of the bedroom in uncomfortable silence. Jongdae looks at his future husband, the man he’s going to be legally married to by the end of the day.

And then he looks away, to the empty, frigid air of the apartment. The empty, frigid air of their apartment.

Jongdae isn’t a fool, isn’t petty or stubborn enough to fight reality. He knows he’s marrying a very attractive man, someone he’d probably willingly chase after in another life. But as handsome as Xiumin is with those dark, feline eyes and soft cheeks, he just can’t look at him right now. 

“Explore the bedroom a bit and get comfortable for a moment while I make a quick call.” Xiumin makes a sound like a sigh, so put-upon and exasperated, before disappearing through a door that Jongdae assumes leads to a bathroom, phone already in hand. 

It’s as though he’s doing Jongdae some incredible favor and Jongdae is being difficult and unappreciative—and goddamn if that isn’t exactly the case.

Jongdae shuffles across hardwood floors to the side of the bed with the empty bedside table. He slumps onto the mattress on his ass and hates how comfortable it is. He buries his head in his hands, tugs at his hair like a madman on the brink of insanity. Hot, silent tears roll down his cheeks as the weight of what he’s done falls onto him wholly, completely, overwhelmingly. He knew what he was doing the night before, when he promised to marry Minseok in exchange for Baekhyun’s life. He knew what he was giving away and he’d do it again in a heartbeat, without question or hesitation. 

A few minutes pass and he listens to Xiumin’s muted voice through the bathroom door as he speaks in short, clipped sentences about a marriage certificate and competence and I am very displeased with your service, Im. It sounds like a gunshot, like a news broadcast about some sorry sap who got themselves mixed up with the wrong crowd. 

Some poor, desperate soul who crosses the red velvet rope at a notorious nightclub even when the bouncer begs them not to.

“I’ll be sending Sehun out to pick us up some dinner after he and Jongin finish bringing up your things,” Xiumin’s footsteps echo as he makes his way to Jongdae, little clicks of his shoes against the hardwood. Fingers find their way into his hair, combing through the strands as they stroke down the side of his face. 

“Is there anything in particular you’d like, kitten? Or anything you don’t like? It will take a bit for Sehun to return, so you can think about it and decide when he tells us he’s on his way back. We can spend a bit of time together unpacking your things while we wait.”

Jongdae takes a deep breath. He would put himself in this position a million times if it meant saving Baekhyun. 

"I'll think about what I want to eat." Jongdae pushes himself to stand. Xiumin's hand falls away from his face naturally and Jongdae has to bite back a sigh of relief even as he realizes that standing up has brought them in such close proximity that they're nearly touching. 

Xiumin seems to enjoy the closeness, happy to stay completely still and block Jongdae in with his body. He smirks as Jongdae leans back and away, nearly tipping himself backwards onto the bed. 

"Careful now," Xiumin murmurs. He takes Jongdae's hands in his own and uses his grip to pull him back in. The grip is tight, just short of bruising, and Jongdae is hauled so far into Xiumin's space that his lips are pressed to Jongdae's ear. "Wouldn't want you to fall, kitten. You'd look lovely against the sheets, but I don't think you want to be there just yet, do you?"

Jongdae's stomach lurches. He swallows down bile that tastes like fear. Xiumin promised not to touch him, promised . The word of murderer really doesn't mean anything, not when the cut of the murderer's suit shows off a body built much, much stronger than Jongdae's. Still, Xiumin promised to leave him be in that respect, made it seem that he is uninterested in partners that are not interested in him.

"Don't look so scared, kitten. I gave you my word, remember?" Jongdae's hands are released a moment later with a dark chuckle, feline eyes sparkling with cruel delight as though he can read Jongdae's thoughts. Xiumin knows exactly what fear is behind Jongdae's eyes and he enjoys every last goddamn second of it. 

They stare at each other in silence that is equal parts terrified and amused until the elevator dings, sound echoing through the empty apartment. Jongdae listens as Jongin and Sehun move boxes into the front entrance, cardboard sliding on hardwood and tile.

"I should probably go start bringing boxes in here to unpack," Jongdae says, a plea that he hopes doesn't sound as desperate as he feels, isn't tinged with the anger turning his vision red. He tries not to give Xiumin any sort of reaction, wants to make it clear that he isn't going to let himself be bullied any more than he absolutely has to. 

Xiumin doesn't respond, just stares at Jongdae like he's a bug pinned under a microscope, a fly caught in a spider's web. 

And Jongdae takes a risk, lets his pride and anger get the best of him and sidesteps around the other man, knocking their shoulders together in the ghost of a challenge. 

He's stopped by a hand gripping like a metal band around his upper arm. He turns on instinct and feels the edges of a panic attack clawing at his chest. His heart pounds, pulsing roaring in his ears as he berates himself for being so stupid. 

"Oh, you like to push your luck, don't you, kitten?" Xiumin grins at him, all teeth, all anger.  The grip on Jongdae's arm tightens to the point of pain. "I thought you were going to be good for me today." 

Terrified tears prick at the backs of Jongdae's eyes and he has to fight to keep from yanking his arm away. "I-I'm sorry," he stutters. "It was an accident, I p-promise!" His entire body begins to shake, hands trembling, knees threatening to buckle. It was a moment of lashing out, of trying to take back some sort of control; Jongdae regrets it more than he has ever regretted anything in his entire life.

"An accident," Xiumin repeats, sing-songs, mocks. They both know it was anything but an accident. Jongdae could have very easily given Xiumin a wide berth as he walked away, could have put enough distance between them that one of them would have had to lunge to touch the other.

But he didn't.

Still, Jongdae nods. "An a-accident. It was an accident. I didn't mean to."

Xiumin looks him up and down much like he did the night before. He hums, head tilting to the side as he thinks before making a sound of realization. It's all an act, a show. Xiumin is just playing with him. Keeping Jongdae on the edge of his seat for his own amusement.

Slowly, Xiumin reels Jongdae in close with the grip on his arm until they're in the much the same position they were before. "If it was really an accident, and not you deciding to rebel and be rude to your husband, the man who is doing you a very, very big favor, then I'm sure you wouldn't mind making it up to me. Right?"

Xiumin turns his head to the side and taps his cheek with one finger. "I've been the one showering you with affection since we met. I'd like a bit of love now, so give me a sweet kiss on the cheek and I'll forget this little accident ever happened."

Jongdae doesn't let himself think. He just screws his eyes shut and leans in, presses his lips against Xiumin's cheek for a few seconds. Xiumin's skin is soft under his lips, smelling like expensive cologne and the gel in Xiumin's hair. It's somehow not entirely unpleasant.

That makes everything worse.

After Jongdae pulls away, he opens his eyes to Xiumin smiling brightly, cooing at him. "How sweet of you! I knew you could be good for me!"

Jongdae's stomach rolls in disgust. He says nothing, keeps his gaze fixed on the lapel of the other man's suit and waits for the fake, too-sweet praise to end. 

"Come now," Xiumin slides his hand down Jongdae's arm to hold his hand again, tugging him to walk at his side, "Let's go see if Jongin and Sehun have finished bringing all your boxes up, hm? I'm so excited to have you all settled in! I don't think I've ever allowed a lover into my home before. Though you're not just a lover, right?"

Jongdae hardly listens as Xiumin continues to speak, guiding him back to where Jongin and Sehun are waiting with the boxes, Jongdae's life packed up and sitting on the floor of someone else's home. He knows he should be feeling something, anger, fear, shame, regret, resignation; some dark, twisted emotion should be sitting at the bottom of his stomach, weaving itself between his ribs.

He should be feeling something. But as he stares at the pristine luxury of the penthouse, the windows that stretch from floor to ceiling, the man he is marrying to save his best friend's life, all he feels is cold.

---

Jongdae doesn’t look up from his laptop screen when the elevator dings. He pulls his blanket up higher, tighter, laptop on his raised knees, head resting against the back of the couch. It’s become his usual position these days, eyes glazed where they’re glued to the YouTube videos on autoplay; he doesn’t care about them, but they’re at least some sort of background noise to the static fuzz inside his head.

“Kitten,” Xiumin calls, “are you home?”

“Yes,” Jongdae says, because he’s learned to answer when Xiumin asks him a question. “In here.”

He sees Xiumin through blurry eyes over the top of his laptop, watches as the man loosens his tie and sheds his suit jacket. Xiumin drops them both over the back of the couch and sits down on the only unoccupied cushion to take off his shoes. “I believe I’ve come home every single day this week to find you just like this.”

Jongdae shrugs. “Not sure what else to do.”

There’s nothing to do for him anymore, not since the coffee shop called last week and said that they were letting him go. They didn’t provide a reason, didn’t need to, not when the reason is sitting on the other end of the couch. Xiumin swore he had nothing to do with it but Jongdae’s not that stupid.

Xiumin’s expression sours at Jongdae’s words, eyes narrowing. “Jongdae,” he starts.

“Just making an observation.” Jongdae shrugs again and pulls his knees to his chest, takes his feet out of Xiumin’s range. “I really don’t know what to do now.” 

Without work to keep him occupied, there’s nothing to do but sit and think about how his life got to this point. He thinks about how long it’s been since he last saw Baekhyun who is always busy with Luhan now that the man has realized how close he was to losing the best thing he’ll ever have. He thinks about ink long since dried on his own marriage certificate, silver ring heavy on his finger.

The first month of marriage had been manageable—Jongdae still doesn’t know how to handle the fact that he’s sitting across a couch from his husband , that he is married to the man with rusty red under his fingernails. Xiumin had truly been so busy dealing with the new district attorney that Jongdae barely saw him aside from when he woke up to a kiss on his cheek in the early morning hours, another in the middle of the night. Jongdae thought that he could live like that quite easily, two kisses a day an easy price to pay for Baekhyun’s life.

Jongdae’s not quite sure what happened with the new district attorney. Xiumin doesn’t talk to him about work and Jongdae makes sure not to ask. 

But one night, Jongdae’s husband came home with a manic grin on his face and said that they were going out, dressed Jongdae up like a doll. They’d gone to dinner at some hole in the wall in a back alley with a bouncer who only stepped aside when Xiumin pulled a red and black card out of his wallet. 

Jongdae had been ushered into a club of the worst kind with Xiumin’s arm around his waist, lights down low and music just loud enough to keep private conversations private but quiet enough that Jongdae could hear Xiumin pointing out the table next to the bar crowded with people in dark suits that noded when they saw Xiumin approaching. 

That club was devoid of college students, of white powder on the bar, of the stench of good weed and way too much alcohol—it was nothing like the club where they met and Jongdae found himself missing that club and its strange innocence.

That club had been full of drunk people making bad choices that they’d regret in the morning, but those drunk people were simply living their lives. There were calculating predators, but they were chased off by protective women, by bouncers who didn’t want to watch a kid get ground up in the machine running in the shadows of the city. The devil was in the details, but angels were hiding around every corner with arms outstretched.

Jongdae didn’t think God even knew that little hole in the wall existed, much less the shit the people inside it did for a living.

Jongdae had spent that night sitting at Xiumin’s side as the other man was congratulated for his business prowess, for his political savvy. No one paid him much attention aside from a greeting and short exchange of names. He tore up the cocktail napkins into little, itty bitty pieces and picked at the plates of food. Mostly, he tried to ignore Xiumin’s hand on his thigh and how badly he wanted to push it away and run.

On the way home that night, Xiumin promised that his schedule would be more regular from then on, that he’d be home for dinner, there when Jongdae woke up and when he went to sleep.

It sounded like a threat.

“What would you like for dinner,” Xiumin asks as he stands. “I believe it is my turn to cook.” Jongdae shrugs and slouches down further, putting the laptop screen between them. Xiumin lets out a short, irritated sigh. “I’ll order something after I shower then. Finish up whatever you’re doing, we’re going to have a little talk.”

Jongdae swallows, thumbs rubbing nervously over the spacebar. False bravado and the need to not let Xiumin know how badly he scares him has Jongdae rolling his eyes. “About what?”

The laptop is slammed shut. Jongdae barely has time to pull his hands back so that they don’t get crushed. Xiumin stares at him with flat, dead eyes. Some of his hair has come loose from where it had been smoothed back and it falls over his forehead. Jongdae shrinks back as Xiumin closes in, stuck between the corner of the couch and the monster he married. Any confidence he had drains out of him instantaneously, fear thick like tar taking its place. 

“You know precisely what we need to talk about. I am a fairly reasonable man, you know. I gave you ample time to adjust to our relationship—it’s quite a change and I understand, I do. You were entitled to a period of transition, but I have had enough of this,” Xiumin gestures to the way Jongdae has holed himself up in the corner of the couch with his laptop as a barrier between him and the rest of the world. “You are not a prisoner in our home, forced to waste away under the watch of some awful warden. You have no reason to act like this, moody and rude. I have told you many times that you are free to come and go as you please so long I am notified in advance.”

Even with his back against the wall, cornered by a tiger with blood under its claws and staining its teeth, Jongdae can’t help but sit up and put them nearly nose-to-nose. “And what can I do? Baekhyun is always busy with Luhan because you wanted to force them back together. I never see him anymore! I used to see him at work, but you got me fired from my job!”

Chanyeol had described Xiumin as unsettlingly put together, unshakeable, unflappable, capable of putting a bullet between a man’s eyes with a placid smile. He is known for never letting anyone get under his skin. 

Jongdae has seen that before, the way he gets upset without getting upset . Some lackey had showed up at the apartment a few weekends ago, begging for forgiveness after fucking up some mission Xiumin had sent him on. Xiumin had been pissed , but he smiled even as he ripped the man apart with his words, smiled even as he pulled a gun out from under the couch and asked Jongdae to go collect the mail from downstairs and pick them up a treat from the convenience store down the block.

The world running in the shadows of the city knows Jongdae’s husband for his unshakeable control.

Jongdae wonders what they would say if they saw Xiumin’s face twist into a snarl, saw him bare his teeth as fire burned in his eyes. “I did not get you fired! I had nothing to do with your job! I have told you many times that I was happy to let you continue working. Your café is where my territory overlaps with Luhan’s; we both have employees in place in case something were to happen…”

Xiumin trails off. He gaze darts to somewhere beyond Jongdae, eyes narrowing as he thinks. “Kitten,” he says softly, “was Baekhyun laid off as well?”

Jongdae shakes his head. “That’s how I knew you had something to do with it. Why would they fire me and not Baekhyun if it wasn’t for something personal?”

Xiumin’s eyebrow raises. Jongdae watches as he takes a deep breath and forces himself to relax. “I’m going to let that go just this once, understand? It seems that someone on my payroll has abused their position.” 

Lips brush against Jongdae’s forehead before Xiumin is pulling away and taking his phone out from his pocket, a smile on his lips even as the rest of his expression ices over. “Go look through the take-out menus and pick out what you want, kitten, put something on Netflix or Hulu for us to watch tonight. I need to make a call.”

Jongdae nods and watches with wide, confused eyes as Xiumin turns on his heel and walks toward the bedroom, shoulders so tense Jongdae can see the muscles straining through his shirt. He sets his laptop on the coffee table and goes to dig out the stack of take-out menus from the drawer in the kitchen. He waits until Xiumin has disappeared into the bedroom, door closing behind him with a soft click , before sliding across the apartment in socked feet to press his ear against the door.

“Put Dowoon on the line. Now.” 

Xiumin’s voice is muffled by the wood, but Jongdae can hear the anger in his voice, rumbling like a volcano about to erupt. The phone is on speaker, must be, because Jongdae can hear metallic, staticy mumbling even through the door. 

Helplessly curious despite the fact that he knows he’s going to piss Xiumin off for eavesdropping and not doing as he was asked, Jongdae drops to his knees belly on the floor to hear the conversation better and has to stifle a gasp when he sees Xiumin’s eyes through the crack under the door. 

The bedroom door opens a moment later and Jongdae is still lying frozen in terror on the floor. He looks up, heart beating wildly, stuck somewhere between fight or flight, to see Xiumin watching him with exasperation, eyebrows nearly up to his hairline. The other man pulls Jongdae to his feet and then silently directs him to sit at the foot of their bed next to where Xiumin’s phone is.

Jongdae opens his mouth to apologize but is stopped when Xiumin puts a finger to his lips, nodding towards the phone.

“Hello? Xiumin? Are you still there?” 

“Yes, yes, I’m here. Dowoon, I left you in charge of my midtown district, did I not? I chose you over Kijeong to run the district that is responsible for many of my legal fronts, bookstores, supermarkets, coffee shops . I chose you because I believed you were better suited for the job than Kijeong due to your experience in running legal businesses and your supposed distaste for politics and power.”

“ Thank you, boss, that means quite a lot to me. And I have been running those businesses well, all are making quite a profit and my daughter has been working with the Parks to make sure any discrepancies are well hidden.”

“I know. I appreciate competency, you know this. I reward achievement and good work ethic.”

The man on the other line lets out an excited noise. He thanks Xiumin, says that he was raised to have a good work ethic, that he passed that ethic down to his daughter. That makes Xiumin chuckle, eyes going dark as he stares at the phone.

Jongdae is at a loss as to where the conversation is going, gaze flickering between Xiumin and the phone. Xiumin smiles at him and steps in closer to cup Jongdae’s cheek in his hand.

“Yes...your daughter. Dohee, is that correct? She’s just a bit older than my wife, if I’m not mistaken. Lovely girl, ambitious only in the sense that she wants to have as normal a life as possible. I appreciate her lack of greed. She was very polite and well-mannered when I turned her down after you sent her to me. She has a lover already, a boy studying nutrition at a local university. 

“She was the one who turned me down, truthfully, but asked that I say it was the other way around so that you wouldn’t push for her to pursue me any longer. I have no hard feelings towards her, nor her towards me, and so I felt confident in believing that she would never do anything to provoke me. And yet, my wife was fired from a job he excelled at within the district her family ran. It sounds as though she does have some issue with me, or at least with the fact that I’ve married another, and decided to take out her anger on my poor, innocent wife. It makes me very angry to see my wife upset, Dowoon. Angry enough to do something about it.”

“My daughter has nothing to do with the employees at any establishment within my district. She handles finances in coordination with the Park family and that is it. Dohee is a smart girl, she wouldn’t risk her life over something petty. Whatever happened to your wife is surely something we can work out, isn’t it? He worked at the coffee shop on forty-second, right? I’ll have him rehired within the hour and he can start tomorrow at his usual shift. Or if there’s another day he would like to start, another shift he would like to work, whatever he wants.”

Xiumin smiles as Dowoon begins to ramble, stumbling over his own words. He tries to explain the whole situation away as one big misunderstanding, that whoever called must have had the wrong name, fired the wrong person. He blames it on a clerical error, something neither he nor his daughter had anything to do with.

 Jongdae can only watch in a horrified sort of awe. Xiumin tells these people to jump and they’re already coming back down and asking if they went high enough. He has them so firmly under his thumb, bugs pinned under a microscope. 

The fear in Dowoon’s voice is palpable, worse than anything Jongdae has felt in his entire life. Xiumin scares him, yes, but not the way he scares his underlings. 

Jongdae wonders if he’s sheltered, Xiumin’s favorite little pet that only gets tapped on the nose for misbehaving when everyone else gets the shock collar.

All he knows is that he’s never going to tell Xiumin that it was Dowoon’s voice on the phone when he got laid off.

The phone call ends shortly after Dowoon apologizes profusely for the misunderstanding and promises to oversee the hiring and firing of the businesses under his control personally. Xiumin begins to strip down to his boxers after the call ends. Jongdae averts his eyes, stares at the floor, and tries to process what he just witnessed, the power his husband holds. 

Fingers fit under his chin and force him to look up and meet Xiumin’s eyes. They’re feline, satisfied and smug like a cat that’s brought its owners a dead bird as a gift. “Remember this next time you take an attitude with me, kitten,” he purrs. Xiumin leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of Jongdae’s mouth. “Remember that I am your husband; I am always on your side and have done nothing but help you since we met. Now, I’d like an apology for how you’ve treated me this past week.”

Jongdae swallows down his pride that bristles and burns in his throat. His hands curl into fists on the bedspread. “Thank you for getting me my job back. And I’m sorry I blamed you and didn’t believe you.”

“All is forgiven,” Xiumin smiles sweetly, cloying like syrup on the tongue, trying to lure Jongdae in. “And I am sorry that my own men abused their power simply to upset you. It will not happen again, I promise you that.”

Jongdae watches as Xiumin gathers a change of clothes, forcing his eyes not to wander down his husband’s well-defined body. It’s infuriating, really, how someone so horrible can be so attractive. “I am going to shower, and you are going to pick out dinner for tonight and something to watch. Oh—and do not eavesdrop on me again, am I understood? If you wish to listen in, ask me and I will likely let you. I don’t care what you hear, but I hate sneaks. Am I understood?”

“Y-yeah,” Jongdae nods, “Got it. Won’t do it again.”

A thumb brushes against his cheek before Xiumin heads into the bathroom and leaves Jongdae alone with his thoughts.

The shower starts a few minutes later and Jongdae finds himself still sitting on the foot of the bed next to Xiumin’s phone. He looks to the walk-in closet where his uniforms for work are hanging. He gets to go back to work tomorrow. A part of him hates that Xiumin had to come to his rescue once again, but still, he gets to go back to work tomorrow.

He smiles to himself, just a little, and then hops off the bed to go rifle through the take-out menus, willing to play house for a few hours.

---

Jongdae wipes off the pick-up counter with a damp rag. One of the regulars had spilled their coffee while trying to wrangle their baby. He’d apologized profusely for the mess, but Jongdae waved him off; it’s just a spill and they weren’t so busy that stopping to clean up a little mess would put them in a crisis.

When he’s finished mopping up the mess, he drops the rag back in its spot next to the little bucket of cleaning solution and wipes his hands on his apron. “All clean, Baekkie,” he says and goes to take his place making drinks once more. He hip checks Baekhyun back towards the cash register with a grin that only grows wider when Baekhyun shoves him back.

“Took you long enough. Thought I’d die of old age before you finished wiping up one measly little coffee spill.” Jongdae pinches Baekhyun’s side in retribution and earns himself a loud squeak that has some of the customers he doesn’t recognize looking up from their coffee and baked goods in surprise. “Knock it off, you’ll freak out the customers!”

Baekhyun tosses his head to fix his hair with a little pout, nose scrunching. Jongdae sticks his tongue back out at him and just barely stops himself from reaching over and fucking up Baekhyun’s artfully messy hair. As if he can read Jongdae’s mind, Baekhyun grabs the uniform visor they’re all supposed to wear but usually don’t and shoves it on his head.

“I’ve got a date after our shift, Dae, don’t fuck up my hair.” When Jongdae mocks him, grinning wide and Cheshire, Baekhyun grabs a dry rag from the pocket of his apron and snaps it at Jongdae’s ass. 

Jongdae scurries away to hide behind the pastry case. “Careful, that’s prime real estate you’re going after!”

“Prime real estate, my ass,” Baekhyun scoffs and takes off after him, winding up his towel for another snap.

“No,” Jongdae says, “Prime real estate my ass. Yours is...passable.” Baekhyun lets out an indignant little screech and chases him around the space behind the counter, genuinely trying to land a hit to soothe his ego. He’s careful to block the entrance to the back with his body. Jongdae considers throwing himself over the counter and making a run for the bathroom before he goes home with a red welt across the back of his thighs because Baekhyun has horrible aim.

Jongdae feels more like himself than he has in what feels like a long, long time.

He started his job again last week, but this is his first shift with Baekhyun. He’d disappeared on a whirlwind, spur-of-the-moment vacation with Luhan and only got back two days ago. Working has helped ease some of the choking, unwavering sadness pressing down on him like a cement block. Working with Baekhyun helps him forget that he has any reason to be sad in the first place.

They horse around for a little longer until a customer needs a refill on her tea. Jongdae fills her cup and hands it back to her with a smile. “Here you go, ma’am. Anything else I can get you?” 

Her cheeks go a little pink and she leans forward with eyelashes batting. “Your number? You’re really cute. I’ve been a customer here for a while and I thought I should shoot my shot before someone else does.”

“Too late,” Baekhyun calls from behind the counter, always happy to put himself in other people’s business. “He’s married. And his husband isn’t someone you wanna fuck with either.” Jongdae sighs through gritted teeth and turns his head to pin Baekhyun with a scathing look. Baekhyun isn’t wrong, the ring on Jongdae’s finger is proof of the fact that he is very much not on the market, but it isn’t something Jongdae likes to broadcast. 

He’s not trying to cheat on Xiumin; he doesn’t have a death wish. After seeing what kind of man his husband is, what men like him do to anyone that has shown the slightest hint of being unloyal, he’d have to be a fucking idiot to even look like he’s cheating. He just doesn’t want to be reminded of the man waiting for him at home. He just wants to pretend his life is some semblance of normal.

The woman turns an even darker shade of red out of embarrassment and she turns her full attention back to her computer, shaking her head when Jongdae tries to apologize.

Jongdae goes back behind the counter with a tight frown and hands itching to smack Baekhyun in the back of the head. “Please don’t yell about my personal life all over the coffee shop.” He drops the dirty dishes in the sink a little too loudly. They both jump at the clash and clatter.

“Sorry,” Baekhyun sidles up to Jongdae and rests his head on his shoulder, blinking up at him with big, puppy-dog eyes. “I didn’t want Xiumin to get the wrong idea or anything. You know he has cameras all over this place, probably watches them from whatever dark, dank cave he sleeps in. I already made the mistake of crossing a crime lord for the both of us, remember?”

Jongdae shakes his head with a fond chuckle, never able to stay mad at Baekhyun for long, “Yeah, I remember. Do you remember that I am the one that got you out of trouble?”

“Yes, and I shall forever be in your debt. You didn’t just get me out of trouble, you helped me get Luhan back. Don’t make that face, Dae! I know you don’t like him but he really didn’t abandon me like he said he would. He had at least a few men watching our apartment every single day,” Baekhyun pouts up at him. “Luhan wants to know if you’d like to join us for dinner some time this week. He’s been making me a lot of dishes he grew up eating in China and they’re really good.”

It’s Baekhyun’s new obsession, getting Jongdae to like Luhan. Jongdae’s told him more than a few times that it’s futile, but, as evidenced with the whole Chanyeol debacle, Baekhyun doesn’t give up easily. 

“If I went to dinner with you two, Xiumin would have to come as well. No fucking way would he let me go meet one of his biggest rivals on my own.” 

Baekhyun shrugs at that, because he is one of the most single-minded people Jongdae has ever met. He doesn’t care who tags along so long as Jongdae comes to dinner.

Jongdae slumps over, worn down after weeks of Baekhyun attempting to coax him into giving Luhan another chance. There’s a reason Chanyeol was eventually pushed to go to Kris about Baekhyun; he really does not give up when he wants something, a dog with a goddamn bone. “Fine,” he groans, “I’ll talk to him about it tonight. The shit I do for you, Byun Baekhyun.”

“Yay! I’ll make sure Luhan is on his best behavior, I promise! He’s different now than he was before the whole,” Baekhyun makes a gun with his index finger and thumb and grimaces. 

He better be, or Jongdae’s going to kill him and he’s pretty sure that Xiumin will cover his tracks. 

When the bell on the door to the cafe announces a new customer, Baekhyun dances back to the cash register, humming a happy tune. It matches the soft music floating through the cafe’s speakers and the sunlight shining through the windows. 

“Haven’t seen you around here in awhile,” Baekhyun says, voice awkward and uncomfortable.

Jongdae turns on his heel in a strange panic, breath coming short. He wonders if Kris has decided to go against Xiumin’s orders, if everything he’s done will have been for nothing. Kris has never come to the coffee shop before, so he literally can’t be the person Baekhyun is talking to, but Jongdae still has to force himself to swallow down fear.

He blinks when he sees Chanyeol standing at the cash register with a sheepish smile on his face.

“Hey, Baekhyun. Long time no see.”

Baekhyun nods. “Long time no see.” They stare at each other for a few long moments, Baekhyun’s hands sweating so badly Jongdae watches him struggle to keep his grip on the plastic coffee cup and permanent marker he always grabs when the doorbell rings. “I’m not mad, you know. I’m just… I—no hard feelings? We both fucked up?”

Chanyeol nods vigorously, a look of absolute relief on his face. “No hard feelings!” 

Jongdae has wondered more than a few times about how Chanyeol and Baekhyun would make up. If they ever did. He thought they might have to talk it out, fight it out. He would be set in the middle as the mediator between two very emotional people. Chanyeol and Baekhyun are very emotional, very dramatic people—quick to anger, but also very quick to forgive. 

Jongdae would never be able to do it, but the way Chanyeol and Baekhyun shrug off everything that happened with big smiles, catching up on their personal lives and making plans to get together, it makes sense for them.

Chanyeol’s face brightens even more when he sees Jongdae standing by the coffee machines. “Hi, Jongdae! How have you been? It’s good to see you!”

Jongdae shakes his head and scrubs his hands through his hair. “I’m fine. Not bad. You?”

“Good! Been a little lonely since Kris had to take a job a few cities to the south, but not bad.” Chanyeol bobs his head to the beat of the music, hands in his pockets. His eyes scan the menu board behind Baekhyun like he hasn’t been here roughly five billion times. “I think I’ll get my regular,” he says after a moment of intense scrutinizing. 

“Don’t you always,” Baekhyun laughs and hands Jongdae the cup with Chanyeol’s name and order written on it. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you order anything else, right, Jongdae?” Jongdae nods, back turned to the cash register, and grins at the utterly offended noise Chanyeol makes in response.

“I like what I like! Why should I bother trying something that I might not like when I can just get my regular drink and know I’ll be happy? Not everyone is a risk-taker like you, Baekhyun.”

Jongdae can hardly hear Chanyeol and Baekhyun bicker over the whirring of the blender as he makes Chanyeol’s almost too sweet frappe, but after so many hours spent just watching the two of them argue back and forth over nonsense he can imagine the scene with crystal clarity. Chanyeol has his hands on his hips, Baekhyun tosses his hair like he’s some sort of high school cheerleader. One of them is going to involve Jongdae in the argument in support of their argument again very soon, because he has somehow made himself out to be the only one with any sense between the three of them.

He laughs at himself then. He acts as though he’s the only one with any sense when his solution to saving his best friend’s life was to marry a goddamn gang boss. 

“Variety is the spice of life,” Baekhyun exclaims just as Jongdae is turning back to the pair with Chanyeol’s finished drink. “Things get a little boring if you don’t change them up from time to time. Just, like, maybe try something without so much sugar. Or start drinking tea. We have a really great selection of teas. Luhan really likes the hibiscus one. Aren’t I right, Jongdae?”

Jongdae hands Chanyeol his drink, “How should I know what kind of tea your boyfriend likes?” Baekhyun narrows his eyes; Jongdae meets his gaze with a shrug, hands out-stretched and palms facing up in manufactured innocence. “And cut Chanyeol some slack when it comes to his sugar-bombs. Xiumin says that Kris has put him on a low-sugar diet after his last dentist appointment. We’re essentially the last place on Earth where he can get his fix.”

Chanyeol chokes on his drink, turning pink from the tips of his ears down to his collarbones, squawking, “He told you that? Oh my God, I can’t believe he told you that! This is so embarrassing!”

Baekhyun’s face brightens, grin turning devious. “Kris put you on a low-sugar diet? Oh, oh holy shit that’s funny! You’re twenty-four! I know that you like how controlling he is, but even your diet?”

 Jongdae feels a little bad for putting Chanyeol in Baekhyun’s grasp now that he hears his best friend’s unholy cackle and sees how mortified Chanyeol is that his business is not just his business anymore. But only a little.

Chanyeol nearly got Baekhyun killed for flirting, he can handle a bit of good-natured teasing about his sugar intake.

Jongdae grins as he watches Chanyeol hide his face in his hands, ears burning red in utter embarrassment. “I was binging sweets to keep myself calm when I thought Kris was going to kill you, and then I had a dentist appointment last week and I had a fucking cavity. Kris freaked out because I’ve had some really bad cavities before and he didn’t want it to happen again. He asked me to start watching how much sugar I eat and drink. He didn’t tell me he’d told anyone about it though. I fucking hate him so much!” 

“Mm, I don’t think you do.”

All three of them startle when a pair of arms suddenly appear and wind around Chanyeol’s middle. 

Chanyeol is the least affected, body jerking in surprise for a moment before he settles back into Kris’ arms. Jongdae startles hard enough to slam his elbow into the metal coffee machine behind him. It stings like hell, hurts bad enough to make him bite his tongue and blink back tears. He feels more wary than anything, like he needs to put himself bodily between Baekhyun and the pair on the other side of the counter.

Baekhyun does that for him. He jumps back at the sound of Kris’ voice, all but hides behind Jongdae when he fully realizes exactly who is standing in front of him. Jongdae is quick to put an arm around his shoulders and reel him in as though his tiny frame can offer any protection against the assassin standing barely five feet away.

“I didn’t think you were coming home yet,” Chanyeol smiles, eyes scrunching up with happiness. “You said that job was going to take until this weekend. Oh, wait, this is perfect! You can finally meet Baekhyun!” Chanyeol doesn’t give anyone a second to respond, to interject, to suggest that perhaps Baekhyun should be asked if he’s ready to meet the man that nearly killed him.

He isn’t. Jongdae can tell that much by the way Baekhyun shakes under his arm. 

He can feel Baekhyun’s heartbeat, thready and much too fast. His face is ghostly white and his eyes remind Jongdae of a frightened dog showing its sclera.

Jongdae has to clench his jaw against a bolt of white hot anger when Kris rolls his eyes and shakes his head as though Baekhyun is some spoiled child acting dramatic. “Calm yourself, Byun. I gave my word that I wouldn’t hurt you and I am not a man who breaks my word.”

“Apologize,” Chanyeol hisses, “I told you I wanted you to apologize to him.”

Kris scoffs. “I will not apologize, Chanyeol. I spared his life, that is more than enough goodwill on my part.” 

Chanyeol doesn’t budge, simply stares at Kris with a deep frown and his arms crossed over his chest. Jongdae is, honestly, more than a little impressed by how he absolutely refuses to back down. It’s something Jongdae wishes he could do but would never even attempt with Xiumin. The difference is that Kris would never even dream of hurting Chanyeol—Jongdae doesn’t have that luxury.

Jongdae has only seen Kris a handful of times since that night in the club, and he has always appeared to be just as unshakeable as Xiumin, staring at every other living thing with cold, dead eyes.

Here, now, faced with Chanyeol who is apparently much more stubborn than Jongdae would have ever given him credit for, Kris’ mouth twists into a muted snarl and he turns his gaze to Baekhyun. The man grits his teeth, “I apologize for scaring Baekhyun and planning his murder. There, Chanyeol, happy?”

Chanyeol sighs, “I’m not the person you’re supposed to apologize to, Kris. You know what? Just forget it, you’re not ready to talk to him. I thought you were—you promised you were.” Jongdae tries to force a smile as Chanyeol turns back to them, scratching his hands through his hair. He shakes his head. “I’m really sorry, Baekhyun. He told me he was ready to put things behind him. He’s usually not like this towards my friends, I’m really, really sorry.”

The front door opens again as Chanyeol speaks. Jongdae looks up at the sound of the bell, an ingrained response after a good year or two of working in the same coffee shop. He blinks once at what he sees prowling into the coffee shop, heart skipping a beat, muscles locking up in surprise.

He knows Chanyeol is still talking to Baekhyun, that Baekhyun is responding with placating smiles and arms raised in supplication. Physically, he can still hear their voices, can feel Baekhyun move under his arm, can see their expressions and the way Kris is staring at Baekhyun with a gaze that would kill him if given half the chance. Jongdae is registering every last detail from the smell of coffee to the sound of the music playing through the speakers as a new song starts.

But if anyone asked him, Jongdae wouldn’t be able to tell them anything except that he felt like a wild animal backed into a corner.

“The uniform is very, very cute on you, kitten. I’ve always known that you had to wear an apron to work. And I’ve seen it hanging in our closet, but I never actually imagined what you would look like in it before,” Xiumin smirks at him as he approaches the cash register, no more than a curling of lips.

Chanyeol, Baekhyun, and Kris had been so absorbed in their own business that they hadn’t bothered to pay attention to the door as it opened, hadn’t cared to notice who was joining them. They freeze in place, words hanging in the air as sentences die half-finished.

If Xiumin notices how the tension seems to balloon at his appearance, he doesn’t show it. He notices, Jongdae knows his husband notices; he notices everything, he just doesn’t tend to care for the comfort of others. 

A man had been dragged into their living room by Sehun last Friday night. The man had been bleeding profusely and Sehun was favoring his left leg so strongly that even Jongdae had noticed. He was, from what Jongdae was able to glean before Xiumin sent him to the convenience store to pick up a long list of snacks and anything he wanted for himself, a low-level drug dealer in Xiumin’s employ that had started trying to keep more of the profits than he was allowed. Jongdae knows better than to offer the people dragged into the apartment anything, but he had watched and waited for Xiumin to offer Sehun a seat.

He hadn’t, apparently completely unconcerned with what happens to his employees so long as they aren’t crossing him. Jongdae pulled out one of the kitchen bar stools for Sehun instead and gritted his teeth against the way Xiumin kissed his cheek and called him sweet.

“Boss,” Kris says, shocking Jongdae out of his thoughts, “Nice to see you. I didn’t think you frequented coffee shops like this one.”

Jongdae doesn’t quite understand why seeing Xiumin has thrown him so hard. He sees the man every morning and every evening. They sit across from each other for breakfast and dinner. He sleeps in Xiumin’s bed every night, occasionally in the bend of his body if he goes to bed early and is already asleep by the time Xiumin turns in for the night. But this, seeing Xiumin in this space— Jongdae’s space—in broad daylight, it just has him scrambling for something to say.

He’s still struggling to find his voice when Xiumin turns to Kris and Chanyeol with a somewhat amused smile. “Ah, Kris, I wasn’t aware that you finished your job early. No matter, you’ve earned yourself a few more days of rest. Your latest job was very helpful to our new friend in the DA’s office and they actually wanted to speak to you about a bit of extra compensation when you finished. Do make sure to call them before the day is out, yes?”

“Yessir. I’ll go take care of that now.” Kris begins gently tugging Chanyeol towards the door, body pulled taut like a bowstring. “Let’s go, love. We wouldn’t want to get Baekhyun and Jongdae in trouble for wasting time.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right. I’ve still got your numbers so we can set up a friend date sometime for all three of us? Maybe?” Jongdae doesn’t miss the way Chanyeol’s eyes shift to Xiumin. 

“Oh, that sounds lovely! I know Luhan and I have some business to attend to on the north side of town next Wednesday, so perhaps you three could come to our house for dinner. How does that sound, kitten?” Jongdae shrugs and Xiumin laughs. “I’ll let you three sort yourselves out, just make sure that you tell me in advance if they’re stopping by.”

Jongdae nods. He offers Chanyeol a little wave as the other man is led out of the coffee shop by his fiancé.

The bell above the door rings, and then it’s just Jongdae, Baekhyun, and Xiumin at the front counter. Baekhyun flees the front counter in the name of checking on customers and bussing tables, and then there are two.

Xiumin is quick to take Chanyeol’s place at the cash register, though he’s even quicker to move over to the pick-up counter when Jongdae murmurs that it’s Baekhyun’s job to man the cash register. He braces both elbows on the counter and rests his face in his palms, fingers framing his cheeks like flower petals. It’s an uncomfortable juxtaposition, someone so dangerous acting so cutely.

A housecat can kill a bird with ease and still be cute.

“What are you doing here,” Jongdae asks as he picks up his cleaning rag again and starts scrubbing at a sticky spot that’s been there since he started working at the cafe. Anything to keep his focus off Xiumin. “You’ve never mentioned wanting to stop by my work before.”

Xiumin stares at Jongdae with an unreadable expression, eyes searching Jongdae’s face for something. What he’s looking for, what he always seems to be looking for lately, Jongdae has no idea. But he searches and searches all the same.

Jongdae wonders if Xiumin finds him just as impossible as he’s always been to Jongdae.

“I truthfully just felt like seeing you,” he says after a moment, “I’ve been having to get up so early this week that I’ve missed seeing your sweet, grumpy face in the mornings. I thought I would come pick my wife up from work and take him out to an early dinner and a movie. We haven’t been on a proper date since that little party regarding the DA.”

Jongdae blinks in relieved surprise. He nods, forces the barest hint of a smile. Xiumin returns it tenfold. “I don’t get off work for another hour though.” 

“No matter. I’ve brought some of my own work to keep me occupied. Though I might find it difficult to keep my eyes off you. You do look very cute in that apron, kitten. This sweet, soft look suits you.” Xiumin leans forward and grabs him by the nape of the neck, presses a quick, hard kiss to the corner of Jongdae’s mouth. He grins a wild grin before he does it, possessive and proud to flaunt his fucking claim in public.

Then he goes to sit at one of the tables closest to the pick-up counter with a satchel full of, presumably, work things and a coffee cup from a shitty chain restaurant. Jongdae takes him a black coffee eventually, if for nothing else than to get rid of the other coffee cup.

---

Jongdae waits at the curb outside of his apartment building, shivering in the thin button-up Xiumin had left out for him to wear. The man hadn’t bothered to explain why Jongdae needed to dress up, only that he had to be ready and waiting at the curb by six. 

It’s six-ten now, and Jongdae’s slipped past annoyed and is heading steadily towards pissed .

He taps his foot against the concrete of the sidewalk. He watches as headlights pass him by, one after the other, and wonders how long he has to wait out here until he can call off the whole night and just go back inside. Summer is very quickly sliding into fall and the temperature is sliding with it. He would have thought that Xiumin would have planned for the weather, given him at least some sort of suit jacket or blazer to help fight off the cold.

“Sir,” the doorman calls, “are you sure you don’t want to wait inside the lobby? I’m sure Master Xiumin would hate for you to catch a cold.”

Jongdae shrugs. “He asked me to wait for him at the curb.” And Jongdae has enough sense to listen when Xiumin asks him to do something. The doorman shrugs in response and steps back inside the building to nervously watch Jongdae shiver on the sidewalk for however long it takes Xiumin to arrive.

Thankfully for everyone involved, it’s only seconds later that headlights shine painfully bright in Jongdae’s eyes as a black SUV pulls up to the sidewalk. He covers his eyes to block out the blinding light, cursing under his breath, and opens his eyes to see the passenger window of the SUV rolling down.  Xiumin stares back at him from inside the car. The man is already frowning when Jongdae’s vision clears enough to get a good look at him, and the frown deepens when Jongdae shivers. 

“Get in,” Xiumin shrugs off his own suit jacket and tosses it into the passenger seat. Jongdae scurries into the front seat of the SUV and sighs at the wall of hot air that rushes to greet him. “I’m sorry, kitten, my meeting ran much later than I had expected and Jongin is currently assisting Sehun with an errand so I wasn’t able to send him in my stead. I hope you haven’t been waiting outside this whole time, I would hate for you to catch a cold.”

He likes to think that if it were any other circumstance, he would hand Xiumin back the suit jacket and sit in the front seat without another word, white-knuckled grip on the seat as he forced himself next to an apex predator. 

As it is, Jongdae shrugs Xiumin’s wonderfully warm suit jacket on, sighing as softly as he can at the way the cold is leached out of his muscles. He waits until they’ve pulled away from the curb before speaking, head relaxed against the headrest. “Only waited for, like, ten minutes. Nothing I can’t handle. Did the meeting go well?”

He rests his hand on the console out of habit and doesn’t flinch when Xiumin takes it in his own. His husband rubs his thumb over Jongdae’s knuckles. Jongdae listens to him hum when his thumb skates over the scab on his pointer finger and rolls his eyes. 

The product of an unfortunate bagel-slicing accident at work earlier that week, Xiumin had asked him to see a doctor about it when he came home with his hand wrapped up haphazardly in gauze that was half-soaked in blood—Baekhyun’s past obsession with medical dramas did nothing for his actual medical skills. Jongdae had refused out of sheer stubbornness and a need for control; he went to sleep that night with a new scab, woke up the next morning to find it had broken open and he was bleeding all over their bed, and found himself sitting in Yixing’s exam room before noon.

Xiumin’s thumb lingers over the scab and the stitches Yixing put in to make sure the wound stayed closed. He doesn’t say a word about it though, instead bringing Jongdae’s hand to his mouth to kiss his uninjured knuckles.

Jongdae lets him, lets him kiss his hand and hold it tight like something precious, lets him turn the heat up and switch the radio station to one of the presets Jongdae programmed in during a drive with Jongin. 

“The meeting went well,” Xiumin says. “I have strengthened my ties with Luhan. It is a bit tricky as we have so many conflicting interests, but we’ve agreed to work together to get more of our men on the force and in the DA’s office. It seems that with Baekhyun waiting for him at home, Luhan is suddenly very concerned with keeping the law off his trail. It’s actually quite sweet, you know, how enamored he is with your Baekhyun.”

“They want to have dinner with us soon,” Jongdae turns his head to look out the window. Two intersections pass at the speed of city traffic.

Xiumin chuckles. “That will be an interesting meal. Let me know the details once you and Baekhyun have decided and I’ll be there.”

“Oh,” Jongdae murmurs, mostly to himself, “Didn’t think you’d be interested in going.”

Jongdae turns back to him as they come to a stoplight and nearly jerks at the way the red reflects off Xiumin’s eyes, heart thundering in his chest. Xiumin watches him through the dark, feline, hunting, kissing at his injured knuckle so slowly that he can’t tell if it’s reverent or threatening. “Anything to make you happy, kitten. I’ve been becoming quite accustomed to your smile lately.”

Jongdae has absolutely no idea what to say in response to that. His stomach twists, free hand curling into a fist on top of his thigh.

He stares straight ahead out the windshield, “So, where are we going? You haven’t told me what any of this about.”

“A party,” Xiumin responds, “Something I throw once or twice a year for the entirety of my organization. People network, drink, dance. It does wonders for morale and loyalty, as you’d imagine. I, and as an extension you, will be expected to make rounds and mingle for an hour or so before dinner, but all business stops once the dance floor opens up. Chanyeol will be there as well, though Kris rarely lets him out of his sight at these parties. He doesn’t like to lose his little social butterfly.”

They both huff out a laugh. Jongdae has only accompanied Xiumin to a few events, mostly reserved for the most important people in Xiumin’s organization or in the underground as a whole, but at each and every one that Kris attended, he had made sure to keep Chanyeol at his side as a chatty, people-pleasing buffer.

Jongdae much prefers his status as Xiumin’s silent arm candy. Nothing more than a pretty face.

He plays his part well that night, surrounded by men and women dressed like gold and poison. They’re accosted the moment they arrive by see-through smiles and hollow, searching, grasping, greedy eyes. It’s mostly people Jongdae has yet to meet that approach them, people not important enough to warrant an invitation to any of the other gatherings. 

The people greet Xiumin first, thank him for throwing such a wonderful party and for being such a wonderful boss, before turning to Jongdae. You must be Xiumin’s new wife! Xiumin has always had an eye for beauty, you know, but you’re even more handsome than the rumors say. 

Jongdae thanks them with a smile that doesn’t meet his eyes and then lets himself fade into the background. He alternates between watching the rest of the room, a pack of wolves stuck in captivity, and watching his husband interact with each and every person that comes to talk to them. 

Xiumin wears a mask of picture-perfect politeness as he fields questions about business and poor attempts at worming into his good graces. He is playful, clever, and charming with anyone and everyone that stops them on their way around the venue, and absolutely fake. He wasn’t even this distant when Jongdae talked to him for the first time, a perfect stranger in a club asking for help.

Jongdae meets Dowoon in person for a short moment, a snively, mousey man with coke-bottle glasses that can’t meet Jongdae’s eyes, let alone Xiumin’s. He apologizes for the misunderstanding regarding Jongdae’s employment a few times before disappearing back into the crowd with a flimsy excuse of finding his daughter. 

“I wish I had known he was a coward before I promoted him,” Xiumin sighs, pushing his hair back from his face. “You were at least able to look me in the eye when we first met.”

“I was desperate for help. It was either confront you head on or watch my best friend die.”

“And that makes you all the braver, kitten.” He hands Jongdae a flute of champagne. Jongdae takes a sip, then another, and it’s only Xiumin’s hand at the small of his back that has him drinking it all in one gulp. He doesn’t even like champagne, just needs some sort of distraction. He’s never been surrounded by this many of Xiumin’s people before and he hates it. He hates their eyes on him, picking him apart. He hates how they’ll look him over from afar and then turn to each other to gossip, probably about how out of place he is here, looking more like an escort than Xiumin’s spouse.

Xiumin calls him brave, but Jongdae feels like his heart is going to beat out of his chest, palms so sweaty his grip on his glass starts to slip. 

He drinks much more than he planned to as they continue their walk around the party, stopping to talk with anyone who approaches. He snatches flute after flute of champagne off the waiters’ trays as they walk by. After the third glass, the taste of champagne doesn’t seem so bad and it gets easier to knock them back. 

 Xiumin attempts to coax him to slow down, uncurling his fingers from the stem of his fifth glass and setting it down on a nearby table between the bouts of mingling. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Jongdae. The night is still young and there is much more partying to be had.” 

Then, quieter, “You have no reason to be scared, I’m right here beside you.”

“I’m fine,” Jongdae says even as his head swims. The glittering crystal of the chandelier high above their heads and the centerpieces on every table seems to sparkle tenfold. Soft orchestral music sits heavy in his ears.

Xiumin eventually guides him to a seat at the table at the front of the room after he manages to down seven glasses and announces that business has come to an end for the night. Jongdae watches as the men and women disperse to their tables, all so shiny and gilded, fake , that it makes him want another glass of champagne. Xiumin snatches the one that had been waiting for him at the table though, offers him water instead.

“I’d like you to last long enough to join me on the dance floor tonight.”

Chanyeol and Kris join them at their table, taking the only other seats available. Chanyeol is muted around Xiumin, half the talkative, bubbly person he usually is, but he still rambles to Jongdae at length about some gossip within the organization. 

Jongdae wouldn’t have been able to follow along sober, much less drunk. He just nods along and sips at his water in hopes it’ll make the room stop spinning.

“How is he holding up, boss,” Kris asks between bites of dinner, some steak dish that Jongdae would be devouring if his stomach wasn’t complaining about all the alcohol. “Not looking so good right now.”

Xiumin sighs. A hand cups the back of Jongdae’s neck and he hates how well it grounds him. “I believe my poor wife got a bit nervous with all the dirty little bottomfeeders coming to speak to me and tried more liquid courage than he could handle. I really do hate networking at these events, Kris. It’s pointless to begin with and now it’s gone and upset Jongdae.”

“I’m fine,” Jongdae sips at his water and forces himself to sit up straight in his seat. “I just need more water.” 

Xiumin signals for a waiter to bring them a pitcher of water a moment later. Jongdae considers pushing his glass away and drinking straight from the pitcher, but he doesn’t trust his alcohol-loosened muscles to not slip and spill it all over himself so he contents himself with draining the thing one glass at a time until he stops seeing the world through a kaleidoscope.

“I’ve only heard good things about you,” Chanyeol leans across the table to whisper very loudly. “I mean people would have to be stupid to be openly negative about you. But I haven’t heard any thinly veiled insults or passive aggressive remarks either! It’s all mostly centered around how handsome you are and how nice you look on Xiumin’s arm.”

Jongdae takes a few deep breaths. “They’re all talking about me?” 

“Wait, Dae, it’s not a bad thi-”

And then he goes straight for his abandoned flute of champagne, drinking it down in one gulp.

He holds a hand out for Chanyeol’s glass, “Another.” When Chanyeol hesitates, gaze drifting to where Xiumin is holding his knife and fork in a white-knuckled grip, mouth turned down in a deep frown, Jongdae reaches across the table to snatch it from him and guzzles it down too. “I’m gonna need a lot more alcohol to get through tonight.”

“I think you’ve had more than enough, actually,” Xiumin speaks through gritted teeth and shoves Jongdae’s water back into his hands. He presses the rim to Jongdae’s lips and then tips the glass up until Jongdae is forced to drink it or risk spilling it all down his front.

Jongdae whines, shoves the glass away. “I’m not a child!”

Xiumin watches him with unmasked irritation, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose for a second before pointing to Jongdae’s plate. “Then stop acting like one. Eat. Get something in your stomach to soak up some of the alcohol before you throw up and make a fool of yourself. Unless you want to give my employees something to talk about for the next few days.”

And Jongdae tries to sober up, he truly does. Xiumin manages to reach the part of him that isn’t blinded by bristling anxiety and too much alcohol and forces it to awaken and realize how dangerous it is to be sitting in the center of a pack of predators while absolutely hammered. 

He eats as much of his dinner as his stomach can hold, washes it down with nearly the entire pitcher of water. 

The room spins like a carousel all the same, glittering gold and silver as Jongdae blinks up at the ceiling to try and clear his head. Jongdae feels clammy, feels wild, feels exuberant . He’s so, so, incredibly drunk, but he feels amazing, like he could swim the entire Pacific ocean. His head is already swimming. The world is tilting on its axis and exploding into fireworks when dinner ends and music begins to play over the speakers again, louder, faster. People leave their tables and flock to the big, open space in the middle of the room, partnering off as they start to dance like something out of an old, grand Hollywood musical.

Xiumin stands and offers Jongdae his hand, “Care to dance?”

“Aren’t you afraid I’ll throw up on you?” The champagne clouds his judgement, makes the world hazy and soft and unrealistically kind. He takes Xiumin’s hand even as he speaks and lets himself be led onto the dance floor. Xiumin just laughs and settles them into a slow, easy waltz.

“Oh, I think you can handle this, can’t you?” Jongdae nods even as he stares at his feet with the steadfast determination to not step on his husband’s toes and make fools out of the both of them. Xiumin hums, “Just follow my lead, kitten.” 

Jongdae is so lost in his own head, counting beats, counting steps, hoping he looks at least somewhat graceful, and the hazy glow framing the world that he doesn’t notice when the music picks up. It starts off soft and slow before quickly shifting into something a bit more jazzy and fast-paced. It isn’t until his head starts to feel light that he looks up from their feet and realizes Xiumin is twirling him around the floor, a spinning top set out and then reeled back in.

He looks to Xiumin, hopelessly confused, and finds himself caught in his husband’s smile. A true, genuine smile, one that reaches his eyes and feels so uncomfortably real.

And Jongdae starts to laugh. He knows he’ll blame it on the alcohol still sitting in his stomach when he wakes up in the morning, but for now he throws his head back and laughs. He lets Xiumin spin him around the dance floor without a care in the world.

When Xiumin pulls him back in with a hand on his waist and calls him precious, Jongdae looks him right in the eye, a smile on his lips, and demands, “Spin me again!”

Xiumin spins him again.

He sneaks another glass of champagne before they go. A couple catches them just as Xiumin is helping Jongdae out the front entrance of the venue. Jongdae is tired and confused and not too steady on his own feet, but he manages to ply a waiter for her last glass while Xiumin stares down the people prattling on about gossip and politics and how hard he must work to run the organization so well. He regards them with such cold detachment that Jongdae almost feels bad for them—almost. Xiumin pointed them out earlier in the night before Jongdae felt the need to drink his weight in champagne and said that they were responsible for a big part of his heroin trade and had been pushing for him to take over the local market.

Jongdae stumbles back over to them to spew something about his hatred for the drug trade; he backpedals almost immediately when Xiumin catches sight of the glass in his hand, expression going stoic and icy. He gulps down half of it before Xiumin is able to wrestle the glass from him and pouts when the rest is dumped into the nearest trash can.

“So sorry,” Xiumin soothes the couple still trying to get his attention with a blatantly fake smile, “but as you can see, my wife has had just a bit too much to drink.”

The man of the couple turns his nose up in Jongdae’s direction. “It’s a bit rude to get so intoxicated at a party like this, isn’t it? I would expect that anyone who is worthy of someone like you would know better.”

Xiumin’s expression cracks, the careful, playful, polite exterior giving way to thinly veiled aggression— danger danger danger . Jongdae hiccups out of fear even as he’s pulled against the other man’s side. “And I would expect that anyone who has worked for me and knows what I am capable of would be smart enough to not insult my wife and risk making me upset .”

The couples’ eyes go wide. They start blathering out apologies but Xiumin stops them short with a wave of his hand. 

“If you enjoy having full use of all of your limbs, I would suggest shutting the fuck up and leaving me alone. Count yourselves lucky that my sweet kitten decided to get himself drunk tonight and has made it impossible to deal with you personally. In fact, I want you to thank him.”

“Thank you,” the man says, “I am deeply sorry for causing you any upset.”

The woman nods along. “Thank you for being such a good partner to the boss and keeping him happy so that he has the patience to deal with us when we overstep our bounds.”

Jongdae barely has the presence of mind to keep himself from tipping over onto his husband. He’s more interested in the way the lights reflect off of the woman’s dress than anything either of them have to say. He registers their words distantly, like something out of a dream. “You’re welcome,” he slurs, “Happy to help.”

Xiumin sighs and guides Jongdae out to the car with an ironclad grip on his waist. “I should have never let you drink so much. Can you buckle yourself in?” 

Jongdae attempts to defend himself, words bubbling up and getting caught in the back of his throat as he struggles with his seatbelt. He’s a grown man more than capable of deciding how much alcohol he can handle. It’s a bit difficult to argue that, though, because he can’t seem to get himself buckled in and eventually has to sit back and let Xiumin do it for him. The world is made of molasses and Jongdae is helpless to do anything but move at its pace. 

He rests his head against the window as Xiumin drives, one hand on Jongdae’s thigh, and watches the streetlights pass them by until the motion makes him nauseous. Then he squeezes his eyes shut and tips his head back against the headrest.

When they make it back home it’s much of the same. Xiumin directs him back to the bedroom as he giggles to himself. Champagne has always hit Jongdae a little different, a little faster, sending him through the stages of drunkenness in half the time it would take vodka or soju or the horrible mixed drink concoction Baekhyun would make in college. He feels himself slipping into that last stage of happy, giggly exhaustion before he finally falls asleep.

Jongdae stumbles to the bedroom even with Xiumin there to keep him steady. He flops face first onto the mattress, only to be manhandled into sitting up. He whines; Xiumin shushes him and starts unbuttoning his shirt and undoing his belt.

“What’re you doing,” Jongdae tries to glare at him through half-opened eyes. 

Xiumin doesn’t respond, simply strips off Jongdae’s shirt and pants before helping him into his pajamas from the night before. Jongdae does what he can to help, putting his arms up for his pajama shirt and attempting to stand up to put his own pajama pants on. He’s forced to cling to Xiumin for balance; he learns the hard way how badly eight glasses of champagne disrupt his coordination.

He ends up toppling back against the mattress with his pajama pants halfway up one leg. The head rush is almost enough to make him vomit, only willpower and the knowledge that Xiumin will be pissed if he throws up in their bed keeping him from losing the contents of his stomach.  

His other leg is gently maneuvered into his sweatpants. Jongdae forces his eyes open in the darkness of their bedroom and offers Xiumin a drunken, sleepy smile for all his help, gives his husband two thumbs up from where he’s sprawled haphazardly across their bed. He does manage to wiggle his body back onto his side of the bed and feels an immense, disproportionately large amount of pride at doing so. 

“Am I really so terrible,” Xiumin asks, whispers against his forehead as he tucks Jongdae beneath the comforter. Jongdae blinks up at him and makes some sort of questioning noise. “You act as though my very presence makes your skin crawl unless you’re absolutely drunk. What about me is so horrid? What is it that has you so scared to come closer?”

Jongade blinks, and blinks again. It’s much too complex of a question for him to even begin to understand at the moment, but he hears the sadness in his husband’s voice, the soft, vulnerable edge that’s never been there before. And that’s enough for him.

He pushes back the comforter. “Did you want to cuddle me,” he yawns, one of the big, back stretching, jaw cracking yawns. “You can, I don’t mind. It’s cold in here. And you’re not… you’re not…”

“I’m not what?” Xiumin joins him in bed a few seconds, minutes, hours later—Jongdae has no sense of time anymore, moments passing by quick like rushing water and slow like syrup in turns. Xiumin pulls Jongdae to him, back to chest. 

Jongdae twitches, nearly asleep. A kiss is pressed to the spot behind his ear, to his cheek.He grumbles and tries to swat Xiumin away only for his hand to be caught and kissed as well.

“What were you saying, kitten? I want to know. I’m not what?”

Jongdae cranes his neck around to look at his husband with both eyes shut. “There are worse people to be married to. I like you sometimes— sometimes. Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

And Xiumin doesn’t say anything after that, just squeezes Jongdae tighter. Jongdae doesn’t mind, happy to be able to fall asleep in peace.

---

Jongdae wakes one Saturday morning at the beginning of summer to sunlight streaming into his eyes. He blames Xiumin for the rude awakening because he forgets to close the curtains some nights, or opens them some mornings before the sun is up to look out at the city and forgets to close them again. Jongdae groans and rolls over, pulling up the covers over his head, calling, “Xiumin, the curtains!”

When there’s no response, no footsteps coming from the front of the apartment to close the curtains and give Jongdae a few more hours of sleep before his late shift, Jongdae pokes his head out of the covers with a confused frown. 

The light makes him squint as he looks around the room for a note. Xiumin likes to keep his weekends free, particularly mornings because he enjoys having an elaborate breakfast with Jongdae at least once a week; on the days he has to leave early, he leaves Jongdae a note on his bedside table saying vaguely where he’s gone and when he’ll be back, though he usually mentions something about it the night before as well. Jongdae doesn’t particularly care what Xiumin does, but there is something nice about waking up to a note instead of an empty apartment with no idea of when or if Xiumin was coming back.

But his bedside table is bare of the yellow notepad paper Xiumin prefers. 

Jongdae sits up then. The apartment is absolutely silent aside from the ceiling fan whirring above him. “Xiumin,” he calls out into the quiet again. 

No one responds. Something about it makes Jongdae’s skin scrawl, hair on his arms standing on end. It’s been a long time since he woke up all alone with no note or warning, since Xiumin finished his work with the new district attorney. 

He pushes the feeling away. He tells himself he should be happy because it means he has the morning to himself without Xiumin constantly orbiting around him the way he tends to if he doesn’t have any work to do in his office. Jongdae struggles to shake the feeling though, air in the apartment tense as he crawls out of bed.

He sighs when he sees it's not even eight in the morning. His feet slap against the cold tile in the bathroom. He brushes his teeth and washes his face. It feels strange without Xiumin’s voice floating in from somewhere else in the apartment. 

Jongdae splashes more water on his face and his stomach growls to fill the silence, too used to having food ready as soon as he wakes up.

On the way to the kitchen, he grabs his phone from his bedside table. The lock screen is clear of any notifications. He’s not entirely sure why, but that bothers him. 

He writes it off as having his Saturday morning routine disrupted. He and Xiumin do the same thing every single Saturday morning—Xiumin wakes up first and does whatever he does before making breakfast, Jongdae wakes up later, usually to Xiumin leaving a cup of coffee on his bedside table, and they eat breakfast together before cleaning the apartment and making a grocery list. Without the routine, Jongdae decides he’s just feeling strange because he’s just a little lost as to what he should do.

Jongdae hums and shoves his phone into the pocket of his pajama pants, ringer on high just in case. 

The kitchen is his next destination after his stomach growls at him again. He checks the pantry first and frowns at the shelves that look a little too bare for his liking. He grabs Xiumin’s notepad and starts writing down everything they need to pick up at the store tomorrow morning, mostly snacks because Baekhyun and Chanyeol have been coming over more and more frequently and steadily eating their way through Jongdae’s stash. He goes to the fridge next because he remembers that Xiumin had complained about someone eating all the fruit for his morning smoothies.

Jongdae has to crouch down to look into the fruit drawer. The elevator dings a moment later. Something hits the ground, probably Xiumin’s briefcase.

“Hey, you’re back,” Jongdae looks up at the sound out of reflex before turning back to the refrigerator. “Where’d you go? I’m making our grocery list, is there anything special you want?”

He waits for a response, for the sound of Xiumin taking off his shoes and coming to join him in the kitchen. There isn’t one. He wonders if Xiumin’s on the phone, but it’s rare for the man to be on the phone and not be the one dominating the conversation.

“Xiumin? You okay over there?”

Still no response. And that’s when Jongdae gets that feeling again, goosebumps all over his arms, a shiver down his spine, the gut instinct that something just isn’t right. 

He slowly stands and turns around to face the rest of the apartment. It gets a little harder to breathe. He steps up to the kitchen counter next to the sink and slides his hand underneath, pressing fingering the little button Xiumin showed him his first night in the apartment.

I have panic buttons in every room, kitten. They alert my most trusted men that something is wrong, that I am injured or that our organization is compromised, anything I deem worthy of panic. If, for any reason, you feel that you are in danger and I am not home or indisposed or otherwise unable to help you, hit one of those buttons and run.

Jongdae’s heart races in his chest as he leans forward. He squints his eyes as he stares at the windows in the living room, tries to catch the reflection of the entryway. 

He tells himself Xiumin somehow got caught in a phone conversation with both Luhan and Baekhyun, the only two people more capable of dominating a conversation than his husband. Xiumin probably knew that he couldn’t let them know he was home with Jongdae or else they’d demand to speak to him as well and then they’d never be off the phone. Jongdae tells himself that’s why Xiumin has yet to respond, has yet to leave the entryway.

Then he sees the reflection of two masked men standing in the entryway. There’s a duffle bag on the floor beside them. One has a pistol in his hands, the other a baseball bat. And they see him in the window too.

“Come out with your hands up and we won’t have any problems,” one says.

“We’ll give you something to sleep real good and when you wake up we’ll be gone. No harm no foul,” coaxes the other.

Jongdae hits the panic button and takes off at a dead sprint for the bedroom.

“Shit! Go get him!” 

Jongdae slams the door to the bedroom shut as footsteps thunder down the hall after him. He doesn’t think to lock the door behind him, quickly spiraling into a panicked frenzy as he searches for somewhere to hide. The bathroom is out of the question, the bed too low to the ground for Jongdae to crawl under quickly. All of their furniture is too heavy for Jongdae to move by himself.

He ends up throwing himself into the walk-in closet and hiding in the space behind Xiumin’s suits. He has so many that they form a wall. There’s a depression in the actual closet wall behind them that Xiumin mentioned off-handedly once as where he used to stash his guns before Jongdae moved in because he thought it would make Jongdae uncomfortable to have guns so freely accessible in a shared space. 

There is a gun in Xiumin’s bedside table in a little safe. Jongdae wants to kick himself when he remembers that. Xiumin told him the code to the safe, showed him how to load it and turn off the safety on the off chance Jongdae ever needed it. 

He needs it now. And he fucking forgot it.

The bedroom door slams open. Jongdae hears it hit the wall so hard he knows it must have left a mark. The man with the baseball bat tears around the room, tossing the mattress off the bed, opening every cabinet in the bathroom. Jongdae can see him through a little gap between two suits, can see him destroy the bedroom in search of him. He’s thankful that the man seems completely disinterested in their bedside tables, much too small for Jongdae to hide in. 

The last thing Jongdae needs is for both men to have guns.

Jongdae holds his breath when the man turns to the walk-in closet. His heart hammers in his chest, tears welling up as he tries to keep his calm.

The man starts on Jongdae’s side of the closet. He opens drawers, parts Jongdae’s clothing to look behind. Because of course he would—it would take an idiot to not look behind the clothing, and it would take an even bigger idiot to not think of that when picking a hiding place.

Jongdae’s palms feel clammy, stomach rolling like he’s about to vomit. 

The man comes closer, starting on Xiumin’s sweaters and pants that he wears around the apartment.

Jongdae’s never been so scared in his entire life. Not even when he first met Xiumin, not even when he found the dragon spray-painted on his old apartment door.

Fingers appear in the gap between the suits, gripping, pulling, parting. 

He hopes his husband comes home soon.

“There you are! Got him, boss!” Jongdae snarls and tries to twist free when the man grabs him around his bicep and hauls him out of his hiding place. Jongdae tries to dig his heels in when the man pulls him forward, but he’s not strong enough to resist and just ends up stumbling forward. 

“Let me go,” Jongdae tugs at the grip on his arm, teeth bared in terrified anger. He’s dragged back out into the living room and forced to his knees in front of the man with the gun. Jongdae looks up and meets his eyes even though his hands shake where they’ve been forced behind his back by the man with the baseball bat. “Get the fuck out of my house before I call the cops!”

The man with the gun’s eyes sparkle with mirth over his mask. “And how are you gonna do that, huh? You think we’re gonna let you get away again? Pretty face but nothing behind it, should’ve known that was Xiumin’s type.”

Jongdae bristles at that, fighting the hold on his wrists. He’s running his mouth before he can reign in his bruised pride. “Fuck off, you’re the ones with fucking rocks for brains. You don’t think Xiumin wouldn’t have panic buttons all over his apartment in case of something just like this. He controls half the goddamn city! He’s not going to leave his home unprotected,” he sneers up at the man.

“Panic buttons? You hit a fucking panic button? You little shit! The whole fucking organization is going to know we’re here!” Jongdae should expect the punch that connects with his jaw, but it catches him by surprise and he feels his back molars close around the skin of his cheek, blood pooling in his mouth. 

The pain rattles him. He blinks to clear his head. Blood runs out of his mouth as he tries to fight back tears. He’s never been punched in the face before—it hurts . 

The men are panicking now. They hiss insults at each other, desperately trying to come up with a new plan. “No one was supposed to know,” the man behind Jongdae says, voice almost shaking, “It was supposed to be in and out, get a few documents and let Xiumin know he’s not some impenetrable fucking fortress. What are we gonna do if they all show up? The dragon’ll fucking kill us before we can get a word out!”

“I know! I know! We need to leave right now, before they get back.”

Jongdae’s shaken. “What do we do with him? He’s heard our voices. Fuck, he just heard our plan! He could rat us out and then Xiumin’ll bring all his men and wipe us out!” One of them slap him across the face again so hard his head turns to the side.

There’s a few moments of dead silence as Jongdae tries to pull himself together again. He forces himself to breathe. He tells himself that the elevator is about to ding, that Xiumin is only a few seconds away. Kris and Chanyeol don’t live that far; they must’ve seen that he hit the panic button and are coming to the rescue.

“We take him out. No witnesses, no chance of being identified.”

Then something cold and metal is pressed to Jongdae’s forehead. He knows even with his eyes squeezed shut that it’s the barrel of a gun.

The man behind him takes a breath, “Boss, I think this is Xiumin’s wife. Killing him is risking an all out war.”

“I know that,” the other man hisses, half hysterical, “But if we hit Xiumin in the one place he’s vulnerable… This could be the beginning of our rise to power. Take out his wife, make him look weak, make him feel weak, and then we can start taking over.”

Jongdae is pretty sure that is where he should start begging for his life, but he can’t get the words out. He just shakes, blood dripping from his mouth. He’s going to die and there’s nothing he can do about it. He strains his ears for the sound of the elevator, even if he knows that the man with the gun to his head will pull the trigger before Xiumin has a chance to reach him.

The men above him are still arguing, one to threaten him, the other to kill him. They’re so focused on each other that they don’t hear the soft footsteps. They don’t notice how the air changes.

The men don’t notice that they aren’t alone anymore until a gun goes off and the man in front of Jongdae drops his own gun to grab his shoulder with a scream of pain.

Jongdae’s wrists are released only a moment later. He looks up to see Xiumin standing in front of a bookcase that’s slowly swinging back towards the wall with a pistol held out in front of him, barrel still smoking. Xiumin crooks two fingers, “Kitten.”

It’s all he has to say for Jongdae to scramble up off the floor and run to him, body trembling with leftover adrenaline. Xiumin catches him when he’s close enough, one hand slipping around his middle and gripping Jongdae’s pajama shirt. 

Jongdae looks back as Xiumin tucks him against his side and sees Kris standing behind the man with the baseball bat, a knife pressed to his throat. Sehun and Jongin are coming out from the hallway with guns drawn as well, going room by room.

“Were there any others,” Xiumin whispers into Jongdae’s ear. Jongdae shakes his head and tries to uncurl his hands from where they’re gripping at Xiumin’s shirt like a lifeline. He can’t. 

“All clear,” Xiumin calls, “Jongdae says it was just these two. Kris, secure them and take them to our warehouse for questioning. Keep them alive. I want to deal with them myself. Take Sehun and Jongin with you as back-up and call for someone to come clean up this mess.”

“Th-th-they,” Jongdae can’t speak, shaking so hard it feels like he’s standing in the middle of a blizzard, teeth chattering, shivers wracking his entire body. Xiumin turns to him with a look of concern, gun going back into his waistband so that he can wipe the blood from Jongdae’s mouth with his other hand. “B-b-bed-bedroom. The—the be-bedroom.”

“Is the bedroom a mess as well?” Jongdae nods. Xiumin hums, “Is it something I could handle?” Jongdae nods again. “Then I will take care of it. Come, let me see where you’re bleeding.”

Jongdae lets himself be led back through the apartment to their bathroom. He can feel Kris, Jongin, and Sehun’s eyes on him as he passes by, turns his head and sees the frowns on their faces as he drips blood on the floor. He doesn’t know Jongin or Sehun that well, short conversations in the car as one of them drives him somewhere on Xiumin’s orders, in passing when they come to the apartment to help Xiumin with business that Jongdae wants no part of. He still thanked them for the rides, offered them something to eat or drink when they stopped by because he wasn’t raised in a cave. 

He’s just through the bedroom door when he hears a sickening thud and then a pained groan, hissing voices that are just too quiet for Jongdae to make out. 

Xiumin lets out a tense sigh when he sees the state of the bedroom, free hand going to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “I may actually ask Jongin or Sehun to come back and help me put this back together,” he says as he pushes Jongdae to sit down on the closed toilet seat. Xiumin kneels down in front of him after digging out the first-aid kit from under the sink. “They were worried about you, you know. All three of them.”

“Why?” Jongdae holds still as Xiumin wipes at his mouth and chin with a wet towel, eyes closed when he goes after the tear tracks next. He shakes still, forcing his hands into fists on top of his thighs so he doesn’t have to watch them tremble. “W-why were they w-w-worried?”

Jongdae blinks his eyes open again to Xiumin staring at him with a soft smile. “They’re quite fond of you, kitten. You make it very easy to like you and it is very hard to find likable people in our line of work. Now quiet, I need to see where you’re bleeding from.”

Xiumin isn’t pleased when he sees that Jongdae’s bleeding from his cheek. He fits a piece of gauze against the wound and then sits back, pressing gentle fingers along Jongdae’s cheeks and jaw. 

“You’re going to bruise here. It’s already starting to turn purple,” Xiumin presses down where the punch landed and frowns when Jongdae flinches, eyes squeezing shut at the pain. “Yes, this is going to bruise terribly. Let me see if I have any salve to put on it. Why did they hit you this hard? You were unarmed and very obviously weaker than them.” 

Jongdae wants to scoff at that, frowning indignantly despite the fact that they both know Xiumin is only speaking the truth. Talking is hard with the gauze in his mouth, but he manages to get out, “I m-m-m-mouthed o-off.”

Xiumin laughs at that. His shoulders shake and he drops his head onto Jongdae’s thighs, hands coming down to squeeze his calves. “Of course you did,” he chuckles, “I should have known. You get very mouthy when you’re scared, I’ve come to learn. It’s cute, like a yapping chihuahua. I should have known.”

Xiumin raises his head. He covers Jongdae’s hands with his own. There’s something haunted in his eyes. “I should have been here. You were so scared— are still scared.”

Jongdae shakes his head.

“You’re still shaking, Jongdae. I am so sorry that they managed to get in. I am so sorry that I wasn’t here.”

“B-but you came. I’m… I’m okay,” Jongdae slowly uncurls his fists, lets Xiumin hold his hands.

“Thankfully. I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t alright. I don’t know if you can tell,” Xiumin manages a little smile that’s a bit too sad around the edges, “but I’m quite taken with you.”

Jongdae isn’t sure what makes him do it—adrenaline, fear, relief. But he leans forward and presses his lips against Xiumin’s. It only lasts for a second, maybe two, before Jongdae pulls back. Xiumin stares at him with wide eyes, mouth falling open just a little. Jongdae wonders if his lips are tingling as well.

“I do-don’t want to t-t-talk about it, but—yeah. Y-yeah,” Jongdae says after a moment.

And Xiumin nods. “Yeah. Yeah. How about I make us something to eat for when your cheek stops bleeding?”

---

“Stop fucking cheating,” Jongdae yells as Baekhyun punts his character off the stage in Super Smash Bros. Baekhyun cackles wildly, Kirby dancing around the screen as they both wait for Jongdae’s Pikachu to descend from the heavens once more. Baekhyun’s won nearly every singly round since they started playing an hour ago and Jongdae’s fucking sick of it.

As Pikachu drops back onto the stage, Jongdae launches himself across the couch and into Baekhyun’s lap to block his view of the screen. Baekhyun screeches in indignation, “ This is cheating! Get off me, fatass! I can’t see the screen!”

“That’s the point!” He then brings down a holy thunderbolt onto Kirby and grins as the round, pink menace is shot off the screen.

Baekhyun tips Jongdae off his lap and onto the couch, game forgotten in lieu of a wrestling match. Jongdae yelps before dissolving into breathless giggles when Baekhyun goes after the ticklish spot just under his ribs. Jongdae kicks weakly at his best friend but can’t get the air to do much more. He laughs and laughs; Baekhyun holds still through all his squirming with a look of absolute victory on his face.

“You’re such a sore loser, Dae! God, how does Xiumin fuckin’ put up with you?” Jongdae can’t respond, just laughs until there are tears running down his face. 

He tries to beg for mercy, but Baekhyun’s got that manic look in his eye that means the end is nigh. Jongdae isn’t getting out of this until Baekhyun’s satisfied. He tries to roll off the couch as a means of escape, but Baekhyun straddles his hips to hold him in place. 

Jongdae wheezes out that Baekhyun is the true fatass in their friendship. And then immediately regrets his words when Baekhyun leans down and licks a stripe up the side of his face just to make him screech in disgust.

“Is this how they normally are together,” Luhan asks. Baekhyun jerks in surprise but doesn’t let up. “I haven’t really had the opportunity to see the two of them together since the incident , but I don’t remember them being like this the few times I picked Baekhyun up from their old apartment.”

Xiumin lets out a long-suffering sigh, one Jongdae has become very familiar with ever since those men broke into their apartment. Xiumin coddles him a bit more now. He tells him to invite Baekhyun or Chanyeol over—always one or the other, never together because Xiumin has stated on multiple occasions that three of them tend to wind each other up—and then sighs whenever they get too wild, making messes in the kitchen, play fighting on the living room floor. 

“This is how they are constantly, even at work. It’s as though they have to be touching in some way, shape, or form or else they simply do not know how to function when they’re together. You get used to it eventually, though.”

Jongdae squirms and gasps, “Help! Ayudame por favor! Xiu-Xiumin, help!”

Jongdae tilts his head back when the sound of Xiumin’s voice approaches and tries to plead with his eyes, still choking on giggles. For a second he thinks that Xiumin might actually do something when his mouth drops into a frown where he stands behind the couch, but then he remembers that he’s upside down and his husband is actually smiling, which is never a good sign in times like these. “I don’t get myself involved in your squabbles, you know that.”

Xiumin walks away after that, asking Luhan another question about the gang that started operating in one of the free spaces between Luhan and Minseok’s territories.

Baekhyun grins like a devil. “No one’s coming to save you now. Victory is mine!”

Baekhyun doesn’t stop tickling him until he’s coughing uncontrollably. He pulls Jongdae to sit up and rubs his back, “Deep breaths, Dae. You’ll be okay, just keep taking deep breaths.”

“Fuck...you,” Jongdae wheezes out between coughs. But he doesn’t fight Baekhyun when the other man rearranges them on the couch so that Jongdae is lying on his chest, face squished against Baekhyun’s neck, snuggling as Baekhyun switches the TV over to Netflix and puts on a movie.

“No thanks,” Baekhyun runs his fingers through Jongdae’s hair, scratches at his scalp. “I’ve got Luhan for that.” He laughs when Jongdae pretends to gag.

Pots and pans start clanging in the kitchen as Luhan yells that he’s starting on dinner, loud enough to drown out the movie playing on the TV. Baekhyun grumbles softly and turns the volume up. “He’s so loud when he cooks.”

“Xiumin is too.” The man has to have music playing at full blast while he cooks, some weird Spotify playlist that alternates between classical, opera, and heavy rock. Xiumin also has a playlist full of girl group songs; Jongdae found that out by accident when he got home early from a lunch date with Chanyeol and found his husband in the kitchen singing along to Red Velvet. He’s been sworn to secrecy though, forced to promise that he would never tell another living soul what he saw. 

“How are things going with that,” Baekhyun asks, voice aiming for nonchalant and missing the mark by a country mile.

Jongdae props his head up on Baekhyun’s chest, chin on his hands. “What do you mean?”

“Things with Xiumin. How are they going? Good? Bad? You seem a lot more...comfortable around him now.” Jongdae blinks at Baekhyun and Baekhyun grimaces. “Not that it’s bad or anything, just that you don’t—you’re not as skittish as you used to be. Like, when he first came to our old apartment to get you, you tensed up everytime he looked in your direction and flinched if he tried to touch you. Like you hated him but were also terrified of him.”

Jongdae snorts because that is exactly how he felt about Xiumin for a long, long time. He hated the way Xiumin called him kitten , hated being referred to as Xiumin’s wife when he was and still is a man . Xiumin felt so entitled to Jongdae’s space and time and attention—Jongdae hated him so much he thought that it might rot him from the inside out.

And now that’s changed. Jongdae isn’t too prideful to admit that that’s changed. He doesn’t hate Xiumin anymore. He doesn’t know what exactly he feels in hate’s place or what it means that he doesn’t flinch whenever Xiumin gets close, but he knows that he doesn’t hate his husband anymore. “Hard to not be comfortable with someone after they save your life, you know? Xiumin shot the man putting a gun to my head and I guess that’s earned him some trust.”

He doesn’t mention that he’d been praying for Xiumin to come save him the entire time, that he didn’t let Xiumin out of his sight for a day or two after the break-in because he felt unmoored if his husband wasn’t right there beside him.

Baekhyun nods slowly, “That makes sense. He only saved my life because you offered yourself as payment and I still sort of trust him. Human brains are strange, Dae.”

“Kitten, please remind me, how spicy is too spicy for you,” Xiumin calls from the kitchen.

“A little bit less spicy than you,” Jongdae yells back.

He ignores how his head automatically perks up when Xiumin uses that stupid petname. He ignores the fizzle of contentment in his belly, like his brain has dumped serotonin into his system because Xiumin bothered to make sure the food isn’t too spicy for him. A part of him whispers that Xiumin does it because he cares .

“Human brains are strange, Baekkie, and very stupid.”

Jongdae doesn’t like Luhan, but he has to admit that the man is a good cook. Dinner is spent mostly in silence because they are all too busy eating to talk. It’s mostly dishes from China that Jongdae has never heard of, stuff Luhan ate as growing up and learned how to cook once he moved and realized no restuarant in their city would even begin to measure up to his mother’s cooking. There’s a noodle dish in particular that Jongdae has decimated nearly by himself, another plate that Baekhyun has slowly been pulling closer and closer.

Luhan looks so proud, so pleased, smiling to himself as he watches everyone eat. “Not too spicy, Baekhyunnie?”

Baekhyun shakes his head, cheeks puffed out from all the food he’s shoved in his mouth. Jongdae snickers. Baekhyun narrows his eyes and looks like he’s debating throwing a noodle at him. He doesn’t only because Luhan grabs his hand when he tries and eats the noodle out of his fingers. “This isn’t an elementary school cafeteria, love. No throwing food at the table.” 

“What if I get up from the table,” Baekhyun retorts with a smirk.

“Then I’ll have to assume you don’t want to eat any dessert and send it all home with Jongdae.” Luhan blinks at Baekhyun with a nearly angelic expression, chin propped up on his fist. “You told me it’s a dessert both of you love, so I’m sure he wouldn’t mind taking it off our hands.”

Baekhyun frowns but doesn’t make any more moves to chuck food across the table. “Traitor. I thought you loved me.”

Luhan leans over and kisses Baekhyun’s cheek. He leaves a smear of soy sauce behind and they both chuckle as Luhan hurries to wipe it away. “I do, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you and Jongdae start your little play fighting routine at the dinner table while we’re all trying to eat.”

The whole exchange was very much disturbing and Jongdae thinks he would’ve preferred to take a noodle to the face instead of being forced to watch that . It would’ve been better for his appetite.

Xiumin waits until they’ve all finished eating before he decides to speak. He pushes his plate away and sits up in his chair, motioning for Luhan to do the same. Baekhyun and Jongdae share a look of confusion across the table. “Luhan and I have decided to merge our drug selling operations.”

“Okay,” Jongdae shrugs, “Good for you two. I don’t see why you needed to tell us though.” Truthfully, Jongdae doesn’t know why his husband felt that he had to announce that. Jongdae doesn’t care about the organization or the truckloads of illegal shit that goes on within it; he doesn’t want to know about it, not his circus, not his monkeys.

“We wanted to tell you because as one of our first acts in beginning this merger is that next week, Luhan and I and some of our most trusted men from each organization will be raiding the gang that has started taking control of the areas between our territories,” Xiumin reaches over to cover Jongdae’s hand with his own as he speaks, rubbing his thumb along Jongdae’s knuckles.

Luhan nods, “We likely wouldn’t have said anything if not for this, because we know that neither of you have any interest in our work. But this is something we may come back from a bit worse for wear, nothing serious, and did not want to have to explain ourselves after the fact.”

Jongdae doesn’t care about the organization or whatever goes on within it, but he listens when Xiumin speaks, when his husband comes home and vents for a few minutes as they eat dinner. 

He listened when Xiumin mentioned that the Yangs, a family that had been given control of all the areas between Xiumin and Luhan’s territories after the eldest son took a bullet for Luhan in the middle of a shootout with the police, had been murdered. He listened when Xiumin ranted about this little gang that had popped up in the wake of the tragedy and quickly gained a reputation for good drugs and extreme violence. From the information Xiumin had gathered, they were arms dealers before turning to drugs after one too many close calls with the federal government.

He listened when Xiumin sat him down a few days after the break-in and told him that they’d traced his assailants back to that same gang.

“No,” Jongdae says, yanking his hand back,” No fucking way. You’re not raiding that gang!”

“No way,” Baekhyun echoes, “Jongdae’s told me enough about that gang to know that ‘a bit worse for wear’ is the best case scenario.”

“Xiumin and I are not stupid. We wouldn’t be running our organizations if we were. This isn’t the first raid either of us have run and it likely will not be the last. And if we come back a bit banged up, there’s a reason we each keep excellent doctors on our payrolls. I understand your worry, both of you, but we are more than capable of handling ourselves,” Luhan attempts to soothe them, placating. He tucks some of Baekhyun’s hair behind his ear. He frowns when Baekhyun leans away, arms crossed over his chest and lower lip pushed out in one of Baekhyun’s famous pouts. 

Xiumin just sighs. “This isn’t up for discussion. The matter has already been decided, we simply wanted to tell you ahead of time.”

Jongdae has to bite his tongue to stop himself from getting up and leaving, anger simmering under his skin. Xiumin doesn’t try to reach out for him the way Luhan is still trying with Baekhyun. Which is good, because Jongdae isn’t sure he could keep his temper in check if Xiumin did. Jongdae can’t remember ever feeling so goddamn angry before.

Baekhyun is hurt, sad, obviously worried that Luhan is going to get himself killed for no reason. But Jongdae—Jongdae’s just pissed . He thought Xiumin was smarter than this, smart enough not to let pride cloud his judgement. Luhan is trying to explain something to Baekhyun about the drug market and encroaching upon territories and customers—and maybe that really is why Luhan has decided to raid the other gang’s warehouse. 

But Jongdae knows it doesn’t mean anything to Xiumin. His drug business is fine, most customers so loyal to Xiumin and his dealers that they’ve ignored the new gang’s attempts to poach them. Jongdae would know, he listens in on Xiumin’s phone calls more often than not. This isn’t about drugs, it’s about what happened a few weeks back and Xiumin’s wounded ego.

Uncomfortable silence reigns over the table as Luhan’s attempts to placate Baekhyun putter out. After too many long minutes of it, Jongdae pushes his chair back from the table and stands. “I think it’s best if I go home now. You two have some things to work out.”

Baekhyun nods, face caught somewhere between a pout and a scowl. Jongdae can only imagine how he’s going to chew Luhan out once they’re alone.

Luhan looks like a deer caught in headlights. He motions back towards the kitchen with one hand, “But don’t you want dessert? If you’ll wait for a moment, I can put some in a box for you to take.”

Jongdae shakes his head. “I’m full from all the good food you cooked. Thank you, again, for dinner, it was really good. But I really think it’s time for me to head out.”

He makes a point to not look at Xiumin while he speaks. He gets his coat and presses the call button for the elevator without waiting to make sure Xiumin is leaving with him; he is more than capable of taking a cab home, would prefer it to riding with his husband at the moment. Xiumin catches up just as the elevator comes, however, and the ride down to the parking garage is done in absolute silence.

The silence lasts all through the ride home and continues even as Jongdae gets ready for bed. He brushes his teeth and washes his face all while steadfastly ignoring Xiumin as the man goes through his own bedtime routine at the sink beside him.

He can feel Xiumin growing more and more irritated as the night draws on. Jongdae steps around him to grab a pair of pajama pants when he positions himself in front of Jongdae’s half of the closet and sees his jaw clench. Xiumin’s anger is a lingering thing, looming overhead like a cloud, prowling up behind them like a lion in the brush. It’s only when Jongdae crawls under the covers and positions himself at the edge of the bed, as far from Xiumin as possible, that Xiumin snaps.

Xiumin sits straight up in bed, eyes blazing even in the dark. “This is enough, Jongdae! I understand that you aren’t happy with the raid but I have had more than enough of you acting like a child. The silent treatment is ridiculous and immature.”

“It’s not the silent treatment,” Jongdae shoots back, petulant, “I just don’t have anything to say to you and it doesn’t seem that you want to listen to me anyway.”

Xiumin groans. He runs his hands through his hair and drags them down his face. “Do not put words in my mouth. You know very well that I am happy to listen to whatever you wish to say, but I will not let you dictate how I run my organization. I am doing what is best for my drug dealers and customers.”

Jongdae snaps then, sitting up and leaning forward until he and Xiumin are nearly nose-to-nose. It almost reminds him of when they first met, of the ice cold fear in his veins when he mouthed off to his husband. The memory fades under the weight of righteous anger and even more fear, but more like the fear of when he found the dragon spray painted on his old apartment door. The fear of having something to lose.

“Don’t even try to tell me that this is about the drugs or the fucking dealers, Xiumin! It’s about revenge, because they fucked with you!”

“Of course it’s about revenge,” Xiumin yells, so loud Jongdae flinches back into the pillows. Xiuming crowds him in, crawls over his body and cages him in. He pins Jongdae in place with eyes fierce and dangerous and something close to desperate, like staring down a starved tiger. “They broke into my home? It’s irritating but not enough to make me consider doing something dangerous. 

“But then they hurt you . You didn’t see the look on your face that day, kitten. You looked up at me and you were so scared, so, so incredibly scared. You were hurt and terrified and nothing I can do will give you back that little bit of innocence they took from you.” Xiumin softens then, going down onto his elbows so he can stroke over Jongdae’s cheekbones with his thumbs. “This isn’t revenge for me, it’s revenge for you.”

Jongdae doesn’t know how to feel about that. His heart swells in his chest until it chokes him, throat closing up and eyes watering. He forces out, “But I don’t want you to get hurt. If—if something happens to you, then what am I supposed to do? It would be my fault.”

“My actions, and the consequences thereof, will never be your fault, kitten. And I wish I could promise you that I won’t get hurt, but I can’t. I am deeply involved in a very dangerous world. I will always be in some level of danger no matter what you or I do.” Xiumin kisses the tip of Jongdae’s nose, then the apples of his cheeks. “But what I can promise is that I will take every precaution to come back to you unharmed.”

“And if you don’t? If you get hurt,” Jongdae asks. And he can imagine it, see the blood splatter on the floor of some dirty warehouse downtown. 

He doesn’t want that for Xiumin. He doesn’t want to lose his husband, especially not like that.

“If I get hurt,” Xiumin rolls them over so gently that Jongdae doesn’t even notice he’s being moved until he’s on his side and being tucked in against Xiumin’s chest, heartbeat steady under his ear. “If I get hurt, then I will be taken straight to Yixing, who will take excellent care of me. I will make sure that someone alerts you immediately so that you don’t worry. And as soon as I’m stable, I will send for someone to bring you to me and I will let you scream at me about how angry you are at me to your heart’s content. Yell me at for as long as you wish, call me names, do whatever will make you feel better.”

Jongdae doesn’t fight it when Xiumin cups his jaw and tilts his head up to kiss him, one hand going up to Xiumin’s wrist on instinct. He opens his mouth when Xiumin licks at his lips. He gasps, head tilting again to kiss him deeper. 

“You’re so stupid,” Jongdae whispers as they finally pull away, half out of breath. “And I’m holding you to that.”

Xiumin hums, purrs, “I expect you to. You wouldn’t be you if you didn’t.”

Then, he draws Jongdae in for another kiss.

---

Jongdae wakes up at four in the morning to a phone call, phone vibrating so hard it's nearly tipped itself off his nightstand. He picks up the phone and the light burns his eyes so badly he has to close them; by the time he's functioning enough to answer the call, he's already missed it—it and six others. The caller ID says all the calls are from Kris.

He sits up, still half-asleep, and swats at the other side of the bed. "Xiumin," he grumbles, because if he's being woken up in the middle of night by his husband's right-hand man, then his husband is too.

Instead of the solid, warm shape of Xiumin, Jongdae's hand hits the cold, bare sheet. He grunts in surprise, brow furrowing when he turns his head to find that the other side of the bed is completely empty. It takes a few moments for Jongdae's sleep-heavy brain to remember that Xiumin left at nine the night before to go on that fucking raid.

Jongdae's phone starts to ring, another call from Kris.

The raid .

"Shit!"

Jongdae throws himself out of bed and answers the call at the same time, nearly tripping and going face-first onto the hardwood floor. "Where are you guys? What happened? Is he okay? I told him not to go on that fucking raid."

Kris huffs out a laugh through the speaker, "Jongin is waiting out front for you. Boss is fine, nothing that hasn't happened before, but he said I needed to let you know and get you here as fast as possible."

"If he was fine, you wouldn't be calling me at four in the fucking morning," Jongdae hisses.

Kris just makes some noncommittal noise, "He's been much worse before." Jongdae hangs up.

He doesn't bother changing out of his pajamas once he hears that Jongin is already waiting for him. He just grabs his wallet and shoves his feet into a pair of slippers before heading straight for the elevator.

The doorman is very confused to see him running past in nothing but pajamas and house slippers at a little after four in the morning, skies still pitch black. "S-sir?"

Jongdae doesn't bother to stop and explain. He runs straight for the black SUV parked on the curb, throwing open the passenger door and climbing in.

Jongin watches him buckle up with wide eyes, eyebrows lifting when he motions for Jongin to go already. "You could have taken a few minutes to get ready," Jongin looks at his sleep-rumpled state, hair wild and clothes wrinkled. "It's not like Boss is going to die or something. He just got shot."

"He got shot ?"

Jongin winces at the way Jongdae's voice goes high and shrill and mad . And, like the smart man he is, Jongin steps on the gas and keeps his mouth shut for the rest of the ride, leaving Jongdae to stew.

He counts streetlights to keep himself from losing his mind, so angry he could scream—he will scream. Xiumin promised him free reign to scream about how stupid Xiumin is. His heart is still racing in his chest, beating fast and hard, breaths coming shorter than he would like. He's so angry but there's an undercurrent of fear that he doesn't want to think about, how it had taken him until two to finally fall asleep because he wanted to stay awake just in case something happened. How he couldn't really sleep alone anymore.

Jongin takes him to a warehouse in the industrial area of town. Jongdae's never even heard of this particular part of town before, watching the high-quality steel mills and electrical plants give way to run down brick buildings that look like they're from the seventeenth century.

Jongin pulls up to one of those brick buildings, leading Jongdae up to a big metal door and swiping the card he'd asked Jongdae to grab from the glove box on a keypad hidden behind a loose brick beside the door.

Jongdae shivers in the cold night air as Jongin enters some sort of passcode, wind sneaking through the little holes in his pajama shirt. Jongin's wearing short sleeves as well and Jongdae can see bruises forming along his forearms even in the dark.

"The raid didn't go well, did it," he asks softly.

Jongin grimaces and shakes his head. "We were going in to destroy most of their drugs and maybe take out some of their men guarding the stuff to send a message. Ended up being a lot more men there than we anticipated. Nothing we couldn't handle, but we suffered a lot more casualties than we planned for. Luhan's in surgery right now for a broken leg, fell off a catwalk. Lucky it was just a broken leg. Glad I'm not Kyungsoo right now, poor bastard. He's stuck consoling Baekhyun until the surgery's over."

The metal door swings open as the keypad sings and lights up blue. Jongin guides Jongdae through a maze of hallways and doors, part of the warehouse obviously renovated into an office space of sorts.

"Baekhyun's here?" Jongin nods and gestures to a closed door to their right, soft sobs floating through the space between the bottom of the door and the floor. "I'll check on him," Jongdae says, "After I make sure Xiumin isn't going to die first."

Jongin snorts.

They come to a stop in front of a dark wooden door towards the end of the hall, hidden among the others to not become a target. Jongdae wonders how many of these rooms are empty, serving no other purpose than to confuse anyone who tries to break in.

"Boss is in here," Jongin explains. "Leave the door open, yeah? I heard he promised to let you scream at him and I wanna hear it."

Jongdae nods and pushes the door open. He stops short, barely a few steps in.

Xiumin is sitting on a couch off to the side of the room, Yixing sitting beside him and carefully wrapping gauze around his shoulder. Jongdae stands stock still even as Xiumin looks up at the sound of the door opening and offers a smile.

"You're very lucky that the bullet went straight through and didn't ricochet off your clavicle or scapula," Yixing scolds. He narrows his eyes when Xiumin tries to stand up before the doctor's finished with him.

Jongdae can only watch as Xiumin gives him a once over with soft, tired eyes. The man snorts and shakes his head. "You didn't have to rush over here, kitten. Look at you, poor thing, did you even sleep at all?"

"You got shot," is all Jongdae can say, arms crossed over his chest. 

Xiumin nods. "Yes, I did," he replies, voice calm and even. "And I am keeping my word. Do as you will, I've earned it."

Yixing takes that as his signal to leave, gathering all his supplies into his neat, little doctor's bag and dipping his head in acknowledgement as he hurries out of Xiumin's office.

Jongdae bites the inside of his cheek until it hurts at the angry shriek building in his chest. He adjusts his stance, plants his feet. His mind races with everything he wants to say. He planned out some of the basics in the days leading up to the raid; he'd wanted to have some things ready to say if— when —Xiumin got hurt.

"You," Jongdae starts, stutters, stammers, "You—y-you. You." He's so mad he can barely see through the veil of rage, can hardly think of all the words he'd wanted to say.

Xiumin sits there perfectly calm, perfectly patient. He watches Jongdae and waits to be yelled at. He leans back against the couch, hands settled low on his abdomen.

Jongdae traces up Xiumin's left arm with his eyes, up to his shoulder wrapped in gauze. Jongdae thinks he can see red blooming in the middle of the gauze, faint but there. Yixing said the bullet went straight through him. There is a hole in his husband's shoulder because a bullet went through him—and that's lucky , because if it hadn't gone straight through, if it had run into something or gotten stuck Xiumin might not be here.

The anger leaves Jongdae in a rush.

"Y-you're so stupid," Jongdae whispers, throat closing up as he buries his face in his hands to take a few deep, shuddering breaths. "You're so fucking stupid, Xiumin. You could have died. You got shot and Luhan broke his fucking leg. Baekhyun's apparently losing his shit and I can't even think about going to comfort him because I'm too worried about you ."

"Oh, Jongdae. Kitten, come here. I am perfectly fine, Jongdae, come see."

Jongdae shakes his head, face still hidden in his hands because he doesn't trust himself not to cry if Xiumin's face is as soft as his voice. If he looks at Jongdae like he cares, like he never wanted to scare him, Jongdae doesn't trust himself not to fall onto the couch with him and sob his heart out.

"Then I'm coming to you." Feet cross the floor, footsteps soft but quick. Jongdae lets Xiumin pull him in. "I am sorry, Jongdae. Don't cry, no need to cry."

They sway from side to side, Xiumin humming low in his throat, purring, as he slowly guides Jongdae back towards the couch. "I truly am okay. But I will be much more careful in any dealings with that gang, I promise you that. I underestimated them."

"Idiot," Jongdae huffs. "I could have told you that."

Xiumin chuckles and presses a kiss to Jongdae's temple. "I should trust your judgement more, hm? You were the one who had the idea to offer himself up in a trade for his best friend's life."

"Yeah, I was. And look how well it turned out for me. Best friend is alive and I'm unscathed. You got shot and almost all your men got injured."

"Touche, kitten. You really are like a cat in that respect, aren't you? You came to me in need and yet managed to make the situation work entirely in your favor. I've been played." Xiumin is entirely too mirthful for how tired, upset, and shaky Jongdae feels as the adrenaline rush from Kris' call slowly fades away. But Jongdae doesn't mind as much as he thought he would, lightly headbutting his husband in his uninjured shoulder after a few more kitten remarks.

Once it becomes apparent that neither of them have gotten much sleep, both drifting off on the couch, they decide together to go back home. Xiumin doesn't offer up even the hint of an argument when Jongdae decrees that they're spending the day in bed watching movies.

"Whatever makes you happy, kitten," Xiumin hums as he makes a last round around the warehouse, checking in on all the men involved in the raid.

Jongdae takes the opportunity to comfort Baekhyun, but finds that his best friend has cried himself to sleep on a makeshift bed of couch cushions as a man with a severe expression watches over him from a corner of the room, like an overly protective hawk.

"Don't wake him, he needs at least a little sleep. Boss should be out of surgery soon though, and I have strict orders from Baekhyun to wake him up as soon as it's done," Kyungsoo explains when he darts out to stop Jongdae from settling next to Baekhyun on the cushions. "But I'll tell him you stopped in. You and that Park fellow."

"Chanyeol came by," Jongdae asks when he rejoins his husband on the walk to their car.

Xiumin nods. "He was waiting here for us and was the one to call Baekhyun. He wanted to be the one to sit with Baekhyun, but Kyungsoo is one of Luhan's men and didn't know where all our medical supplies so Chanyeol was commandeered as Yixing's assistant. I think Kris took him back home after everyone received some sort of care."

At home, Jongdae and Xiumin split. Jongdae heads toward the living room while Xiumin goes back to the bedroom to change out of his dirty, blood-stained clothes. Jongdae drags a table from the entry way back into the bedroom when he realizes he left the little laptop table Xiumin bought him as an early Christmas present at Baekhyun's apartment. 

The table legs scrape across the floor. "I can get that, kitten," Xiumin calls from the bathroom, "Don't strain yourself."

"Me? Strain myself? I'm not the one with a gunshot wound in his shoulder," Jongdae drags the table through the hallway, muttering under his breath so Xiumin doesn't hear him. Then, louder, "It's okay, it's not that heavy." 

He pauses once to catch his breath. He doesn't understand why his husband had to go out and buy such heavy furniture—except Jongdae was the one to go out and buy this particular table because he liked the pastel brown color of the wood. 

Jongdae likes brown, likes green, likes the plants he's got growing along the windowsills and the ridiculous amount of blankets piled on the couch. Xiumin said they'll be replacing the coffee table soon to match the table Jongdae bought and mentioned redecorating the kitchen next. 

Early morning sunlight streams into the apartment. It's hazy, cozy, quiet.

Jongdae looks down the hall towards the living room, towards the kitchen with dishes still in the sink and handprints on the stainless steel fridge that drive Xiumin crazy. He does a little half-smile before he starts pulling the table back towards the bedroom again.

He feels warm.

The table is set up at the foot of the bed with Netflix up and running on Xiumin's laptop. Xiumin waits at the head of the bed as Jongdae picks out a movie. He's shirtless again, fresh gauze wrapped around his shoulder. Jongdae settles on his side of the bed as the opening credits of some sci-fi movie Chanyeol's been raving about for the past week begin to play. 

He sees Xiumin crook two fingers at him from out of the corner of his eye, a quiet hum as he beckons Jongdae closer. Jongdae snorts and stares straight ahead at the screen. Xiumin growls softly and pats the bed beside him. 

Finally, Xiumin reaches over to grab him around the waist and drag him across the empty space between them, like a cat trapping a mouse under its paw.

Jongdae snickers quietly to himself and lets Xiumin manhandle him into resting against his chest, head resting on his good shoulder. 

"I am sorry," Xiumin whispers into his hair about halfway through the movie. Jongdae, who had been half-asleep, startles at the sound of Xiumin's voice, grumbling incoherently. Xiumin laughs through his nose at that and presses a kiss to the top of Jongdae's head. "I am not sorry for the raid, but I am sorry for upsetting you."

Jongdae smiles. "Thank you, for apologizing. And I meant what I said, you know that, right? Not wanting to lose you, I meant it— mean it."

"I don't want to lose you, either."

They lapse into silence for a little while after that. They only ever get out of bed for food and to go to the bathroom. Jongdae eventually does fall asleep, drifting in and out for hours. He catches parts of most movies, some beginnings, some endings. There are a few times where he wakes up to Xiumin snoring in his ear and he has to whine and shove at his husband's sleeping body to get him to stop.

Jongdae doesn't actually wake up until sunset. Xiumin's weight is still pinning him down, but his husband isn't snoring anymore, instead watching Jongdae sleep. He jerks back when the first thing he sees is Xiumin's eyes staring right back at him and Xiumin grins. 

"God, fuck," Jongdae groans as he rubs at his eyes, "you can't just do that. 'S so creepy."

"I wanted to scare you," Xiumin leans in and kisses the tip of Jongdae's nose, chuckling when Jongdae blows air out of his nostrils as hard as he can in response. "I also wanted to wake you up. I've been up for the past half hour by myself, and while you are very cute when you sleep, you are also very boring."

"Today's boring. It's a boring day. I deserve it after the shit you put me through this morning." 

They're sharing air with how close they are, scant centimeters between them. Jongdae doesn't even let Baekhyun this far into his space; they always make sure that there is ample space between their faces when they cuddle. He should push Xiumin away, roll over to the other side of the bed, and try to go back to sleep so that he doesn't have to deal with Xiumin and the way he makes Jongdae's heart race, stomach churning as his husband somehow finds a way to get closer. 

When Xiumin cups his face and pulls him into a kiss that steals the air from his lungs, he forgets about sleep entirely.

Xiumin is quick to deepen the kiss, licking at the seam of Jongdae's lips until he opens his mouth and lets him in. Jongdae's never been a fan of having someone else's tongue in his mouth, still isn't, but he can't find it in him to complain when Xiumin licks along the edges of his teeth.

They break apart only seconds later. They always do. Xiumin has no qualms about kissing Jongdae breathless, showering him with affection until he feels like he could drown from it all, heat simmering just under the surface. But Xiumin never takes it farther than a few kisses, than backing Jongdae into a corner and pressing in close until there's no other choice than to wrap his arms around Xiumin and let himself be held.

Xiumin stands at the line in the sand Jongdae drew when they first met and never dares to cross. He never even toes the line.

Jongdae waited for something to snap those first few weeks, months, but nothing ever did. Xiumin kissed his cheeks, his forehead, his hand, touchy and affectionate in a way that drove him a little crazy; but he never took it further on his own, patiently waiting for Jongdae to meet him halfway.

Jongdae laughs against Xiumin's lips then. He never thought of his husband as patient before.

"You are strange," Xiumin murmurs. "So strange. I'm not quite sure if I'll figure you out."

Jongdae smiles. "Good." He leans in and breeches the little bit of space between them to kiss Xiumin again.

And again. And again. And again. Until they're both out of breath and Xiumin is just watching him with heavy eyes.

Jongdae's got his leg hitched up on Xiumin's hip so he can press in closer. He can feel Xiumin's cock pressing back, hot and half-hard against his own even through their pajama pants. Jongdae's a little hard too, not enough that it bothers him, but enough for Xiumin to feel.

They've been in this position before, both of them hard and wanting, watching and waiting for the other person to just do something. But neither of them ever did. They would just stare at each other until the moment passed them by, their cocks softened, and they had to go about their days like nothing ever happened.

Jongdae doesn't know why Xiumin never made a move, never grabbed Jongdae by the hips and put him where he wanted him; he never has a problem manhandling Jongdae in any other situation. He wonders why Xiumin didn't at least say something in those moments, like ask if Jongdae wanted to go further or excuse himself.

Jongdae doesn't have to wonder why he never did anything. He was scared—still is scared. He's not scared of Xiumin, not anymore, but he's scared of the way Xiumin makes him feel.

The way Jongdae can't help but perk up when Xiumin walks into the coffee shop for a black coffee and whatever pastry Jongdae has his eye on that particular day. The way his heart beats a little faster when Xiumin smiles at him, really smiles with too much of his gums showing. The way he doesn't know how to sleep by himself anymore.

But Jongdae doesn't want to be scared. He wants—he wants Xiumin. He wants Xiumin so badly.

"I'm not going to just be one of the pretty boys that warm your bed, am I," he asks, voice so quiet that Jongdae can barely hear himself over his own heartbeat thudding softly in his ears..

Xiumin hears him anyway. "You are the only pretty boy that warms my bed. You have been for a very long time. In case you have yet to notice, I married you . And I am happy to have you warm my bed in whatever capacity you wish."

Xiumin kisses Jongdae again, harder, sharper. His voice is the same, "I gave you my word, Jongdae. You do not owe me anything more than what we have now."

"I know," Jongdae says. "I wouldn't give you anything if you thought I owed it to you. But I—I just. I want."

"Whatever you want, you can have it. You only have to ask." The space between them stretches on and on, the universe fitting itself into the distance between their lips. Xiumin smiles at him like he's the universe, like he's worth taking a bullet for.

Jongdae reaches out and gently shoves Xiumin to lay on his back before crawling up to sit on his husband's hips. Xiumin’s eyes are wide, lips parted in surprise. Jongdae leans forward to trace the shape of them; he holds Xiumin's gaze.

"I want you."

"That's not asking," Xiumin holds onto Jongdae's hip with his good hand, lips curving into a smirk.

"Are you going to tell me no," Jongdae smirks right back and feels fire light under his skin when Xiumin just uses his hold on Jongdae's hips to hold him still while Xiumin grinds up against him. Jongdae hums at the rush of dull pleasure. Then, he grabs Xiumin by the hips, presses him back into the mattress, and scoots up so that he isn't sitting directly on top of the other man's cock. "Lie still and let me take care of you."

Xiumin, surprisingly enough, does as he's told and lies back against the pillows. Eyes dark and heavy with promise watch as Jongdae tugs his shirt up and over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him. He waits for a moment as Xiumin sizes him up, the other man biting down on his bottom lip. "So fucking beautiful. I remember the first time I saw you and you were just so gorgeous that I couldn't do anything else but watch you."

Heat rushes to Jongdae's face and he bows his head to hide the blush.

He turns his attention to Xiumin's body instead. He knows his husband is objectively, outstandingly, infuriatingly hot. Jongdae drags his fingers down muscles that bunch and jump under his touch, over the ridges of Xiumin's abdomen as they flex. He looks up to see Xiumin smirking at him. "Like what you see?"

Jongdae snorts. He points to the bandage wrapped around Xiumin's shoulder, "Would like it a lot more if this wasn't here."

"Give me a month or so and then I'll be more than capable of pinning you down."

"Not what I meant, Xiumin." Jongdae gives a sad half-smile and Xiumin's face softens. "Don't care if I have to do all the work, I just don't like that you're hurt." Jongdae blushes

Xiumin doesn't acknowledge his quiet confession aside from a squeeze to his hip. His fingers slip beneath the waistband, caressing the sharp crest of Jongdae's hip bone. Jongdae's cock twitches in his pajama pants, obvious enough for both of them to notice.

Jongdae grunts when Xiumin's hand slides from his hip to his groin. His entire hand dips into Jongdae's pants to wrap around the base of Jongdae's cock; Jongdae can't help but buck up into the touch, wanting more, needing more. He rocks his hips into Xiumin's grip a few more times before shoving his own pajama pants down his thighs to give his husband better access.

"Pants off. All the way. Both of us," Xiumin orders before letting go of Jongdae's dick to reach for his nightstand with his good arm, fishing around in the top drawer with determination.

Jongdae wastes no time kicking off his pants the rest of the way. He peels Xiumn's off next and has to swallow down excess spit as Xiumin's cock is freed. It lies hard against Xiumins' stomach without the pajama pants to hold it down, growing harder by the second.

Jongdae's never had the chance to see Xiumin's cock before — he has , but he never took it out of anger, fear, and embarrassment. He hates himself a bit for that now, hates that it's taken him so long to finally to reach this moment because Xiumin's got a pretty cock, not too long or thick to make sex a hassle.

It throbs with Xiumin's pulse and lust burns like poison in the back of Jongdae's throat.

"How did you want to do this, kitten?" Jongdae looks up from Xiumin's cock, shame coloring his face bright red, to see the other man watching him with an amused smile, bottle of lube and a few condoms lying on the bed beside him.

Jongdae stammers for a few minutes before hiding his face in his hands, mortified that he'd just been caught staring at a cock like it was the eighth wonder of the world.

"If it makes you feel any better," Xiumin says as he attempts to coax Jongdae back out again, "I once saw you bend over to pick up a few pillows that had fallen off the couch in just your underwear and it took nearly twenty minutes of an unbearably cold shower to feel like I could control myself again."

Jongdae laughs. "That makes sense. I have a great ass."

"Yes, yes you do."

Xiumin just stares at him after that and the sensual atmosphere begins to slip away, crushed by the weight of the pure fondness shining in Xiumin's eyes.

Jongdae grasps for it again, but it doesn't want to be forced, drifting further and further out of reach. And with it goes Jongdae's confidence. So, when Xiumin asks him again what he wanted to do, how far he wanted to go, Jongdae can't seem to find the words for the want in his stomach, the need to get fucked that only gets worse when Xiumin reaches down and strokes his own cock.

"We can go as far as you want. Do as little or as much as you feel comfortable with." Xiumin spreads around the drop of precum that beads at his slit with his thumb and grinds up into his own fist.

Jongdae watches the movement with heavy eyes, greedy eyes. "You're so hot."

Xiumin grins, huffing out a laugh. He lets go of his own cock to grab Jongdae's and play with the sensitive spot just below the head. Jongdae thrusts into his grip with a shuddering sigh. His heart races double-time when Xiumin licks his lips, gaze darting between what feels like a very embarrassing expression on Jongdae's face to where he's rolling his hips and back again.

"You should see yourself, kitten. You look so beautiful like this." Xiumin groans as he shifts his hips so that they can thrust against each other. Jongdae plants his hands on Xiumin's abdomen for more leverage to thrust down, get more friction.

The bottle of lube is opened, cold liquid poured over their cocks to ease the glide, slick sounds of flesh sliding against flesh making Jongdae's face burn in a strange sort of shame. Xiumin keeps calling Jongdae beautiful , a masterpiece in the flesh . It does terrible things to Jongdae's heart, makes the heat beneath his skin burn hotter.

And it's so obvious that this is enough for Xiumin. He's grunting, groaning, head of his cock rutting against the crease where Jongdae's thigh meets his pelvis. He'll probably come like this and be perfectly satisfied after.

But Jongdae—he feels greedy, greedy for more pleasure, for more touch, for whatever Xiumin will give him. He can come like this, cock rubbing against Xiumin's, leaning forward to pant against Xiumin's mouth in lieu of a kiss. But he doesn't want to.

"God," he moans, "fuck me. Let me ride you."

“Fuck, how could I ever say no to that?” 

Xiumin’s cock kicks against Jongdae’s stomach. He urges Jongdae to shift further up his body, grabs a handful of Jongdae’s ass to pull him closer. His fingers dip into Jongdae’s crack and pass over Jongdae’s hole, hardly enough to be considered a touch but enough to make Jongdae shiver and clench all the same.

Jongdae leans down over Xiumin to give him more access, resting his elbows on either side of his husband’s head. He moans softly when warm fingertips press against his hole. It’s dry, but the drag feels good, grounding. It makes him feel a little less like he’s about to fly out of his skin. Which is important, because the way Xiumin has decided to take advantage of Jongdae leaning in so close, kissing along his jaw and sucking bruises into the thin, sensitive skin of his neck, isn’t doing Jongdae any favors.

He pants, body stringing taut as his hips rock forward subconsciously. The friction is good, too good, brings him closer to the edge faster than he would like.

“We need to get you wet,” Xiumin murmurs against Jongdae’s pulse. “Would you like me to?”

Jongdae shakes his head. “N-no, I’ll do it. You—you just… Get the condom.” He can tell be the glint in Xiumin’s eyes, the greedy lilt to his voice, the purse of his lips  that looks almost like a pout when Jongdae tells him no, that Xiumin would take full advantage of the opportunity to finger him and make him come hard and fast. And it sounds fucking lovely, but Jongdae’s not sure if he’s got the refactory period to handle that, nor the energy.

Still, the position isn’t the most comfortable, especially when Jongdae shifts all his weight onto one arm, but Jongdae makes do, coating two of his fingers in lube before reaching behind himself and circling his rim. 

Xiumin’s lips are soft against his own as he does his best to distract himself from the pleasant tingles that run up his spine as he presses inside himself with one finger. He grunts when Xiumin sucks on his tongue, whines when Xiumin pulls back to bite at his lower lip. “That hurt,” Jongdae pouts. Xiumin just leans back in and kisses it better.

Jongdae is quick to move from one finger to two, almost clinical in the way he’s not doing much more than spreading the lube around inside him. And it’s the sort of thing he hates, treating fingering like just a step ro rush through. 

But Xiumin has been playing with his cock from the moment he started fingering himself and Jongdae’s not sure if he’ll be able to last if he actually takes the time to play with himself. He seeks out his prostate once and mewls helplessly as a bolt of pleasure shoots through his stomach and drags him right to the edge.

Jongdae pulls his fingers out of his hole and sits back on his heels. He’s breathing a little harder than he would like, face feeling hot as he adjusts himself over Xiumin’s cock. His own cock is dripping precum onto Xiumin’s stomach. Not that Xiumin seems to mind, still stroking over Jongdae’s cock, squeezing the base and playing with the head. 

“You’re sure you’re ready, kitten,” Xiumin asks. 

Jongdae nods silently and reaches for Xiumin’s cock with greedy hands. Xiumin already took the time to roll a condom on, but Jongdae is the one to uncap the bottle of lube. More cold liquid dribbles over their cocks, is smeared around Jongdae’s hole as he rises up on his knees and shuffles until he’s hovering directly over Xiumin’s cock.

Head notched against Jongdae’s hole, Xiumin holds it still for him to sink down onto, watches his face with sharp eyes as he’s slowly filled up.

Jongdae doesn’t stop until he’s sitting on Xiumin’s hips. His breaths leave him in pants. His hole clenches tight around his husband’s cock as he adjusts, body slowly opening up as the seconds pass. 

It burns like a particularly deep stretch, but it doesn’t hurt. It’s just full, deep, a little overwhelming.

At least Xiumin is panting as well, eyes shut and jaw clenched as he groans. Jongdae clenches down purposefully once, twice, just to see Xiumin’s face screw up in pleasure. “You’re a little shit,” Xiumin hisses through gritted teeth.

“I’m so full,” Jongdae sighs in response. His head lolls back as he slowly rolls his hips down, grinding, taking pleasure. “Feels so good.” 

Jongdae lifts up onto his knees again, just enough to feel the drag of Xiumin’s cock, and then drops back down, shocking a moan out of them both. He does it again, and again, lube and precum slicking the way as he rises up a little higher, drops down a little faster. 

Xiumin sounds beautiful when he moans. His voice is higher than Jongdae would’ve thought, breathier. 

Jongdae loves the sound of it, braces his hands on Xiumin’s abdomen to fuck himself down onto Xiumin’s cock harder and faster just to hear more of it. “Y-you sound so— ah! You sound so good.”

“You feel so good. Fuck, Jongdae, so tight, so hot. Best fucking ass I’ve ever seen,” Xiumin huffs, snarls, both hands coming up to grab Jongdae’s hips and pull him back down onto Xiumin’s cock. Jongdae knocks his arm away with a little pout and Xiumin just grabs him again, tighter. “I can’t believe I got shot the day I finally got to fuck you. I’ve imagined holding you down, bouncing you on my cock, riding yours until you cried and-”

Jongdae leans down and kisses Xiumin before he can finish talking, anything to shut him up before his fucking mouth made Jongdae come too fast.

Thighs burning from the strain, Jongdae eventually starts to lose his pace, rhythm faltering.

Xiumin seems to take that as his cue to take over, because the man plants his feet on the bed and thrusts up into Jongdae just as he drops down.

He gasps at the sudden pleasure and stops, frozen in place as Xiumin fucks up into him without restraint. “Oh, oh holy shit.”

When Xiumin angles his hips to brush against Jongdae’s prostate on each drag out and thrust in, Jongdae’s moans devolve into whimpers, whines, gasps punched out of him as he bounces on Xiumin’s cock. “There,” he cries, “there, there, there, please!”

“Here?” Xiumin smirks up at him even though he sounds just as breathless. He gives a particularly hard thrust against Jongdae’s prostate and Jongdae can only nod and attempt to match his rhythm, rolling down as he thrusts up. 

Eyelashes fluttering, heart racing, sweat dripping down his back, Jongdae drops his head down and bites his lip to stave off the way his entire gut is starting to pull tight. He kisses Xiumin again, barely taking a breath when they pull away before he dives in for another, desperate for whatever he can get. And he doesn’t feel even a bit of shame, because Xiumin is meeting him halfway each time, kissing him, touching him, fucking him like he’s the only person in the world who matters.

Jongdae knows he’s not going to last much longer. He strokes himself in time with Xiumin’s thrusts. Pleasure burns through him like a wildfire, claws at his insides, a roaring thing in his ears. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Xiumin purrs into his ear, “I wish you could see yourself.”

“Xiu-Xiumin,” Jongdae babbles, trying and failing to form some sort of thought that isn’t yesyes pleasepleaseplease more . 

“Come for me, Jongdae. Let me make you feel good.”

Jongdae comes with a cry, Xiumin's name jumbled on his lips, "Ah—I-I. Oh fuck, Min! "

Xiumin's eyes widen and he grits his teeth so hard that Jongdae would worry about his jaw if he had the presence of mind to. Then he thrusts up into Jongdae one last time before coming as well, hands gripping so tightly to Jongdae's hip they’ll likely leave bruises.

Jongdae can't say that he minds.

They clean up in silence, orbiting around each other as they pull the sheets off the bed. They take turns darting in for kisses. Xiumin holds Jongdae under the shower spray until their fingers and toes are disgustingly pruned. Jongdae shuts the curtains and drags Xiumin underneath the covers to cuddle, needing more touch, more affection, more time wrapped up in each other like love drunk teenagers.

“Jongdae,” Xiumin whispers in the darkness after they’ve finished cleaning up, fingers tracing idle patterns around Jongdae’s belly button just to make him squirm. 

He rolls over onto his belly to block Xiumin’s access to one of his ticklish spots, not that it does much good because Xiumin just pinches his side instead. He props his head up on his arms, turns to look Xiumin in the eye. It’s so dark in the bedroom with the curtains closed to block out the light of the moon that they have to be nearly nose-to-nose to see each other. Jongdae doesn’t mind, likes how Xiumin’s eyes start to cross. “Yeah?”

The blankets are pulled up to his shoulders. Fingers card through Jongdae’s hair and he smiles through a jaw-cracking yawn.

Xiumin takes a deep breath, lets it all back out in a rush. Almost like he’s nervous. But that’s ridiculous because the only time Jongdae’s ever seen him nervous was when a man had a gun pressed to Jongdae’s forehead, and lying in bed together after a round of sex has much lower stakes.

“Call me Minseok.” 

Jongdae’s jaw drops. A little smile works its way across Xiumin’s— Minseok’s face. “M-Minseok?”

“Kim Minseok,” Minseok nods, “Born March twenty-sixth.”

There are million thoughts running through Jongdae’s head, a million questions he wants to ask. Why now? Why him? Why go by Xiumin for so long? He opens and closes his mouth a few times as he tries to force them out, but all that comes out is, “I missed your birthday.”

Minseok laughs. He smiles so widely his eyes start to crinkle and it does something very strange to Jongdae’s heart. “We’ll get your friends together and celebrate it next weekend or something, how does that sound? I know you and Baekhyun take birthdays very seriously. I’ll submit to whatever birthday nonsense you see fit.”

“What if we want to put you in a party hat?”

“Then I will wear the party hat until Kris puts me out of my misery or you show me mercy and let me take it off,” Minseok says. “I am not whipped—you think very loudly, kitten—but I’ve come to find that the benefits of letting you have your way tend to outweigh the benefits of getting my own in some situations.”

Jongdae smirks, having long since stopped being afraid of his husband. “Whipped.”

Minseok rolls his eyes, “Haven’t I tired you out yet? Go to sleep.” He kisses Jongdae’s cheek and manhandles him onto his side to cuddle. “I should have never married you, so mouthy. Would have never helped you if I knew what a little shit you are.” Kisses are dropped along the slope of Jongdae’s shoulders all the same.