Chapter Text
“What do you think is happening? Did hyung get hurt again?”
Jongho doesn't even need to look over at Mingi to know the older man is on the verge of a breakdown. The panic radiates off of him, oozing through the air despite his attempts to hide it.
“I don’t know,” he answers, fighting to keep his own voice even for Mingi’s sake. “He didn’t sound hurt, just pissed.”
That at least isn’t a lie. Hongjoong sounded like he was about to go off the rails, and Jongho shudders just recalling the tone of his voice. He starts walking faster, eager to make it to the meeting point Hongjoong chose.
Mingi keeps pace beside him, hands jammed into his pockets. Jongho can feel the stress building, the tension bunching up in his shoulders and gathering behind his eyes. He’s definitely in for a headache; he can’t think of the last time he was this on edge.
He almost feels like he’s teetering on the edge of two worlds, seconds away from losing balance. Hongjoong had said Yunho knew; that had to mean Yeosang did too.
Jongho shoves those thoughts away, not letting himself linger on them. He has a job to do; he can’t be thinking about what Yeosang does and doesn’t know about him.
They’re almost running at this point, both trying to move as fast as possible. Jongho lets out a relieved sigh when they turn a corner abruptly.
Hongjoong is standing at the other end of the block, pacing back and forth agitatedly. The sight reminds Jongho of watching a predatory animal in an enclosure; a tiger or something similar. The older man looks seconds away from exploding, and Jongho can sympathize.
“Took you fucking long enough,” is all Hongjoong says when they get close enough, turning on his heel and stalking down the street.
Jongho and Mingi fall into step with him. Any pedestrians unlucky enough to be in their way quickly find other places to be.
“Where are we going?”
Jongho asks the question, knowing Mingi would rather step into moving traffic than speak right now. Hongjoong looks like he could shoot lasers out of his eyes with how angry he is.
“Your place,” he grits out. “Can’t discuss this out here.”
Not willing to prolong the conversation, Jongho falls silent. He can wait until they get back to the apartment; they’re already close with the blistering pace Hongjoong is setting.
A memory springs up unbidden, and Jongho can’t push it down.
His father had come home late from something, Hongjoong with him. Jongho was supposed to be asleep, but they had been loud enough to wake him up.
He doesn’t even clearly remember what they had been arguing about. Hongjoong fought with Jongho’s father frequently; more than he ever did for sure. That time had been no different, with both of their voices steadily getting louder the longer the conversation continued.
The slap had been hard enough to echo up the stairwell, reaching Jongho easily.
He flinched too, like he had been the one hit.
The sound of the door opening and closing had sounded soon after as Hongjoong presumably saw himself out. Jongho had just stood there in the open door of his bedroom, hand raised to his own cheek.
He had dropped his hand immediately when his father began to climb the stairs, but hadn’t moved. He was still standing there when his father got to the top, and they stared at each other for a brief moment.
Jongho’s father had been the one to move first, heading off down the hallway without a word.
Jongho had known then the same thing that he does now; he doesn’t respond in the ways he’s expected to in situations like this. His father or Hongjoong get angry while Jongho just gets stressed at the most. He never argued, never yelled. Nothing ever made him mad, and he knows his father went to his grave thinking there was something wrong with Jongho because of that.
The insecurity does its best to rear its head again, but Jongho ignores it. He’s been ignoring it for years at this point. It’s second nature now.
They’re getting close to the apartment now, and Hongjoong shortens his stride to let Jongho take the lead.
He does it without thinking, unlocking the front door and leading the way up the stairs. There’s no way he’s getting in an elevator with Hongjoong right now, or Mingi come to think of it. That much rage and anxiety in such a small space would drive Jongho insane and at least one of them has to be able to think.
They are soon heading down the hallway, then waiting for Jongho to unlock the door. He does so as quickly as possible, immediately turning to hold the door open for the other two.
It takes Jongho a second to realize something is wrong. Mingi and Hongjoong are both frozen, just a few steps into the room and he only notices when the door is fully closed and locked. By then, Hongjoong has already knelt to pick up the piece of paper that was left on the floor.
“What does it say?”
Mingi’s question is hesitant, like he doesn’t want to hear the answer. Hongjoong doesn’t reply for a long moment, his body language not giving any clues to what’s going on in his head.
When he turns around to face Mingi and Jongho, his face is perfectly blank. He holds the paper out for Jongho to take.
It takes a long second for Jongho’s eyes to focus on the paper. His heart sinks as it quickly becomes apparent that this is a ransom note.
“Well?” he asks, looking back up at Hongjoong.
“That was supposed to be you,” the older man says. “This is a challenge.”
Jongho nods. He already knew as much.
“Who are these people? And if they don’t have us, then who do they have?”
Mingi’s voice is tight, sounding only seconds away from breaking. Jongho keeps looking at Hongjoong, knowing he has the answers.
“It’s Mr. Lee and Mr. Park,” he explains. “And I think they have your little friends.”
Some part of Jongho has been expecting to hear that, but the news still hits like a bucket of cold water.
“What do we do now?” Mingi asks. Jongho doesn't need to look at him to read the desperation in his tone and body language.
Hongjoong’s shrug is almost flippant.
“We go to the bar,” he answers, taking the note back from Mingi. “They clearly want a confrontation.”
Jongho is quickly realizing that Hongjoong cares very little about Yeosang or Yunho. They’re just civilians, ones he has no relationship with either. To make matters worse, Yunho has apparently managed to actively piss him off as well.
When push comes to shove, Hongjoong isn’t going to prioritize Yunho and Yeosang. Jongho makes a mental note of this, knowing he’s going to have to be the one to make sure they’re okay. If it really comes down to it, Hongjoong won’t disobey a direct order from Jongho.
At least, he hasn’t yet.
Jongho knows there’s only so far he can go down that mental road. He has to focus on the here and now, on the people who need him.
Hongjoong pulled his phone out at some point when Jongho was thinking, and he is currently glaring at the device as he taps something out on the screen.
“Get your weapons,” he says without looking up. “Unless the two of you are already packing.”
Jongho isn’t; Mingi is the only one of them who regularly carries. But his gun isn’t anywhere near big enough for the job ahead, meaning he needs to switch out.
The two of them both head to their respective rooms, without talking. Mingi moves easier now that he has an order to follow, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Jongho heads straight for his dresser, kneeling to open his bottom drawer. The whole drawer has been lined with foam to hold his collection of pistols and ammunition.
It’s not even a choice. Jongho picks up his go to gun, the worn grip practically molded to his hand at this point.
He straps his holster on quickly, not wasting any movement. He feels better with the gun in its comfortable spot under his arm, even if it’s only a little bit.
Funny, he thinks. His father was the one who gave him this gun, but it was Hongjoong who spent the most time teaching him how to shoot it. His father gave the first few lessons, but Hongjoong did the majority of the instruction.
That’s probably a metaphor of some kind, but Jongho can’t be thinking about that kind of thing now.
He grabs his leather jacket off the hook on the back of his door, shrugging it on quickly as he heads back into the living room.
Hongjoong is on the phone now, pacing back and forth from the kitchen to the living room. As Jongho walks in, he finishes the call, hanging up without saying goodbye.
Before Jongho can even say anything, he is again raising the phone to his ear. Knowing it’s pointless to try and get an answer out of him when he’s like this, Jongho crosses the room to sit on the couch.
Hongjoong continues to pace, chewing on his lower lip as he does. His phone appears to still be ringing, and he only looks more and more agitated as the seconds slip by.
“C’mon c’mon c’mon,” he mutters, barely audible over the sound of his pacing. “Pick up the fucking phone, please.”
Jongho looks up quickly at his last sentence, eyebrows raised in surprise. Hongjoong doesn’t say please to anyone or anything, at least as far as he knows.
Whoever he’s calling still doesn’t pick up. By the time it switches over to voicemail, Hongjoong looks ready to throw the phone through the floor.
“Who is it, hyung?” Jongho asks. “Do you want me to try calling them?”
“It’s not important,” Hongjoong snaps.
Jongho is fairly certain it is, in fact, important if Hongjoong was willing to say please for this person, but he isn’t feeling suicidal today.
Mingi emerges from his room before any more time can pass, and Jongho immediately gets up from the couch. Hongjoong leads the way out the door, barely even looking behind him to make sure they’re following.
“Huyng,” Jongho says when they reach the ground floor and Hongjoong starts to head for the exit. “This way.”
Hongjoong turns with murder in his eyes, and Mingi quickly holds up his keys. The words die on his lips at the sight, and he gives a tight nod of acknowledgement.
Less than five minutes later and they’re all in the car together. Jongho quickly decides this is worse than the elevator could have been.
Mingi is white-knuckling the steering wheel, his gaze never leaving the road. Hongjoong is sprawled across the backseat. He’s bouncing his leg, enough so that Jongho can feel it through his seat. The air is thick with tension, making the vehicle feel hot despite the air conditioner running full blast.
Thankfully the drive to Seonghwa’s bar is short. Mingi parks the car with mathematical precision, shutting the engine off then looking expectantly over at Jongho.
“Alright,” he says. “Hyung, is there anything we shou-”
He is cut off by the rear passenger door slamming shut.
“Okay then,” Jongho says. It appears they’re going to wing this one.
Hongjoong is halfway across the parking lot by the time Jongho and Mingi get out of the car, and he doesn’t slow down. Jongho stifles a sigh before breaking into a jog, Mingi following suit.
They catch up with him right outside the front door. Jongho tries to steady his breathing as much as possible, pushing his hair back briefly.
“Let me go first,” he says when Hongjoong reaches for the door.
For a tense moment, it looks like Hongjoong isn’t going to listen to him. Jongho waits without breathing, only relaxing when the older man takes a step backward.
It’s clear the gesture took effort for Hongjoong. Jongho would be tempted to pat him on the shoulder in silent thanks, but he would like to keep his hand.
Adjusting his jacket so he can easily get to his pistol, Jongho steps forward. He doesn’t allow himself to hesitate anymore, pulling the door open.
The interior of the building is dark and cool after the brightness and heat of all the walking Jongho has been doing. He uses the few seconds it takes to get out of the entry area to fix his game face in place.
This is when it counts, he tells himself. It’s now or never.
He steps further into the room, expression perfectly even. At first glance, the bar is completely empty, with none of the usual customers crowded around the bar or seated at the various tables.
That puts Jongho even further on edge. It’s a Saturday night; the place should be packed. But it’s not, and he knows that’s not a coincidence.
Seonghwa is the first person he sees. The older man is standing at his usual place behind the bar and he looks up almost the second Jongho steps into view.
His eyes widen the tiniest bit and he quickly breaks the stare to look to his left. Jongho follows his gaze, finally seeing the room’s only other occupants.
Mr. Lee and Mr. Park are sitting at one of the tables in the bar’s far corner, backs firmly to the wall. At first glance, they look like nothing more than old friends catching up over drinks but Jongho knows better. He can see the outlines of the guns under their suits even from here, poorly concealed.
Even without weapons the two of them are dangerous. Jongho still occasionally has nightmares about a certain interrogation run by Mr. Park that ended in him gouging the prisoner’s eye out with his bare hand. While Mr. Lee may seem much more benign in comparison, Jongho knows he has a ruthless streak a mile wide, and no discernable conscious either.
They both rise from their seats as the three come closer, fake grins plastered over their faces.
“Hyungnim,” Mr. Lee says, bowing. He never bows further than he absolutely has to, only conveying the barest minimum of respect. “So nice of you to join us, especially on such short notice.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” Jongho replies. These are rote phrases; they’re acting like two acquaintances meeting for business, not like a boss and his employees.
If Jongho hadn’t been sure this was a coup or similar, he is now.
“Please, sit,” Mr. Park says in a near monotone.
He and Mr. Lee make no move to give up their seats, leaving Jongho, Mingi, and Hongjoong to sit with their backs to the rest of the room. Jongho can feel the hairs on the back of his neck begin to stand on end. He fights down the feeling that everything is spiraling out of his control; it will be okay. It has to be.
Jongho ends up sitting in the center, with Mingi on his right and Hongjoong on his left. That leaves Mr. Park opposite Hongjoong, and Mr. Lee facing Mingi.
There couldn’t be more contrast between the two of them. Mingi is doing his best to hide it, but he’s twitchy. His leg won’t stop bouncing, and his hands keep flitting between tugging on his pants, fiddling with his rings, or adjusting his sleeves. In direct contrast, Hongjoong could be carved out of stone. There’s an easy confidence to the way he’s sitting, his posture deceptively loose and open.
Jongho doesn't know how he looks. He hopes he’s keeping his expression under control at least.
Mr. Lee shifts in his seat, clearly gearing up to actually start the “meeting”. He is midway through opening his mouth when he abruptly pauses, expression briefly drawing into a frown before assuming a blank smile.
Seonghwa gives him a brief smile in return, bowing slightly.
“Can I get you gentlemen anything to drink?” he asks, turning to Hongjoong who he’s standing closest to.
“That’d be great,” Hongjoong tells him smoothly. “Did you get those two new types of whiskey you were expecting? They were supposed to arrive today.”
“I did,” Seonghwa replies. “The bottles are still upstairs, however. I didn’t want them to get broken.”
“I’ll have one of your other ones then,” Hongjoong says before turning to Jongho. “What about you, boss?”
“Same as him,” he tells Seonghwa slowly.
Nothing about this makes sense. Seonghwa never comes out from behind the bar; Jongho has honestly never seen his legs until today. But here he is, writing down their orders on a small pad of saniro sticky notes like he isn’t capable of memorizing fifteen drink orders at once.
He looks up after a second, making eye contact with Mingi. He stutters out an order, which Seonghwa again carefully writes down.
It takes Jongho a second to notice, but Seonghwa is trembling the tiniest bit. His hands shake when he goes to slip the pen he was using in his pocket, and his smile is just a little too stretched to be real.
He knows what’s going on, Jongho quickly realizes. Everything he said to Hongjoong was a warning, and based on Hongjoong’s responses he knew it too.
Jongho thinks back, turning the brief exchange over in his head as Seonghwa asks Mr. Lee and Mr. Park if they’d like refills.
He has to hold back a sigh of relief when he figures it out. Two bottles, upstairs where it’s safe. Yunho and Yeosang are upstairs then, likely under guard.
Jongho has no clue how Seonghwa managed to keep his cool enough to figure out Hongjoong’s cryptic question, but he’s very glad he did. Now they know, and in situations like this a tiny bit of information can change everything.
“Now then,” Mr. Lee says when Seonghwa retreats to behind the bar. “Hyungnim, we have a very pressing issue to bring to your attention.”
Jongho nods, gesturing slightly for him to continue.
“We have long been aware of someone who exerts great influence in this company,” he says, leaning forward. “They are dangerous, hyungnim, and must be removed for the health of the whole organization.”
“You have the ability to dispose of your own subordinates,” Jongho tells him after a second. “I do not need to be consulted in this situation.”
“Ahhhhh, that’s where you’re mistaken,” Mr. Lee sighs heavily. Jongho can smell the smoke on his breath from here, mixed with his heavy cologne. “This person is much more than a subordinate, and has been able to steadily weasel his way into even your good graces.”
Jongho barely manages to stop from jumping in his seat when a hand lands carefully on his thigh. He waits a second to risk glancing down briefly, not surprised to see Hongjoong’s hand on his leg.
The touch is a warning. Jongho knows Mr. Lee is talking about Hongjoong; neither he or Mr. Park have been silent in their dislike of him. But this situation is extremely delicate, even without the two innocent lives hanging in balance.
“This sounds like a serious problem,” Jongho says. “What action would you recommend?”
Mr. Lee visibly brightens at this, glancing over at Mr. Park. They’ve clearly discussed this before because Mr. Park is now the one who leans forward, taking the lead now.
“It’s a simple case of infestation,” he says, his voice deceptively gently. “Get rid of the pest entirely is our recommendation.”
“Ah, I see,” Jongho says slowly. “It seems-”
“If I may, hyungnim?”
Jongho can count on one hand the amount of times he’s heard Hongjoong sound so respectful, and all of those times he was talking to Jongho’s father. He almost doesn’t recognize the older man’s voice like this, but still manages to nod.
“Go ahead.”
Hongjoong gives him a respectful nod, then turns to look at Mr. Lee and Mr. Park.
“Gentlemen, this is a delicate situation,” he says easily. “Infestation is difficult to completely get rid of, especially when it has crept so far. There’s only one method I know of that works.”
He pauses for dramatic effect but Jongho is feeling way too on edge right now.
“Spit it out,” he says, a bit harsher than he intended.
Hongjoong doesn’t bat an eye, just grinning slightly.
“A complete purge and reorganization are the best way,” he says. “From the top, down.”
Jongho can almost see the gears in Mr. Lee’s head turn as he tries to figure out what Hongjoong is talking about. The older man thought he was in charge of the conversation, but having the target of his roundabout accusations chime in so enthusiastically is throwing him for a loop.
“Right,” he still manages to say. “Kim is correct, hyungnim. There’s only one way to go about this.”
“I see you all agree on this,” Jongho replies. “Action must be taken then. Hyung, who first?”
He turns fully to look at Hongjoong with that, making it extremely clear who he’s talking to.
Hongjoong’s grin widens when he realizes what Jongho is saying, and he looks from Mr. Lee to Mr. Park slowly.
“I’m not sure yet,” he muses. “Any preference?”
“No,” Jongho tells him. He can feel the confusion radiating off Mr. Lee and Mr. Park. “Rat or pig, they’re both a waste of bullets.”
“Hyungnim, I don’t understand-” Mr. Lee starts to say.
“Shut up,” Hongjoong says evenly, his tone cutting straight through Mr. Lee’s. “You don’t get to talk to me like that.”
“Excuse me?” Mr. Park asks as Mr. Lee visibly bristles. “What did you say to him?”
“I told him to shut up,” Hongjoong replies. “Don’t make me tell you too.”
“The nerve,” Mr. Lee splutters. “You would speak like that in front of your boss?”
Hongjoong has the boldness to laugh at that, tossing his head back. He sounds seconds away from becoming seriously unhinged but Jongho finds he doesn’t care anymore.
This is the end of their charade, and it feels so good. Jongho doesn’t have to pretend, to put up a face. He can simply sit back and let Hongjoong take full control of the car he’d been driving all along.
“Poor Mr. Lee,” Hongjoong sighs when he’s done laughing like a madman. “Always slow on the uptake, aren’t you. I’m the boss now.”
Mr. Lee and Mr. Park both look like they just got punched, eyes almost bugging out of their heads. Jongho would laugh if this was a remotely funny situation.
“Hyungnim-” Mr. Lee starts to say, looking at Jongho.
“None of that,” Hongjoong says sharply. “You look at me when you say my title.”
Jongho can only imagine how this must feel for the two older men. They had come in with a very clear goal, only to have everything entirely yanked out from under their feet without a single shot being fired. He can only admire Hongjoong’s flair for the theatrics; it comes in handy more than you’d think.
“I’ve had enough of this bastard,” Mr. Park snarls and suddenly things are moving very quickly.
Jongho is standing automatically, his chair scraping loudly over the floor as he reaches into his coat. In seconds everyone has a gun out, pointing at each other in a two on three standoff.
“Don’t you dare,” Mr. Lee huffs, slightly out of breath from the quick movements. “We have six men upstairs, just waiting for our signal.”
“Not to mention the punks,” Mr. Park adds. “Kill us and you’ll never know where we put the bodies.”
Jongho doesn’t have to look to know Mingi stiffens beside him. His gun doesn't waver, though, still trained on Mr. Lee’s face. Yunho and Yeosang can’t be dead; Seonghwa would have told them. Plus, Jongho thinks, a dead hostage is a useless one.
“How fast can you signal?” Hongjoong asks, almost casually. “Faster than I can shoot?”
Jongho sincerely hopes he doesn't mean that. The men upstairs are undoubtedly listening for any shots or loud noise from downstairs, and will come charging down the second something seems wrong.
“You wouldn’t-”
Mr. Park is cut off mid sentence by Hongjoong’s full body weight crashing into him. Clearly caught off guard, Hongjoong manages to wrench the gun out of his hands, shoving his own pistol under the taller man’s jaw.
“Want to fucking bet?”
The question is a snarl, and Jongho can watch Mr. Park’s throat bob up and down as he tries to swallow.
“You can’t kill me,” Mr. Park rasps. “You don’t know where the hostages are.”
“They’re upstairs,” Jongho interjects. “You’re not obvious.”
“Exactly,” Hongjoong almost purrs, shoving Mr. Park’s head further up. “So you see we already know and your whole little sham is falling apart. Mingi’s going to go explain everything to our friends and we’ll all be home for dinner.”
“He’ll be shot,” Mr. Lee says from where he’s still standing with his gun pointed at Mingi. “I’m not letting any of you leave here.”
“Well we can’t stay like this forever,” Hongjoong says, a giggle bubbling up in his throat. “Someone has got to go.”
There’s no movement for a long moment, and Jongho can almost count his heartbeats like the ticking of a clock.
“I’ll go.”
The voice comes from Jongho’s left, and it takes him a second to place it as Seonghwa’s. A quick glance over confirms the bartender has stepped closer to the whole scene, his face pale but expression determined.
“Aww, isn’t he a doll,” Hongjoong croons into Mr. Park’s ear. “Now you’re going to give him something as proof, so there’s no doubt this is real.”
Mr. Park nods after a second, as well as he can with a gun jammed under his chin.
“Let go of my hands,” he says. “I’ll give him my ring.”
Jongho can almost see Hongjoong run the risk over in his head. Whatever conclusion he comes to ends with him loosening his grip on Mr. Park’s hands, letting the older man ease his ring off his finger.
What happens next is barely more than a blur from where Jongho is standing. Seonghwa steps forward to take the ring and Mr. Park moves very quickly. Hongjoong is suddenly crying out in either pain or rage; Jongho can’t tell.
By the time they all stop moving, Seonghwa is held tight in Mr. Park’s arms. The gangster has one hand around his throat, the other holding Hongjoong’s gun to the bartender’s temple.
Hongjoong somehow managed to move fast enough to grab Mr. Park’s gun from where it fell to the floor earlier, and he has the gun trained on Mr. Park now. Jongho can tell even from where he’s standing that he doesn’t have a good enough angle to shoot; Seonghwa’s head is directly in the way and there’s no way Hongjoong would risk hitting him.
Seonghwa’s eyes are wide with barely concealed terror as he holds perfectly still. It barely looks like he’s breathing, and he doesn’t break the stare he’s holding with Hongjoong.
Mr. Park laughs, a low and bitter chuckle.
“I knew you wouldn’t,” he sneers. “You talk big but you’re weak.”
“We don’t shoot fucking civilians,” Hongjoong hisses. Jongho can almost see him trying to figure out the situation, trying to find the perfect angle so he can take the shot.
It doesn’t look like he can. Jongho doesn’t even have a clear shot; Mr. Park is almost entirely hidden behind Seonghwa, and any shot would hit the bartender.
“We do when they get in the way,” Mr. Park retorts. “Don’t talk like you haven’t done it yourself.”
Hongjoong shoots back a reply but Jongho isn’t listening. Seonghwa has started to move the tiniest bit, his hand slowly creeping towards his pocket. As Jongho watches, he slips his hand inside at a glacial pace, seemingly searching for something.
Whatever it is, he finds it. The briefest flash of relief washes over his expression, quickly disappearing when Mr. Park presses his gun tighter to Seonghwa’s head in response to something Hongjoong said.
Jongho suddenly remembers it’s Saturday. It’s a fight night; Wooyoung and San will be downstairs.
The two of them have offhandedly mentioned some kind of buzzer system Seonghwa uses as a sort of panic button, one that can reach them when they’re downstairs. That’s what Seonghwa just triggered, Jongho quickly realizes.
That changes everything. Backup is now on the way; things are about to change rapidly.
He shifts without meaning to, tightening up his stance. Hongjoong immediately notices, quickly glancing in his direction before looking back at Mr. Park. Jongho can only assume Mingi does too, and it’s quite likely his glance is much longer than Hongjoong’s.
Whatever it is, Mr. Lee is momentarily left unwatched.
The shot rings out suddenly. It would be surprising, but Jongho has been expecting one for ages now.
Some part of him is almost relieved, even as he throws himself onto the floor. He doesn't have to think for this part.
Mr. Lee’s shot was aimed at Hongjoong, and from what Jongho saw he didn’t miss. The gang leader is now bleeding from a wound on his arm, and may even be without a weapon.
Three rapid shots ring out from where Mr. Park was standing, the noise deafening in such close quarters. Jongho ignores them, knowing he’s aiming at Hongjoong.
He straightens up quickly, locking eyes with Mr. Lee who is still standing. Before the older man can bring his gun around to aim at Jongho, he shoves the table between them straight at him. The table isn’t light, and it hits Mr. Lee right at the hips.
He lets out a sharp grunt, collapsing forward onto the table. That’s as much of an opening as Mingi needs; he’s quickly stepping forward to wrestle the gun out of Mr. Lee’s grip and pin him into place.
The sound of feet on the stairs is an unwelcome reminder that this is only the beginning. Jongho turns around, squeezing off four shots at the stairwell. The bullets embed themselves in the walls, serving as an effective deterrent for the next few seconds.
Jongho looks over just in time to see Wooyoung hit Mr. Park over the head with what looks like a crowbar. He crumples to the ground, taking Seonghwa down with him.
Hongjoong is rushing forward to scoop up his gun. Jongho immediately goes for the table again, this time hauling it around and shoving it on its side to serve as cover.
“Hyung get down!” he yells, ducking behind it.
Mingi is already there, peering around one of the legs to try and get a good shot. Hongjoong hauls Seonghwa up to his feet, grabbing Wooyoung as well before diving behind the table. They barely make it before the first shots start ricocheting around the room from the stairwell.
“This is going to be a shit show,” Mingi complains from beside Jongho, the pout audible in his voice even over the gunfire.
“Just shut up and shoot,” Jongho shrugs. “Nothing we can do about it.”
“Does someone have an extra gun?” Wooyoung demands, his voice too loud for how close they all are.
Jongho is distantly surprised he’s still capable of speaking; he definitely wasn’t at this point in his first firefight.
“Do not give him a gun,” Seonghwa says almost immediately, still sounding terrified.
“Hyung this is important,” Wooyoung tells him. He says something else but both Hongjoong and Jongho letting off shots erases whatever he says.
“We can’t keep this up,” Jongho grits out. “I don’t have the ammo for this.”
“We’ll deal with that when we get there,” Hongjoong retorts.
“Sannie should be here soon,” Wooyoung says casually, like they’re talking about getting lunch. “He’ll take care of those bastards.”
“What!?” Seonghwa yelps. “What do you mean he’ll take care of them!?”
Wooyoung’s reply is drowned out by the sound of glass breaking loudly. Jongho winces when he realizes the bottles of alcohol lining the bar’s back wall are being hit.
“What the fuck!? That’s my stock you assholes-”
Seonghwa is thankfully close enough that Jongho can yank him back to the ground when he starts to straighten up, the force of his scolding making him momentarily forget their situation.
“Save the scolding for later hyung,” Jongho tells him. “There’ll be plenty of time after.”
“I think he wants a gun too,” Wooyoung remarks unhelpfully.
“Hah!” Mingi exclaims. “I got one!”
Jongho risks popping up above the table to fire off several rounds of shots himself, doing his best to aim. He has no clue how many people are left, or how they’re going to deal with them.
“-what did you mean about Sannie?” Seonghwa is asking when he ducks fully behind the table again, letting Mingi take a turn.
“I mean he’s going to help,” Wooyoung answers. “He’s climbing up the fire escape and will take them out from above.”
“WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?!”
Seonghwa’s screech is nearly loud enough to break the remaining bottles on the shelf, and Jongho again has to haul him back down before he can stand up fully.
“Hwa for the love your plushie collection sit the fuck down and stay down,” Hongjoong barks from Wooyoung’s other side.
“How the hell do you know I have a plushie collection?” Seonghwa demands, reeling around to look in Hongjoong’s direction.
Jongho rolls his eyes as he lets off several more shots. Of course they can find something to argue about in the middle of a shootout.
“Guys I think there are less of them now,” Mingi calls out.
“But they’re not gone yet,” Jongho retorts.
“Could someone please give me a gun-” Wooyoung tries only to be harshly shut down by both Hongjoong and Seonghwa, who go right back to arguing.
“Wait I think he’s right,” Jongho says after several more long seconds tick by. It may just be his imagination, but the shots coming from the stairwell are much less frequent now.
“SAN IS THAT YOU?” Wooyoung yells, almost directly into Jongho’s ear.
Jongho finds himself holding his breath as he waits for a reply, his heartbeat thundering in his ears.
“Yeah!” San’s voice yells from upstairs. “Can you stop shooting?”
“He’s going to get himself killed,” Seonghwa says from beside Jongho, and the younger mentally prepares to pull him to the ground if he tries to get up again.
“He’s got this,” Wooyoung replies easily. “He’s a boxer, hyung. This is what he does.”
“This is not what he does,” Seonghwa retorts. “A rigged fight is nothing like an actual shootout!”
“You guys rig your fights?” Mingi asks from Jongho’s other side.
“That’s not important right now,” Seonghwa almost yells, panic beginning to line his words.
Jongho does his best to tune out whatever is going on beside him, trying to figure out what’s going on upstairs. He can’t hear much over the sounds of Wooyoung, Seonghwa, and occasionally Hongjoong arguing, but he thinks he hears several muffled thumps.
Yeosang and Yunho are up there, he remembers suddenly. Jongho isn’t particularly religious despite his mother’s best efforts, but he prays in that moment that the two of them come out of this safe and alive.
He doesn’t ask for Yeosang to not hate him after this is all over. Even he knows that’s pushing it.
Jongho is broken out of his thoughts by San yelling “Don’t shoot,” from the stairwell. It’s only then that he realizes the shots coming from there have completely stopped, leaving the room eerily quiet.
The sound of footsteps reach their position behind the table, then San’s head is peaking around the corner of the stairwell.
“Guys?” he asks after a second. “Are you still alive?”
Wooyoung is the first one to extract himself from the tangle of limbs and splinters of wood on the floor, jumping over the table to sprint across the room into San’s arms.
Jongho straightens up slowly, still on edge. The bar is a mess of broken chairs, tables, and shattered glass, looking more like an active warzone than the high class establishment it should be.
He glances over when Seonghwa stands up, taking in the look of devastation on his face.
“I’m sorry, hyung,” he offers lamely, knowing it’s nowhere near enough.
Seonghwa just shakes his head, moving forward to step over the table. It takes him longer than it did Wooyoung; he’s visibly trembling as the shock likely sets in.
“Are you okay?” Jongho asks when Seonghwa is safely over the table, turning to look at Mingi.
Mingi blinks at him owlishly, nodding after a second. His gaze is more than a little distant, but he’s always like this after a fight.
“Yeah,” he answers. “I’m fine.”
Jongho reaches up to brush the splinters out of his hair, taking a second to look Mingi over to be sure he really isn’t injured anywhere.
Wooyoung, San, and Seonghwa are wrapped in a tight hug at the foot of the stairs when Jongho looks over, with a whole lot of tears. The sight is heartwarming, and Jongho can’t help smiling as he turns to the other person still behind the tables.
Hongjoong is also staring at the group across the room, a strange look in his eyes. He shakes whatever it is off when Jongho clears his throat, meeting his eyes.
“Congratulations.”
Jongho extends his hand, and for a moment Hongjoong just stares down at it. Then he reaches out to shake it, a grin spreading across his face as he does.
“Thank you,” Jongho tells him honestly. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”
“Sure you could have,” Hongjoong replies, still grinning. “You’re a smart kid, and one hell of an actor.”
Jongho laughs at that, the adrenaline in his system making everything a bit funnier than it should be.
He knows that isn’t it though. He’s free for the first time in years and it feels fantastic.
Hongjoong shifts beside him, crossing his arms as he does so. Jongho looks over, and is abruptly reminded of the fact that the older man got shot.
“Um hyung?” he says. “Are you going to do something about that?”
Hongjoong barely glances at the wound sluggishly leaving blood down his bicep, making a dismissive sound. Jongho has been through this many times, though, and knows exactly what to do.
“Seonghwa hyung?” he calls out, raising his voice to be easily heard. “Do you have a first aid kit?”
Seonghwa’s head almost immediately shoots up, and Jongho doesn’t bother to hide his smirk at the indignant noise that escaped Hongjoong.
“Are you hurt?” Seonghwa asks, extracting himself from Wooyoung and San’s combined hug.
“No, but hyung is,” Jongho supplies easily. He doesn’t miss the way Seonghwa’s expression immediately creases in concern, his pace hurried as he crosses the room.
“Don’t move,” he tells Hongjoong when he gets closer. “I’m going to get the first aid kit.”
“Don’t bother,” Hongjoong tries. “It’s just a scratch-”
“Kim Hongjoong, don’t you dare try to argue with me right now.”
Jongho has seen and heard many scary things in his life, but none of them come close to Seonghwa in this moment. The normally soft and comforting bartender looks like he wouldn’t hesitate to shred anyone who gets in his way, and Jongho suddenly has no interest in talking back.
It quickly becomes apparent that Hongjoong comes to the same conclusion.
“Should have given him a gun,” the gang leader mutters under his breath, just quiet enough that Seonghwa doesn’t hear it.
Jongho stifles a chuckle as Hongjoong tries to look nonchalant while watching Seonghwa carefully step behind the bar. He’s so absorbed in watching the mini drama unfold in front of him that he doesn’t hear the two other sets of footsteps coming down the stairs.
It’s Wooyoung suddenly speaking in English that gets Jongho’s attention, and he turns without thinking about it.
“Nice of you guys to join us,” he’s saying with a grin, and Jongho’s stomach drops because Yeosang and Yunho are right there.
To his relief, they both look unharmed for the most part. Yunho’s eyes are wide as he takes in the damage to the room while Yeosang’s expression is just a slight frown tinged with confusion.
“Mingi, can you make sure Mr. Lee and Park are out cold?” Hongjoong asks, clearly noticing the newcomers as well. “I’d prefer no more fucking surprises”
Mingi mutters a half-audible acknowledgement, having to tear his gaze away from where Yunho is. The tips of his ears are almost the same shade of pink as his hair as he turns away.
“So, um,” Yunho says slowly, his gaze flicking between everyone in the room. “I guess you guys did know each other?”
It takes Jongho a long second to realize he’s talking about the lie they told a while ago, about not knowing Wooyoung and San.
“Yeah, we do,” Wooyoung answers casually, slinging his arm over San’s shoulder.
“Right,” Yunho says, trailing off.
They all kind of stare at each other for a long moment. Only Seonghwa seems to be oblivious, muttering quietly to himself as he hunts for the first aid kit behind the bar.
Jongho straight up doesn’t know what to say or do. He has been lying to Yeosang and Yunho from the day he met them and doesn’t even know where to begin telling the truth. He tries his best to avoid eye contact with Yeosang, afraid of what he’ll see there.
“Well isn’t this a fucking treat,” Hongjoong snorts after a while. “As entertaining as all this staring is, I have things I need to do. Ask whatever questions are brewing up there and spare me the drama.”
“What’s going on,” Yunho promptly says. “I know something is up, and has been for a long time. What is it, and how did it end up with Yeosang and I drugged and tied up in a closet?”
His expression is firm, with no hesitation in his words. Jongho can’t help being impressed, and he can tell Hongjoong is too.
“All right then,” he says with a grin. “Take a seat, will you? I hate talking about serious things while standing.”
They all start moving at that, unable to ignore the note of command in Hongjoong’s statement. San and Wooyoung drag several chairs still in decent shape around one of the tables, making sure there are enough for everyone. Yeosang is the first one to sit, and Yunho follows his lead.
“Hwa, can I go sit?” Hongjoong asks, glancing over at the bar.
Seonghwa has crouched fully behind the bar, and he straightens up enough to peer over the top after a second.
“Yes,” he says reluctantly. “But be careful.”
“I will,” Hongjoong promises, and Jongho doesn’t think he could get any more surprised. He’s never heard Hongjoong sound this well behaved, especially after a prolonged fire fight where he got injured.
The gang leader begins moving towards the table, gesturing after a second for Jongho and Mingi to follow him. Jongho takes a seat next to San, resolutely staring at Hongjoong instead of Yunho or Yeosang.
“Well then,” Hongjoong says when they’re all sitting. “You want to know what's going on?”
Yunho nods, still looking determined.
“Introductions are in order first,” Hongjoong says, shifting his weight. He hasn’t sat down yet, and is clearly just planning on standing at the head of the table. “My name is Hongjoong. I know you’re Yunho, but I don’t know you.”
He points at Yeosang, and the blond blinks a few times.
“I’m Yeosang,” he answers. “Kang Yeosang.”
Hongjoong makes a little noise of understanding, glancing over at Jongho with a twinkle in his eyes. He thankfully doesn’t dwell on the moment, clearly wanting to get this over with.
“Now that we’ve got that cleared up, here’s the deal,” he continues. “I’m the leader of a mafia. Jongho is the son of the founder, and Mingi is his bodyguard. They both work for me, more or less.”
“Hold up,” Wooyoung interjects. “I thought Jongho was the leader.”
“We pretended I was,” Jongho says, leaning forward to make eye contact with him. “The older men wouldn’t have accepted Hongjoong as leader, so I acted like I was instead.”
“Ahhh,” Wooyoung says, with San echoing the noise almost automatically.
“Anyways,” Hongjoong says. “The two of you got kidnapped because the old bastards were trying to teach me a lesson. You just happened to walk into the trap meant for Mingi and Jongho, and they got you instead.”
Yunho’s expression is serious as he tries to wrap his mind around all of this. Yeosang is just staring blankly, his face perfectly even.
Jongho swallows hard, trying to ignore the way his heart is pounding out of his chest. He straightens in his chair, knowing it’s now or never.
“Um, if I may,” he says quickly right when Hongjoong is opening his mouth again. The older man immediately shuts it, in the manner he’s perfected over the last few years.
This leaves Jongho with nothing to do but speak. He turns to face Yunho and Yeosang now, knowing this needs eye contact.
“I’m sorry,” he says as evenly as he can. “I know we lied to you in a lot of ways and I know it doesn’t change what we did, but it was all for your protection. This type of life is dangerous, and just being around us can put you at risk. It was better for everyone if you didn’t know.”
He doesn't know what he had been expecting; maybe disgust or even hatred. Instead he’s met with expressions on his two friends that look suspiciously understanding.
“We’re not mad,” Yunho says, glancing over at Yeosang to make sure he agrees. “Getting kidnapped put a damper on my plans, but that’s about it. We don’t blame you; it all makes sense now.”
Jongho stares at him for a long moment, having to force himself to nod after the look drags on past the point of normalcy. Never in his wildest dreams did he think it would be this easy; this moment almost doesn’t feel real.
Yunho asks a whole list of questions afterwards that Jongho and Hongjoong do their best to answer. Wooyoung does his best to murmur rough translations to both Mingi and San, who can’t quite follow the conversation at this speed. At some point Seonghwa comes back to the table with the biggest first aid kit Jongho has ever seen, and he proceeds to begin patching Hongjoong up.
Jongho knows he’s more than a little out of it at this point, but he can’t bring himself to return fully. Time passes, and he finds himself standing by the table.
“Aish, stop moving!” Seonghwa is saying, reaching out to swat Hongjoong. He’s trying to wrap a bandage around the other’s arm, and his efforts keep getting undone by the gang leader shifting.
Hongjoong mutters something under his breath, doing a poor job of looking annoyed. He can’t stop smiling, and Jongho can tell he’s borderline ecstatic to have Seonghwa this close and caring so visibly.
Tearing his gaze away after a moment, Jongho glances around the room. Mingi and Yunho are standing a short distance away, talking to each other softly. Yunho is turned so Jongho can make out most of his face, his expression deeply apologetic and a little sheepish too.
While how close they’re standing would normally have Jongho’s hackles rising, he can tell Mingi isn’t tense or more anxious than normal. He is nodding to something Yunho just said, and seems relatively at ease.
Wooyoung and San are still sitting at the table, and are both watching Hongjoong and Seonghwa. They are giggling together about something when Jongho looks over, hiding behind their combined hands as they lean against each other.
Yeosang went to the bathroom a few minutes ago; Jongho remembers that much. He still needs to talk to the blond; he needs to make sure he’s actually okay for one.
By the time Yeosang comes down the stairs, Jongho’s hands are sweaty and his heart rate has jumped again. He forces himself to move before he can start second guessing himself, and is soon right in front of Yeosang.
“Are you okay?” Jongho blurts out, needing to say something.
“Yeah,” Yeosang answers. “A little headache from the drugs but that’s it.”
“Good,” Jongho says too quickly. “I’m glad.”
Yeosang gives him a slight smile at that.
“I’m sorry,” Jongho says abruptly. He knows he’s talking too much and too fast, but he can’t stop himself. “I understand if you hate me and don’t ever want to talk to me again, but I promise I was and am actually your friend. That wasn’t a lie.”
Yeosang frowns at that, tilting his head as well. Jongho can only take that as a sign of rejection, and is seconds away from excusing himself as quickly as possible when the blond speaks.
“Why would I hate you?” he asks, sounding confused. “I understand why you lied, and I don’t blame you for it.”
“Really?” is all Jongho can say. He knows his eyes have to be incredibly wide in disbelief.
“Really,” Yeosang says with a smile. “You’re my best friend; of course I want to keep hanging out with you and stuff.”
“Oh. Okay.”
Yeosang giggles softly at that, the sound so cute that it makes Jongho laugh as well, his cheeks heating up unintentionally. They’re standing in the wreckage of every lie Jongho has ever told, and they’re laughing and still friends. None of this feels real, but if it’s a dream Jongho doesn’t want to wake up.
“Speaking of,” Yeosang says when their laughter calms down. “I have a shoot I need to do sometime next week. Would you be willing to model for it?”
“Yeah,” Jongho says with a chuckle. “Yeah I’d be down for that.”
Yeosang smiles, and Jongho is suddenly very sure everything is going to turn out just fine from here on out.
“Hey, Jjongie! Stop flirting and get over here!”
Jongho whips around, thankful Hongjoong decided to yell in Korean instead of a language Yeosang can understand. Everyone has gathered around the table again, and San is pouring shots into whatever glasses they can find that aren’t broken.
“We’re doing a toast,” Wooyoung explains. “Sangie, come too.”
The two of them obey, accepting glasses from San when he’s finished pouring them.
“Be careful of glass shards,” Seonghwa warns. “There might be some in there.”
Jongho relays the warning to Yeosang, who scrutinizes his drink carefully.
“Alright, um, drink on three-” Hongjoong starts to say, only to be interrupted by indignant shouts from San, Wooyoung, and Mingi.
“You have to toast to something, hyung,” Mingi insists, with San and Wooyoung backing him up loudly.
“What the fuck are we supposed to toast to?” Hongjoong demands, his annoyance clearly faked.
“New friends,” Wooyoung suggests.
“New beginnings,” Jongho says.
“Destruction of property,” Seonghwa deadpans.
Hongjoong laughs at all of those, raising his glass.
“Sounds good to me.”