Chapter Text
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tw: graphic gore
A party. A masquerade ball, at that.
If Kim Hongjoong was good for anything, it was theatrics.
Yeosang wasn’t in much of a mood for socializing. The days after his ascension had left him an anxious wreck, second-guessing himself down to his every breath. His father had made it seem so easy, so natural. He was kind and considerate, yet still commanded the respect and loyalty of his subordinates, which was voluntarily given to him. They trusted Kang Sangwook, everyone did.
Would they learn to trust Kang Yeosang? Was he worthy of that trust?
Could he even trust himself?
Sitting on the edge of his bed, he pressed his face into his palms. He’d been instructed to take his father’s room as the new boss after it had been processed for evidence, but he couldn’t do it. The ghost of the man roamed those rooms, whether it was in Yeosang’s mind or otherwise, he didn’t want to know. His body was buried in the dirt, but his memories found their rest in that sepulchre. No one had touched anything in there after, not to his knowledge at least. He shared in his father’s desire to preserve, much as he had done after his mother had died after giving birth to him, her dresses still hanging next to his suits to that day.
A heavy rap on the door made him jump. It had only been a day, but the sound was already becoming familiar.
“Come in, Jongho.”
The wooden door slid open carefully to reveal the guard, sporting a black shirt and tie under his black blazer instead of the usual white in preparation for the party. He entered and closed it silently, not taking another step into the room, then bowed at a perfect 90 degree angle. Yeosang grimaced.
“Please don’t bow to me, Jongho. If I must, I order you to stop that. I’m pretty sure you’re older than me, anyway.”
“I’m not, if you must know. I’m a year and change younger.”
A few things caught him by surprise. Of course, the guard would know of his age, as he was probably briefed and trained to memorize everything about him before entering his service, and yet Yeosang knew nothing about him past his name and age. By the way the guard carried himself and his stoic demeanour, he could have sworn he was older. It only made the leader more anxious, the sudden realisation or reminder that men much younger than him were within his care, as employees or mercenaries in training.
His face twisted with more queasiness. Those thoughts did nothing to help his nerves.
“Are you ready, sir?”
The boss clenched his jaw before standing, his black crushed silk shirt undone until his belly button, long bow ties hung to the sides of his bare chest. Though they were strangers, Yeosang didn’t mind this level of exposure. He was sure that maybe one day, Jongho might be privy to much worse, so better get used to it sooner rather than later. A gold watch with black double pearl straps made its way to his wrist, and a few delicate puffs of his cologne to his neck and wrists before his fingers worked rapidly up his shirt and culminated into tying an elegant bow that sat off-center to his throat. Finally, he worked a shiny black belt through his dress pant loops, its rectangular gold buckle matching the rectangular face of the watch. He monitored himself in his full-length mirror, then turned to the other man in the room.
“How do I look?” he asked shyly.
It was the most he had seen the guard smile, although he hadn’t seen him bare his teeth yet. “You look great, if I say so myself. The car is waiting for you, when you’re ready.”
“I- yes, uhm…”
Jongho studied him, but not in a way that made him squirm like when he was in the conference room in front of the officials. In fact, the man exuded patience, a silent blessing Yeosang was quickly growing to appreciate. He didn’t ask questions, he just waited, held space. Maybe this was why Dongseok, in his infinite wisdom, had chosen him to be his personal guard and assistant.
“Sorry, I’m just worried of what the others will think. I’ve never been in this position before, and then add to that, it’s been forever since I’ve been to a ball.” Yeosang huffed, choosing honesty and vulnerability once again. “I guess I’m just as worried about tripping on my feet as I am my words.”
The man continued to look at him for a moment, then brought his hands to his sides.
“Permission to approach?”
Yeosang sighed. “Please, again. You don’t need to be so formal with me. If you wish to approach, just do so.”
He took a few steps forward until they were only a step apart. The boss’ eyes widened, cheeks tinged pink, not understanding why they needed to be so close when it was just the two of them in the room, leaning back a bit but not backing away. Jongho’s intense eyes stayed on him, then slowly raised his forearms towards him.
“...Permission to touch?”
“I said-”
“You gave permission to approach, not to touch.”
Yeosang gulped slightly, unable to take air into his lungs. “Y-yes, you may touch.”
As if he were made of glass, warm, gentle hands lifted his arms up, extending the right to rest his hand in his, and the left rested on his shoulder, elbows pointing outwards.
“Like this?” the guard asked with simple curiosity.
“Y…yes, although this is how it would be if you were leading the dance.”
“Do you usually lead?”
“I go both ways,” Yeosang replied breathily, still not used to their closeness. “Do you know how to dance?”
“Just what I’ve seen in movies, so maybe you can teach me to jog your memory.”
All he could do was nod, relenting to teach Jongho how to lead instead of being led. The guard was right. As he began describing the steps, it slowly came back to him, counting in time of a classic waltz. Jongho was a fast learner, he noted, as he picked up the movements with ease and only a couple moments of stepped toes at the beginning. They did a few turns until Yeosang felt confident again, refreshed in his skill, and separated himself from the man.
“You did well, although with your training maybe learning how to move in time with someone else comes naturally to you,” he complimented as he grabbed his black blazer and heavy black wool overcoat.
Jongho stepped back and returned his hands behind him. “I had a wonderful teacher. Feeling better now?”
He nodded, smiling contentedly. “Much better, thank you. Let's get going.”
The guard nodded, then came closer again to take Yeosang’s overgarments, holding the blazer open for him. The leader couldn’t help but blush even further, but didn’t fight him as he allowed Jongho to dress him. Thankfully, he didn’t go as far as to button and tie the overcoat for him. Once done, Jongho slid the door to his room open and motioned for him to leave first.
“Did they teach you all of this when they prepped you for my service?” Yeosang asked, jokingly.
That intense look again.
“No, but it just feels right.”
Oh.
Not knowing how to respond, the boss sucked in his lower lip, distracting himself by putting on his gloves as he paced down the hallway.
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“Wow, fancy meeting you here! To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You really need to get new greetings. You already used that one on me.”
The interior of one of the many Kim countryside properties had been decorated from floor to ceiling to mimic an antique masquerade ball from many centuries ago; freshly washed and pressed white and gold curtains hung over large arched windows, tables delicately embellished in the finest cutlery and dishes on top of crisp cream cloths and topped with stark black napkins, centerpieces of cascading pink and white roses amid verdant greenery, and candles... Candles wherever it was safe to put them. The tables surrounded the perimeter of a slightly raised, rich wood dance floor, and beyond that, on an elevated stage of their own, a chamber orchestra playing majestic arrangements, both modern and classical.
Wooyoung thought that he had found proper cover behind a rotund vase of even more overflowing flowers to sip his champagne in peace, but the bodyguard he knew would inevitably be there found him still, as if it were his job to do so past simply keeping track of the people within the main room and others on the ground floor. He wanted to drown himself in his drink, regretting giving him an inch with their coffee the previous evening since he was now taking a mile.
San rocked on his heels like an excited school kid who found their crush on the playground. “Did I? Sorry.”
“Do you say it to all the pretty boys that go to the compound, if you don’t remember saying it to me?” He asked, not particularly caring about the answer, but more so to entertain himself at a stuffy elite party.
“No,” the guard remained professional as he surveyed the crowd, but there was a tone of genuine concern in his voice, “no, not at all. I am actually really happy to see you.”
Wooyoung side-eyed him over the rim of his champagne glass, and even though San’s face stayed forward, his eyes were locked onto him.
“Mmh,” was all he could say before gulping down more alcohol. “That’s nice.”
“Is it?”
His head snapped to him again. Yesterday’s San was confident at the compound, and at the cafe. Maybe a little shy and awkward as they asked each other superficial questions to get to know each other better, but his expressions as they spoke were… soft, friendly, respectful, polite , even. Both understood that they couldn’t go too deep, Wooyoung being close to the family but still an outsider, and both of their professions requiring them to dance on a knife’s edge, sometimes literally. Being an information broker, or a spy, dependent on the contract, meant that he had to be an unbreakable vault of secrets, including his own. Anyone getting too close could jeopardize everything for him, or put a target on himself and the other person. It was easier to be alone, and to nip any feelings at the bud.
Yet, he found himself not wanting to hurt San’s feelings, nor to be untruthful about their meeting yesterday. Life gave him very little opportunities to be completely honest, so he would take them where he could get them.
“It is, San. I’m happy you’re here too.”
The man beamed in a way that put the sun to shame. “I’m glad, and relieved that our coffee yesterday didn’t cause you to run away from me.”
“Could have done a little less with the extensive, in-depth explanation about your workout or diet routine, but all in all not a horrible experience.”
San puckered his lips and puffed out his cheeks in childlike glee. He would never admit it, but the spy found it… adorable. “I appreciate you sitting through it. You’re a great listener.”
“I’m just keeping tally so that when it’s my turn to yap about something, you’re going to have to sit there and take it too,” he quipped back, but immediately regretted his words.
The guard’s face flushed pink with open-mouthed surprise, then clicked his jaw shut and looked forward again. The spy thought he would explode.
“So… does that mean you want to hang out again?”
“That’s- That’s not-” He could feel himself dig a hole around his feet. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no , but…”
Fuck. Fuck it.
Wooyoung growled exasperatedly then spoke in a low voice. “Look, we’ve both got jobs to do tonight, so right now isn’t the best time to talk about this, and we’ve been hanging around the same spot for too long, it’s suspicious.”
In the meantime, San felt the spy’s hand brush against his own, a small strip of cardstock dragging between his fingers.
“Have a good night, San.”
Before he could respond, Wooyoung had already turned on his heel and made his way through the crowd at a normal, mingling pace. He was a complete natural.
Not wanting to draw attention, San ran the pad of his thumb over the paper, feeling the embossed numbers printed there.
Outside, tires crunched on the gravel of the circular driveway curing towards the countryside home. It hadn’t been a long drive, maybe thirty, forty-five minutes outside of Halazia, not that he was the one driving anyway.
He was surprised when the invitation hit his desk earlier that day, beautiful, handmade, gold calligraphy framed by painted white and pink roses and black ribbon. When he opened it to read the inscription, he noticed that both his name and the sender’s had been written in black ink, a deliberate request for his presence, and a show of to whom the intention belonged.
Kim Hongjoong . Hard not to know the name in this city, within their overlapping circles. However, it had always been his parents invited to these parties, never him directly.
Yet there was his name on the card, penned by the host himself.
“Seonghwa, we’re here.”
“Thank you, Doyoon.”
A valet pulled his door open, presenting him to a lengthy black carpet that connected to the driveway and led up the stone steps, flanked by curved staircases and sculpted railings in the style of faraway countries known for their romantic flourishes. The railings and large vases were decorated in spiraling arrangements of the same white and pink roses on his card, directing him to the warm light radiating from the house.
It was a spectacular display, but the warnings of his parents echoed in his head. To not fall for the trap of glitz and glamour, to learn why he was summoned, enjoy his evening, and report back at home.
To remember that he was the mayor’s son, and to act like it.
He was used to playing that character, a tired role he rehashed time and time again. With practiced ease, he donned his invisible mask underneath his physical one- a pale blue visor with feathers, pearls, and rhinestones confectioned exquisitely to go with his thigh-length, high-neck, long sleeve powder blue blouse fitted to his waist then flared over white wide-leg pants and sharp dress shoes- and climbed up the stairs with his head held high, shoulders back.
Let's see if the legends are true .
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“He’s here.”
Yunho’s voice was low against his ear, interrupting a conversation he was having with one of his many guests. Not that it mattered, he would have invited the main event alone if he could, without drawing too much attention, but it just so happened to line up perfectly with his annual end-of-year party, just before the holidays.
Flashing a toothy grin, he excused himself politely from the men he was speaking to, and tore away to follow his assistant.
“How long?”
“Five minutes, barely handed a champagne glass and removed his coat.”
“Is he alone?”
The guard nodded, then motioned him to the centre of the dancefloor. The kingpin palmed his satin vest tailored to perfection to his narrow waist, his white sleeves flouncing with delicate ruffles at the cuffs and the modestly buttoned chest, then removed the dripping gold and black half-mask embellished with molded golden roses and dotted with sparkling crystals to reveal his face. Without having to request it, a microphone was placed in his hand, but the room was already silent before he began to speak.
“Good evening, my esteemed guests! I’m honoured to be in your presence tonight, and appreciate you all taking the time to make it to my… modest party.”
The joke earned him polite, classy laughs.
“As you all know, the Kim family founded the tradition of having this end of year celebration, alongside the Kangs, to mark another year of shared prosperity and peace many, many years ago. So much so that this is the thirtieth anniversary of our triumphs, and my family is lucky enough to be the host this year, so of course, I had to go all out. That being said, may I please present to you the new leader of the Kang family, making his official debut tonight. Mr. Kang, if you could please join me.”
Gasps filled the room when the unknowing guests saw Yeosang rise instead of Daejung, or even Myungki, who were sitting at the same table. The man seemed nervous, but after removing his black mask and a quick glance around the room, did a small nod towards a spot on the wall, then joined Hongjoong at the dancefloor. Against all of his wishes, he was handed the microphone into his free hand, champagne in the other.
“T-thank you, Mr.Kim. I, uh… appreciate the effort and consideration that has gone into upholding this lovely tradition. I will do my best to- mm… match the high bar you have set for next year. I know both of our fathers would be proud to see us continue their legacies, and in my belief, they are already watching over us.”
He turned to Hongjoong and raised his flute glass.
“Please raise your glasses with us for a toast, and then I shall let you all get back to your perfect evening.”
With that, every hand in the room was elevated.
“To peace.” Hongjoong dedicated, a smile curling his lips.
“To peace,” Yeosang repeated, loud enough only for the man beside him to hear.
“To peace!” The room echoed, then fell back into chatter mixed in with the orchestra starting up again, people taking it as a cue to truly mingle uninterrupted now that the formalities were over.
The older leader leaned in after taking a sip of his champagne, whispering into Yeosang’s ear. The other nodded, giggled nervously, and they parted ways. He did need to speak to the newly appointed boss, but it would have to wait. Time and subtlety were of the essence for his current mission.
As he rounded the side of the room, not yet ready to put the next part of his plan in motion, two towering guards intercepted him. As they were security, they weren’t wearing masks as the guests were, but both were dressed smartly in elegant outfits. Yunho’s was all-black, button up shirt tucked into his pants, which had white detailing at the belt and down the seams. Mingi matched him in an all-white, with black lapels and fashionably oversized to highlight his pronounced chest and many chains that hung from his neck. This was in contrast to the other guards that were at the event who were all in suits, as Hongjoong never liked for those closest to him to have to abide by arbitrary, unspoken propriety. After previous, bloody incidents where others had tried to enforce on him how to run his crew, no one dared to tell him otherwise.
The man in white whistled, tracing the figure of the tall glass of water at the top of the steps that descended into the ballroom.
“Damn Yunho, you did well. I knew the mayor’s son was a looker, but didn’t know he could get that dolled up, even when we can’t see his face.”
Half-lidded eyes glared at him darkly for a moment before a knowing smirk crooked his lips. “Only the best for our boss, of course.”
“Hopefully he’ll be a view you’ll both have to get used to,” Hongjoong added, going over the details of his outfit once more. “Final check.”
The twin towers looked him over, Yunho refolding a section of the ruffles spilling out over his vest with precision.
“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Mingi chuckled as he straightened up with a hand on his boss’ shoulder, no longer lowered to Hongjoong’s height. “You’ll kill it.”
“ Kill it , Mings?” Yunho reacted in subdued disbelief, his voice gentle.
“What? What’s wrong with it?”
Hongjoong shook his head, not wanting to stand between the oncoming shenanigans. “Stay sharp, I won’t say it twice.”
Both men dropped their smiles then dipped their heads in respect at the order, watching as their leader disappeared into the crowd. They’d stay on him, leaving the general surveillance to the other guards under Hongjoong’s payroll, to make sure that nothing, absolutely nothing , came in the way of his first encounter with his target. Inconspicuous steps took them close to the head table, yet still stuck to the wall, moonlight on their backs while the dimmed, candle and chandelier-lit glow outlined them from the front. Neither said nothing, but coldness stretched between them, with a familiar, electrifying crackle lurking underneath.
“A looker, huh?”
The game had begun. Mingi cleared his throat and stuck his hands in his pockets.
“Is Mad Dog looking for a new owner?” the voice beside him pressed, like a rumble after lightning.
He wouldn’t turn his head. If he did, he’d lose. But Yunho… Yunho always won in the end. That wouldn’t stop him from trying though, it was part of the fun.
“You’re the one with a collar on tonight, are you sure it isn’t you the one looking?” he sniffed, hunching his shoulders a bit more.
A shift in the atmosphere, air sucked out of the room. Again, he didn’t have to look to know what expression was on the other man’s face, a dangerous glint usually hidden beneath a mask. Mingi knew exactly which buttons to press to keep the game going, but a button too many would set the bomb off too early. The jab at Yunho’s dominance would come with its consequences later, however he was the one who controlled the severity of them, like adjusting the thermostat.
“Wouldn’t you like to be the one who held the leash, for once,” Yunho bit back under his breath.
He decided that he’d like to be able to walk tomorrow, then gently leaned into Yunho’s shoulder and turned his head slightly to whisper. “But it looks so pretty in your hands…”
A hand snaked under his blazer and traced the hem of his pants, nails scraping roughly into his bare skin until they reached his opposite hip and dug in deep. Mingi didn’t flinch despite the pain, the shiver down his spine a welcome shockwave through his body. He was rewarded with lips pressed to his ear, lingering there before they moved to speak.
“Sit here like a good boy, I need to check something.”
The guard didn’t have to acknowledge the order, only focus his sharp eyes back onto Hongjoong’s back. With another press into his tanned skin, the fingers released him and Yunho was gone.
Hongjoong had been planning for this moment since Yunho had presented him with Seonghwa’s file. His assistant had known with just one look over the information he’d been able to gather himself and from their trusted sources that his boss wouldn’t be able to resist- the mayor’s son, the missing piece, and a gorgeous one at that. His target was being led to his seat by one of the maitre d’s, but before the staff could push the seat under him, Hongjoong’s hands were on the back of the chair, taking over. Surprise took the other two men aback, the maitre d’ immediately backing away with his hands raised to his chest. Gracefully, Seonghwa accepted Hongjoong’s gentlemanly action as he made himself comfortable at his place.
“Thank you… mm?” the mayor’s son inquired, his elegant hand posed in front of his collarbone, visible beneath the pale blue fabric of his blouse.
“Hongjoong, Kim Hongjoong,” he smiled, unable to contain his zeal as he took his seat beside him. “You must be Park Seonghwa.”
“In the flesh.”
Whether it was the chatter and bustling of the room around them or something else, the air was buzzing. Behind the mask, silver eyes were studying him with cold discernment, like a hungry siren in the water, which made him bubble with anticipation to know the machinations behind them. Seonghwa’s file had listed brown eyes, but the leader appreciated the dedication to the details to match his chosen appearance. Bit by bit, things were locking into place.
“May I?” Hongjoong extended out his hand, asking for his.
Apprehensive at first, his guest placed his hand in his palm, allowing the host to plant a soft kiss on his knuckles as he brought his hand closer. Seonghwa was thankful that his mask covered half his face, and remembered his parents’ warnings.
“I must apologize to you before anything, sweet prince, for the last-minute invitation to my party,” Hongjoong returned the hand to its owner gently. “I know that usually your parents would be invited to this function, but I didn’t want to miss the opportunity to meet you in all of your glory.”
Laying it on a little thick, aren’t we? The same thought crossed both their minds. Regardless, neither faltered.
Seonghwa sipped his champagne then set it down without a sound. “I am curious why I’m here and not them, or if you wanted to meet me as well, why not invite all three of us?”
“I said all of your glory, didn’t I? If I wanted to have the same tired conversation with relics of the past while only able to get your name and nothing else, I would have extended the invitation to them as well.”
His parents only attended this party out of necessity, to show that the city stood with the families that helped build it, but behind closed doors, his father and many politicians before and around him harboured generational resentment towards what these thugs could get away with in the city. A necessary evil, they called it, having to turn a blind eye to the mafia organizations that upheld the structure, yet let rats crawl beneath the floorboards. The mayor’s son didn’t know whether to be offended or amazed. Hongjoong had complimented him and insulted his parents in the same breath, and yet…he couldn’t help but agree with his host. If he had to sit through another soapbox rant, or venomous hushed conversations while they stuffed their faces on the Kim’s dime, he was sure his ears were going to fall off.
Damn, he’s good.
“Well, I appreciate your consideration. It’s been a while since I’ve been invited to a private event like this on my own,” Seonghwa bit his lip before continuing, “I’m used to being a showpony not much else.”
It was true, the mayor’s son was a socialite, mostly working as the face of different charities or movements to improve his father’s ratings. Seonghwa did take the causes to heart, however, but every outfit, every move, every word out of his mouth was carefully assigned to him by the public relations team. The general population couldn’t tell, as he was genuine in the support of his father, yet he was only there to parrot his beliefs, his ideals. His thoughts were never allowed to be his own, and at twenty-six, he didn’t know how much longer he could go before his spark would completely dissipate.
“What a shame, really,” Hongjoong leaned back in his chair to drink, wetting his lips with the alcohol, “I’m much more interested in what you think, especially as a young adult in our society.”
What he thought. Would he even dare? His hands slept on each other on his lap.
“I don’t know how to properly explain it, but we’re on the verge of something. A big change. And no, I don’t mean a contrived PR stunt or anything like that. I’ve spent enough years in the political spotlight to recognize puppets and masterminds when I see them.”
Icy eyes were on the kingpin again, chilling him to the bone, all shyness gone.
“Which one are you, Kim Hongjoong?”
With parted lips, Hongjoong stared.
Not just a pretty face after all.
Before he could reply, the dimmed chandeliers flickered then lost all light, drowning the room in inky, blinding darkness alongside the realisation that most of the candles had been extinguished. Exclamations erupted from the crowd, worried gasps and murmurs wondering if this was all a part of the spectacle. The guards along the walls began to move towards their designated officials, their sudden change in location inciting subdued panic. Hongjoong could feel Mingi’s body heat on his back before he could stand, the boss’ hand already on the mayor’s son and dragging him into his protective arms.
“What’s going on?” Seonghwa asked in hushed concern.
He didn’t respond, every one of his senses heightened by adrenaline in the dark. “Mingi.”
“On it,” the large white form stalked ahead like a wolf in the dark before Seonghwa could even make out his face.
More shuffled footsteps, a stampede heading for the door when no one could see where they were going, gasps exploding into shouts and strained shrieks. Hongjoong debated making an announcement to calm the people but also didn’t want to give away his position, especially not when Seonghwa was pressed against him. Every second was ticking in his brain, a hand white-knuckling the entree knife at his table placement while the other wrapped around his guest’s waist.
“Tell me what’s happening,” the taller man ordered, the concern boiling with increased gravity.
“I don’t-”
The chandeliers flickered back on, this time brighter than they were before. Painfully so.
Then a horrifying scream.
Hongjoong quickly whipped his head around to find the source, yet found the cause instead.
Trampled, disembowelled, blood smeared all over the dancefloor in the direction of the door. In the darkness, no one could tell that they were tripping over the viscous liquid and internal organs that now dyed the hems of the pants and dresses of the guests that had crossed over him, the eviscerated man whose body parts spread over the rich wood like a grotesque platter. More blood poured out of his mouth like a dormant fountain, twitching in his final moments of life as the light left his eyes.
People were already racing out the door when Hongjoong let go of Seonghwa, screams drowning out all other sounds. Mingi had returned to them, out of breath, a shake of his head to let them know that he didn’t know what happened either just yet. Silently, the boss went to give the mayor’s son the knife he was holding, only to see that he too had taken his from his place.
“Stay here,” he said with quiet wrath lurking beneath his tone, as he turned to approach the display of utter disrespect now soiling his estate.
When he reached the body, he crouched to survey the cuts and search for identifiers. He recognized the man as one of his lower-ranking officials, in charge of one of his many trade routes out of and within the city. Not large enough a fish to destabilise the family, but definitely not small enough to go fairly unnoticed.
His death was a taunt, a challenge. Hongjoong reached for a paper sticking out of the man’s front pocket.
tO PeAcE the note said, scrawled in almost unreadable, mocking handwriting.
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