Chapter Text
Jimin sat in his bedroom, counting his money. Unlike what Yoongi’d hoped for, Jimin wasn’t ruined. Insurance was fronting a large portion of the bill, and the rest was covered by his very lucrative side businesses.
“You should have killed him when you had the manpower,” Taehyung exhaled, butt naked on the bed, smoking his fifth cigarette.
“I don’t need manpower.” Jimin clicked his teeth in annoyance, losing count. “It’s a very simple operation. I go in. I get out.”
“You think he’s just gonna let you shoot him,” Taehyung laughed. “God, why do I find that so funny?”
It was true though. Yoongi wouldn’t stop him. That man was too far gone.
“What are you still doing here, Tae?” Jimin hissed, recounting the stack, yet again. “Didn’t dick you good enough?”
“I like talking after,” Tae hummed. “I’m happy.”
“I don’t,” Jimin said curtly. “Jungkook’s waiting for you. Put some clothes on and get out.”
The tension in the room shot up from zero to sixty. Taehyung’s eyes narrowed as he dressed. “I’ll let you get back to work. You’ve had a hard week, so I’ll let that slide.”
In the back of Jimin’s mind, he knew he’d get the counterblast for this one day. Taehyung was many things, but forgiving wasn’t one of them.
“Goodbye,” Jimin replied, restarting his count again.
“Tell me when he’s dead,” Taehyung huffed, exiting in a rush, not waiting for a response. Jimin heard the door slam hard a moment later.
Taehyung’s presence was asphyxiating at times. He was a strong presence in any crowd, demanding all the attention. Jimin could breathe now that the pressure was gone. If the Kingpin were in a more cheerful mood, he would have no trouble indulging Tae, but he wasn’t.
Yoongi tried to clean house, taking out all his options. Jimin’s lazy Sunday pillow talk would have to wait. There was a price to settle. Jimin finished totaling the cash. He was not one increm short.
Contrary to common belief, killing a man wasn’t easy, not even to a monster like Park Jimin. The Kingpin had a method to get into the mindset. He’d counted the money. The next thing he needed to do was clean the weapon. In this case, it would be a high quality, gold finished pistol supplied by Monsieurs Smith and Wesson.
There was something about laying out the parts of a gun on a table and systematically cleaning every crevice. Jimin used cotton swabs to get the hard to get spots, dipping the thing in the solvent, and giving it a good one, two, five times over.
When he was done, Jimin loaded the gun, just one bullet. He’d only needed the one. He wouldn’t make any mistakes. Not anymore.
The Kingpin tucked the thing into his jacket, smoothed out his clothing and made his way to the car. As he drove down the highway, a mid-morning dressed in late winter, his mind settled. He felt something calm like peace only the dark, more corrupted version. It was the peace of mind which allowed its bearer to kill a man.
When Jimin thought about Mark, he also thought of himself. There was a chance, he knew it, all those years ago. He had had an out, a real-life waiting for him. Late at night, he still had dreams about it, going to college, getting those chemistry notes, going out on that date with Hoseok. It’d been the crossroads of his life. Now, he wasn’t sure he’d taken the right path.
The Kingpin took the exit, leading straight to Yoongi’s hideout. Jimin knew he’d be holed up in there, a permanently closed diner, acting as the storefront. Everything was just as he remembered, down to the smudges on the pane.
Jimin walked up to the front door and tapped on the glass 1-3-1-4, the code which he’d hoped hadn’t changed. A shadow darkened the front step.
Kim Seokjin answered, a face from another lifetime, like seeing a ghost.
“Jimin?” Jin hummed. “It’s been a while. You look good.”
“Where’s Yoongi?” Jimin demanded.
“He’s upstairs, but he’s in one of his moods. You don’t want to see him,” the doctor said, taking a hold of the man’s shoulder.
A silence washed over them, laced with hail marys and rosary beads.
Jimin wondered what Jin saw in his eyes that made him flinch and step away.
“Thanks for not killing me that one time. I’m gonna go see Yoongi now. Don’t follow me. Consider that your payback,” Jimin whispered.
Jin swallowed audibly, face drained of color, eyes wide, “Don’t mention it.”
Jimin didn’t spare the man another glance. He took the steps two at a time until he was at the top. Yoongi’s study, which he was never allowed in as a pet, was at the end of the hallway. Jimin went right for it, fingers itching for the end.
Yoongi was there, half-way through a bottle fine Scotch. His face was tinged pink, and he was counting stacks, just like Jimin had been that morning.
The system ran on blood and money. And also suffering, indiscriminate between King and Pauper.
“Do not disturb means-” Yoongi barked, before looking up and realizing who the visitor was. His voice softened. “Jimin?”
Jimin locked the door and took the seat in front of Yoongi. “Do you know why I’m here?”
Yoongi mulled over things in his mind. “Is this about the organized hit on your territory?”
“You’re damn right it is,” Jimin hissed, pulling his gun out, finger on the trigger. “You’re not getting away from it.”
Yoongi’s hands were up, face glossed with alarm. He spoke in very forced but calm voice. “It wasn’t me.”
“You expect me to fucking believe that?” Jimin cursed. “You came into my bar and shot it to oblivion.”
“I just wanted you,” Yoongi answered. “I didn’t go back a second time. I swear. The tattoo parlor, that wasn’t me.”
“And my brothel?” Jimin clicked his teeth. “That wasn’t you either?”
“Broth- I didn’t even know you had one. God, Jimin, it wasn’t me,” Yoongi pleaded. “You’re shooting the wrong man. That bullet isn’t mine.”
A glint of doubt sparked in Jimin’s mind. The gun felt suddenly heavier in his hand as feelings returning to his gut. “Then what was that sorry note you left? Explain that.”
“That was- Look, I realized what you said was right.” Yoongi's voice came out thick. “We’re not good for each other. You’re holding me at gunpoint, for fuck’s sake. That was what the sorry was for. I was gonna stay away. That’s why I’ve ghosted the last few days.”
Jimin’s hand started shaking, his sight blurry with tears. He couldn’t breathe, air leaving his lungs faster than he could replace it. “You’re lying to me. You’re just manipulating me again. I know it was you,” he said, laden with grief.
The atmosphere grew tenser with every clock tick.
“Then shoot me,” Yoongi hissed. “Shoot me if you’re sure. I didn’t do this, but I’ve earned that bullet in other ways. What I did to you, more than justifies it.” He closed his eyes. “Goodbye, Jimin.”
And Jimin cried, grieving the boy he could have been, teardrops sliding down his face and dying on the table. He steeled himself to do it, finger poised on the trigger. He could end all of this.
“Fuck,” Jimin wept, taking short, panicked breaths.
He couldn’t do it. He lowered his gun, clicked on the safety and tucked it back into his jacket.
“Baby?” Yoongi whispered.
The injuries were too deep, unidentifiable because the surface had healed over.
“Why did I have to love you? It’s a nightmare I can’t wake up from. You’re the glass in my wounds. I just keep bleeding,” Jimin choked out.
“I’m so sorry. I’ll stay away,” Yoongi answers. “I won’t bother you again.”
“You’ve said that before,” Jimin pointed out. “You can’t stay away.”
Yoongi presses the crown of his head into hands, ready to rip his hair out. “I know. I know. I know. Fuck. I know.” The mantra of an addict.
Jimin circled around the desk so that he stood in front of Yoongi. He pulled the man up by his tie, such that they were eye level. The pale man’s eyes were red-rimmed, his cheeks stained with repentance. “What can I do to make this right, Jimin?”
It could still be a lie, a beautiful, poisonous lie.
Jimin closed the distance between them, pressing his lips against the older’s. Yoongi tasted like mint, cigarette ash, and salt. Being with him both killed and sustained Jimin. But right now, he wanted more.
He pressed his body flush against Yoongi’s, skin suddenly burning with want. Jimin imagined clearing the desk, lay Yoongi out on it, and ride the man till judgment day. Round and round they went again, carousels and warped, funhouse mirrors. They walked the tightrope with two strongholds and oblivion waiting at the fall.
It was Jimin who ultimately broke their kiss before things could go awry. He took a step back and took a lungful of clean air, clearing his mind. “Enough.”
Yoongi surveyed him, pupils like dimes, heavy with need.
Jimin backed away, closing his eyes, breaking the connect. “If it’s not you, then who the fuck is it?”
“I don’t know. There are no leads.” Yoongi said thickly.
When Jimin opened his eyes, the man was reaching out for him, the action perhaps subconscious.
“You looked into it?” Jimin’s voice was mostly breath.
“I strong-armed myself a police report,” Yoongi hummed. “For the parlor and the bar. I can find one for the brothel too if you’d like.”
“Show me,” Jimin demanded.
Yoongi nodded, eyes still dark. He got up and pulled a thumb drive from a drawer. “To be fair. I was sighted at the bar when I came to get you, but the parlor has no leads. It wasn’t me”
Jimin read through the thick of the file, eyes accustomed to police records. Among the various bullet shells found, special gold finished 40 S&W, same as the bullet currently in his gun. There was only one other person who owned one.
“Taehyung,” Jimin hummed.
“What?” Yoongi asked, turning his head so that his face was centimeters from Jimin’s. The man was still keyed up, engines revving, exuding sex.
Jimin grabbed two stacks of neatly barred cash, probably totaling in the hundred thousands, from Yoongi’s desk.
“For the damages.” Which damages specifically? He didn’t even know.
“Jimin, wait-”
“Goodbye,” Jimin saluted. “Don’t wait up.”
Yoongi’s fingertips grazed against his side, yearning, desperate, and that was the last of it. Jimin thundered down the stairs, ignoring Jin’s goodbye bow. He got in his car and bulleted away into the street.
Street signs flew by.
Jimin’s mind was a chaotic, entropic mess. hopeful thoughts commingled with hopeless ones. All of it was fucked up. His whole life was a tragedy from his premature birth to his possible premature death.
So many crazy, wild thoughts.
Where was Taehyung now? Where did the man usually go after a good dicking? Jimin needed to see the gun, confirm his rotting suspicion. He was sure Taehyung owned a similar gold finished pistol. He’d seen it in a glass case, and thought the look classy. That’s why he had one commissioned.
Taehyung’s car wasn’t parked at his house. Jimin chanced it anyway, knocking on the door of the man’s top-notch domicile. He heard footsteps on the other side, the sound of a something crashing to the floor, cursing, then the lock unclicking, and the deadbolt groaning open.
Jungkook stood there, dark circles under his eyes.
“Where’s Taehyung?” Jimin hissed, pushing past the poor, disheveled bastard. Jungkook didn’t fight him, easily folding to his touch, allowing him through.
“Mmmm, I dunno. He doesn’t tell me these things,” Jungkook whispered, eyes on the floor.
Something familiar about this tugged at Jimin’s heart. Jungkook was a pet. He wouldn’t know. It was the weight that Jimin once lived under, which Jungkook still did.
“He’s not here,” Jimin said softly. “That’s good.”
Was it though?
Jungkook flushed, backing away. “What are you doing here, Jimin?” He was a frightened animal, more afraid to be free than in chains.
“I’m sure Taehyung would love to hear about how inhospitable you’ve been,” Jimin said seriously.
Jungkook lowered his head. ‘I’m sorry, please take a seat. Would you like something to drink?”
Jimin settled on the couch in the living area, putting his feet up on the coffee table. “Come sit with me, Kookie.”
The man sat in the spot furthest from Jimin, nervously picking at the pilling on his shirt. The action was fair. Jimin had wronged Jungkook, exploited him, taken a bite out of his soul.
Jimin pulled a menthol from a cigarette case sitting on the table. He lit it and inhaled, feeling for a brief moment respite. He offered one to the younger who shook his head.
“Tae doesn’t like it when I smoke,” Jungkook explained.
How fucking hypocritical, when Tae himself sucked ash like he was hoping to get cancer.
“He doesn’t love you, you know?” Jimin finally said, when he’d soaked up enough silence, smoke billowing from his lips.
Jungkook swallowed hard, fixated on the ground. “I know. Of course, I know.”
“But you love him?” Jimin asked, leaning forward, tilting Jungkook’s chin upward, forcing their eyes to meet. “Don’t you?”
“I do,” Jungkook said, resolve frosting over the chinks in his armor. “I love him.”
Jimin took another long drag, numbing the edges of his predestined future.
“He’s made you watch us,” Jimin reminded him at the exhale. “He knows it hurts you. I think he gets off on it. You can’t change him. It’s never getting better for you, Kook.”
Jimin could almost see the ice splintering. A physical jab to the gut would have harmed him less.
“Why are you doing this, Jimin?” Jungkook asked, pain evident in the slump of his shoulders.
The Kingpin wasn’t sure why. He only knew it had to be today, right now.
“Get out while you still can,” Jimin hummed. “You tried to help me once. I’m helping you now.”
Jungkook laughed, a crazed spark in his eyes. “You have no idea the things I’ve done for Taehyung. There’s no coming back for me.”
Jimin had no doubt. The younger had seen his fair share of corpses. Jungkook’s hands were by no means clean, but there was something different about the two them. Jungkook still had a light in him, and maybe that was the twisted hope he held, the love he had for Taehyung. Jimin wasn’t sure.
“Run and don’t look back,” Jimin said deftly. “Do you wanna turn out like me?”
Something in the younger broke.
“One time, for my birthday, Taehyung hosted a straight up gala, invited a hundred guests,” Jungkook said, war scars showing. “Someone, I can’t remember his face, pocketed some of the silverware. I guess one of the waiters saw and reported it.”
Jimin had heard this story in bits and pieces. It’d been Jungkook’s nineteenth birthday, that much he knew.
“Taehyung asked to speak with him. I didn’t hear the exchange. The music was too loud.” Tears started welling up in the man’s eyes. “But after, he told me to get him some duct tape, so I did. I held the guy down, while Tae taped his arms and legs together.”
Holy fuck.
“Then Tae pushed him into the pool. We watched him drown, all of us, a hundred people. No one helped him. After he stopped struggling, they pulled him out of the water.”
That was his break in. Did he even realize?
“Tae kissed me on the cheek then he whispered in my ear ‘that’s what happens when you steal what’s mine. Happy birthday, Kookie.” Jungkook finished before bursting into tears, covering his face, sobbing inconsolably.
Jimin pulled out the two stacks he’d taken from Yoongi and he slammed them on the table. Jungkook jumped up, red gaze settling on the cash.
“Take this and get out,” Jimin hissed. “Run and never come back. If I could escape, I would, but I wasted my chance. Don’t waste yours.”
Jungkook’s breathing gradually grew steadier. He reached for the money, nails featherlight on the paper. This was the younger’s crossroads, right here, right now. Jimin had the clarity to see it, fire running through his veins. If there was just one redeemable thing Jimin had ever done in his godforsaken life, it was this buyout.
Jungkook took the money, shaky hands, salt staining his cheeks. “I’ll have that cigarette now.”
Jimin handed him one, freeing it from the ranks. The Kingpin waited, letting Jungkook settle himself on the fumes.
“I don’t know where he is right now, but I know where he’ll be tonight.” the man said, folding his arms, sucking on the end of his menthol like it was a mother’s teat.
Jimin killed his cig on the overfilled ashtray.
“He’s playing pool with Mr. Min tonight,” Jungkook finished. “I was supposed to go with him.”
“You best not,” Jimin hissed. “Pack your bags and book a flight out of this hell hole.”
Jungkook closed his eyes, the pain of the cut a physical thing for him. “I’ll try. I- thank you.”
Jimin stood, smoothed out his suit. “Goodbye, Jungkook.”
“Goodbye, Jimin,” the man replied, not bothering to get up and see him to the door.
Jimin drove home, the gears in his mind turning so fast, so efficiently that the whole structure hummed. It was one of them. One of them had organized the hit on him, Yoongi or Taehyung, and Jimin would find out. The gun sitting flush against his ribs demanded that justice.
The Kingpin dressed in his Sunday best, a dark fitted suit, and a crimson tie. It was something respectable to be caught dead in, if things went down like that. Every day was Russian roulette in the life of Park Jimin if he were being honest.
Jimin watched the sun drop under the cluster of decaying buildings outside his window as he steeled himself. Someone was dying tonight, and the air seemed to carry that dark, somber cadence. Shadow stretched across the walls, making monsters of mugs.
The Kingpin decided he was ready. He got in his car and drove to Yoongi’s house, a gated, secluded, brownstone. Jimin hadn’t stepped back in since he escaped it as a pet, a whore, neck just freed from the collar. Now, he was diving once more into the deep. To his surprise the gate opened for him automatically, sliding to the side, so that he could park in the driveway.
It was just as ornate as he remembered, crawling vines, and lion busts. Jimin knocked on the door only to find the thing unlocked. He stepped through the threshold and a sense of foreboding washed over him, like he was being covered in a burial shroud.
Jimin was hyper-aware of the sound of his shoes clicking against the tiled floor. It was that quiet. The man made his way to the basement, which looked like it’d been preserved in a bubble, not a picture out of place.
Yoongi was there, pale even in the dim lighting, setting up the balls. Taehyung was leaning against the table, watching with fascination. It was the stranger man that spotted him first, almond eyes, bright and mischievous.
“Jimin, how nice of you to join us.” Taehyung hummed.
Jungkook wasn’t there. He was gone. Jimin felt relief flood the still human part of his body. “Where’s your bodyguard?”
“He’s decided to seek other employment options, unfortunately,” Taehyung said. “A shame really. I’ll find him though, talk some sense into him.”
For the time being, the kid was safe, that was music to Jimin’s ears.
“W-what are you doing here?” Yoongi asked, the veins in his neck popping.
Jimin took a deep breath. “One of you fucked me over.”
Taehyung laughed. “We both did, at least to my recollection. Not at the same time though, strangely enough.”
Jimin pulled out his gun one last time. “I need to know who did it.”
Yoongi swallowed, face blanching, “It wasn’t me. What would I have to gain from that? I love you. I’d never hurt you.”
Taehyung laughed. “He’s knocking out your livelihood so that he can have you. It’s obvious.”
But Yoongi didn’t know about the brothel. Or did he? Was he lying about that?
“Then why were your bullets found at the crime scene,” Jimin shouted.
Taehyung blinked a few times. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The gold plated 40 S&W ammo. It was on the police report,” Jimin hissed.
Taehyung looked confused, shaking his head. Was this acting?
“Someone could have replicated the gun, to frame me, did you think about that?” Taehyung answered.
Who was it? Jimin wasn’t fucking sure. One of them had to be lying. The gun danced between them, stakes at an all-time high.
“I’m done with being played,” Jimin shouted, pointing the gun at himself for a brief moment, breathing erratic, heart beating like mad. “I’ll fucking end it all one way or another.”
“Jimin, please stop,” Yoongi whispered. “Don’t do it, baby.”
Jimin aimed the thing at him again, which for inexplicable reasons, seemed to relieve the man.
“Do it,” Taehyung said. “You know he’s behind this. He was the one who pulled you back in. He stole your whole life from you.”
The sound drew the shot toward Taehyung, who stepped back.
“Or maybe it’s you. I don’t know,” Jimin hissed
“Me?” Tae said. “If I wanted Yoongi dead, I could have killed him myself. I saved you Jimin. I was the one who gave you your freedom. What could I possibly gain from tricking you?”
“I don’t know,” Jimin cried. “I’m so confused.”
“Put the gun down, baby,” Yoongi said softly.
“I-I loved you,” Jimin wailed, pain gushing out. “You made me love you. Why didn’t you just kill me? You hurt me so bad.”
“I’m sorry, Jimin. We’ll figure this out, yeah?” Yoongi hummed.
“He’s lying to you,” Taehyung hissed. “Please don’t do this. Who-who gave you the police report. Was it him? He’s conning you.”
It was Yoongi that gave him the details. That was true. Maybe-
Damn it.
Who was it? The only man he ever loved, or the person who set him free?
Jimin looked between them, knowing he had to choose, another crossroads that’d end an era.
“Goodbye,” Jimin said.
The man aimed briefly and fired, a golden bullet shell hitting the floor, along with a body, blood blooming on his chest.
Goodbye.
FIN