Chapter Text
born under the lucky star
It is a whisper following Kim Taehyung wherever he goes; the nation’s darling. Yes, the folks love him, but they love to hate him even more. It is easy to hate him yet it is even harder not to love him. Kim Taehyuny is not just his father’s son, he is the nation's son, he is their darling. They weren’t born under the lucky star but at least they get to watch him shine above them; spilling so much light with his eyes alone, and when he smiles he becomes the biggest star of them all, he becomes their sun. He shines and he blinds and they can’t decide whether they love him or hate him; they love to hate him and they hate to love him, but it is hard not to when he smiles like that. He is their sun, and they hate how easily he blinds them if they look for too long and too hard. They do, they always do.
born with a silver spoon
Well —the world had to compensate him somehow since he could not cling to his mother’s tit. That sun burned out before Taehyung even had a chance to learn what it means to flourish under that particular sunlight. Kim Taehyung, they say, sits pretty on the pig’s back, that bastard, they’d snarl, our darlin’, they’d sigh in the same breath. He is the sun and he is his father’s son, president’s son and he lives a life free of worries. They like to think so, they believe so because it is a flaw for them, the one that erases the fault of hating another. They hate him and they love him and they can’t decide what he is to them, but to his father, he is the world. Not the sun, not a star, nothing shining and blinding, he is not that kind of celestial body that is out of reach but so present, he is the world, the reason.
“Sukchin,” President Kim leans into the leather sofa, he loosens the tie around his neck, “Sukchin, I need you to do better, I need a —I need a hero.”
Sukchin pulls out his earpiece, strolls towards the bar in the search for whiskey, “Yes?” he lifts the glass, tilts it towards the President, and the man nods, adds make it double. Sukchin hums, prepares the drinks before walking to where President is sitting, “I’m narrowing my search.”
President Kim raises an eyebrow, and with a lazy arm, he grabs the drink, waves it in the air as he says, “Your search is going to cost my son his life,” he accuses, sinks more into the sofa, almost melts into the leather, “I’ve been thinking,” he begins after a beat of silence, straightens a bit with the words, “I’ve been thinking about hiring someone Taehyungie’s age or —or someone who looks his age. Someone who can be mistaken for a friend. Boyfriend, perhaps.”
Sukchin smacks his lips after a long sip, the grimace distorting his face humors the President who smirks at him, “So someone who looks younger.”
“Or is younger.”
“That is not a good idea, Mister President —that is a terrible idea, actually. Taehyung has been under the protection of the best men in the field — I assume you understand what makes them best.”
“The best wouldn’t let my son be held at a gunpoint,” The President straightens with passion, holds the executive of The Presidential Security Service at a gunpoint with his pointer. The drink swirls inside the glass, few droplets slide down to the man’s hand. He slams the glass onto the table, shakes his hand in the air to get rid of the sticky liquor, “It seems to me that experience means nothing. I need someone with balls. I need a goddamn hero!”
“Someone with balls?” Sukchin asks for good measure, just for the sake of asking.
“Yes, Sukchin. I need someone who is a bit of a daredevil.”
“A daredevil? In my Agency?”
The President grabs his drink, falls back into the sofa and he toasts, tilts his head in a fashion that suggests a tired yes.
“A daredevil.” Sukchin repeats with a blank face, he tastes the word, and the word daredevil in his mind has a face.
x
“I got you a job.”
Sukchin doesn’t like this prick that goes by his nephew. The boy, now a man, looks down at him —he has grown, grown him out, and then he looks straight again, says, “Got myself a job.”
“Yeah?” He looks around himself, pulls his face into a disgusted frown as he takes in his surroundings; an alley that smells like piss, a dirty alley that serves as a lobby to a shitty basement turned club, “Does this place really need a bouncer?”
There is no answer, just a roll of shoulders that serve as a warning. He grins, “Whose guard dog are you, Kookie?”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Guard dog or Kookie?”
He only gets to see his nostrils flare once before he is pinned to the cold brick wall. Sukchin is met with a more straightforward response this time. Well, the back on the cold brick wall and a strong forearm on the chest is not really an answer, it is a reaction. His nephew is snarling at him, pushing him hard into the wall, and Sukchin thinks he might get himself out of the kid’s hold, but at the same time, he deems it futile. The prick is fast. He also happens to be reckless.
“What the fuck do you want? Came to toy with me? Do it some more, I beg you,” he grimaces with the words, squints his eyes into aggression that is promising but worrying, “Could cost you your job, tho. Be careful, uncle .”
A smart response settles comfortably on his tongue, he is just about to put the brat into his place, beat him into submission, and send him home, instruct to visit tomorrow morning, but the metal door opens and a lanky man stumbles out. His longish hair is pulled into a messy bun, a long strand is hanging down his shoulder. His tiny eyes are unfocused as he clutches the door frame, “J,” he mumbles, stares at the ground with eyes gruesomely widening in an attempt to gain vision, “J,” he calls again, louder.
“What?”
“J!!” The man’s voice rises, throaty and drunk.
“What, Razor? What motherfucker? I’m right here!” He grunts and the man finally finds him with his eyes. He stares at Jungkook with his eyes ugly and red.
“I—,” he begins but a hiccup cuts him off, “Fucking Ryu is —You ought!” He points a finger at him, almost stumbles with the impact of the rushed movement, “You ought to beat that —that mo’fucker!”
The boy stiffens, the hold on Sukchin tightens, “Ryu? Ryu with a gun?”
“Yeah, that one.” The man slurs, pulls a rolled blunt, and nestles it between his chapped lips.
“And do I get the gun?”
The drunk leans on the wall with a grunt as a dumb expression settles over his idiotic features, “I — it’s under the bar.”
“That your boss, J?” Sukchin curls his voice, intents to mock and piss off. It works, it gets the boy’s attention back on him. They stare at each other, Sukchin imagines his little nephew would like to put a fist through his face. There’s a lot of family past and drama that would explain why would Sukcin’s one and only nephew punch his lights out, but it is a rather dull and tiring story that would perhaps lead you to believe that Sukcin had a reason for the things he’s done, and quite frankly, he doesn’t deserve such a chance. He knows it, most of the time he does, there are nights when he doesn’t sleep, thinks of Jungkook who is his only living family for the past year, and then there are days when he believes he owes him nothing. Sukchin is one of those men who are neither bad nor good, he is like murky water; not his soul or heart, but his being is impossible to judge fairly.
“Hey, J?” the man’s voice shakes, he suddenly sounds sober. Sukchin looks over the shoulder pinning him to the wall. Two men are approaching them, one holding a pipe and another teasing with a gun in the air.
“What a welcome! What a goddamn welcome! Wo!” The man jumps, he shakes his body to emphasize his cheery words, but it’s all drugs. He moves like an intoxicated person, and he looks like one as well, so clearly out of his right mind.
The boy sighs, he curses under his breath as he steps away. Sukchin grabs him, “Let’s go, Jungkook.”
“I know you have a tendency to, but I don’t leave anyone behind.”
A giggle follows, another excited yelp of a junkie in a tank top. Sukchin watches the bony stranger over Jungkook’s strong shoulder; he then lazily looks at him whole, he especially pays attention to the boy’s confident strut as he approaches junkies armed with a gun and a pipe. He grins as the President’s words ring in the back of his mind: I need a hero. I need a daredevil.
A yellow pot rests on the sill hidden in a narrow alley that is home to two stray cats. A little flower Jungkook doesn’t recognize stands proud and colorful in the midst of a smelly night. It is not a smelly night, it is a smelly alley that is home to two stray cats he has been feeding for the past two weeks. He works for Razor for two weeks. It’s what happens to martial arts instructors who fuck fathers of the kids they train. They end up working as bodyguards for two brother bumps that hold a shitty strip club in a shady neighborhood on the outskirts of Seoul. All that for a piece of middle-aged ass. It was a nice ass. Not worth a job, though.
He grits his teeth and looks away from the little flower to a bold Ryu. The man is careless with the gun, barely holds it between his thin fingers, and the lack of bodily control makes him that much more dangerous.
“Wherez m’ money?” Ryu slurs as he pompously cuts the air with the gun. The thing is pointed at Jungkook; it’s scary imagery because Ryu is holding it carelessly, trashing it in the air violently and Jungkook imagines it would be unfortunate if the idiot accidentally pulled the trigger; dag a hole through his strong chest. There is so much to live for. He can’t die, not like this; not a dishonorable death. Not such death is not his destiny, it fits one of those bumps, not him. He is not dying tonight. He is not about to lay his life for a man that introduced himself as Razor.
“Go get him the money,” he calls, tilts his chin at Razor, for a single second he glances at the man; his red, confused eyes, empty and just miserable. He looks at him with those empty eyes and then he starts talking. Of course, he would, “J, I do—,”
“Razor, go get him the money, you know —in your office,” he speaks pointedly as he stares at Ryu and his pet. They stare back and Razor is still staring at him with his empty, dumb eyes. Jungkook sighs, “Behind your minibar.” He says slowly, spells it out for the man and he then straightens as a sly smile spreads on his face. “Ahh, yes, yes. Behind my,” he nods, raises his eyebrows in a humorous fashion, “ Minibar.”
“What’s with the funny face?” The pet holding pipe notices, and he frowns at the words.
“He is high,” Jungkook reasons, hopes the pet is as dumb as his drugged master is, “He’ll get you the money, right Razor?”
“Yes, yes, it’s behind my,” he does it again, deepens the frown on the pet’s face, “minibar.”
“Well, go get it,” good ol’ Ryu speaks, chases away Razor with his gun shaking in the air. Jungkook almost feels bad, but junky business is not his worry. It won’t be anymore. He sighs as he approaches them. Poor Ryu glances at him with glazed eyes, grins dumbly as he brings up his gun to scratch behind his ear, “Ain’t you big?” He asks through a grimace, looks up to Jungkook’s eyes as he pulls down his hand, “Heh, when I get the money I’ll—,”
He doesn’t get to finish that. Jungkook punches him, knocks him out in a second, knocks him out and he thinks he might’ve killed him. It can’t be thought, he doesn’t get to check because the pet is swinging at him with that pipe. He ducks successfully, and the other man twists a bit with the impact of the swing; he gives Jungkook his back, and the boy kicks him there with his foot, sends the pet to his knees. Jungkook then pulls the pipe from his hands, rounds the other to stand before him; and then he lays the pipe gently over the terrified forehead, says: go home, boy. He does, of course, the bump would. He scrambles to his feet and runs while looking over his shoulder crazily, and then he crashes into a trash can, falls over it. He gets up clumsily and fleets away around the corner. Jungkook takes the gun from the knocked out Ryu and goes in search of his cowardly boss who is hiding under his minibar.
“Here,” he hands him the gun, “I quit.”
When he gets out of that hole, the metal door slams into the brick wall. His uncle is still there, the man’s presence pulls a frown to his face, “Fuck off,” he bites and pushes his balled fits into the pocket of his hoodie.
“Come on, Jungkook, you don’t want to work for a junkie, guarding him because of his debt?”
“I've quit,” he shrugs, continues walking. Ryu’s body is still lying there on the dirty asphalt. Not his worry. Razor will deal with that.
“Great, I got you a job.”
An empty chuckle rips off his lungs, it’s a bitter little sound that was sitting inside his chest for too long. He can finally let it out, “Yeah? I can imagine it will somehow still be about you, right? You didn’t pull strings to help, did you? You pulled strings because now you need me.”
“It’s a dog-eat-dog world, nephew.”
Jungkook scoffs, glances down at the man, “Oh, now I’m the nephew? Very good, very good mister executive.”
A hero, a daredevil, a pigheaded brat —he is all of it. His defiant strut, that hostile glare, the proud tilt of his chin that makes him taller —Sukchin finds it hard to picture him by Kim Taehyung’s side. Maybe they’d fit as something more casual, but not this, not like that, not with Jungkook being responsible for him. For Kim Taehyung. The nation’s darling.
But Jungkook is also qualified. He lacks experience. But he doesn't lack anything else. And he is a daredevil. The President has asked for one.
“It’s a very good job, Jungkook. Well paid. No settling either. You don’t settle.”
Maybe he should stop talking, maybe he should beg instead because Kim Taehyung has a target on his back that none of the bodyguards so far could have handled. Sukchin is a mule as well, and he is trying really hard to believe Jungkook does not fit, but his defiant strut, that hostile glare, and the proud tilt of his chin are telling him otherwise.
“You gotta sometimes. You said it, it’s a dog-eat-dog world,” a boyish smile spreads on his face, a sad little smile that Sukchin doesn’t like, it’s too revealing, but Jungkook is a daredevil in many ways, “What kind of job?”
“You know my address. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”
“A dog-eat-dog world.” Jungkook murmurs before rounding a corner. Sukchin watches after him, he takes in the defiant strut and how strong and healthy this boy is. His nephew is. He feels something warm filling his mouth, the pride that stretches his mouth into a smile that stays frozen on his face even after Jungkook disappears from his view.
“What kind of job?”
“Anything to drink?”
Jungkook doesn't like the fact Sukchin is dressed casually. He is used to seeing the man in suits and ties and straight black coats. He is not used to sweats and old shirts with holes in them.
“No. What kind of job?”
A year ago and maybe he’d have a drink with the man, now he tolerates him because he is offering a job. It’s an uncomfortable situation for him, having to accept his offer, but Jungkook is not proud like that, he doesn’t hold grudges in that childish manner that’d put him in a position to miss out on an opportunity. Whoever might bring it up on the table. He reckons he is a bit of an opportunist. A shameless one at that.
“I swore I wouldn’t talk to you.”
“And here you are.”
Aha. And here he is, sitting in Sukchin’s expensive kitchen. It’s a nice kitchen in a nice neighborhood. It reminds Jungkook of what his uncle could do for him. What kind of job he is about to offer.
“What kind of job?”
Sukchin’s eyes sink into some pompous seriousness as he straightens in his seat across Jungkook, his lips thin dramatically, “What kind of job?” He scoffs, “You already know, Jungkook. Don’t you? Aren’t you an observant little fucker? Always two steps ahead?”
“Maybe,” he opens his mouth carefully.
“Maybe?” Sukchin leans back in his chair, suddenly casual and challenging as he tilts his chin proudly, “Tell me. Take a guess.”
“President Kim’s rascal son is in a need of a babysitter, I hear.”
“You hear? So which commoner speaks of such confidential information?”
“It’s common sense, uncle. Little Kim caused a commotion for the third time this month. Whoever is responsible for him is doing an awful job.”
“Taehyung is a handful.”
“So I hear.”
“You hear a lot.”
“Yeah. Did I get the job?”
“No. I’ll give you an address. Dress clean. Bring CV, diplomas, legal documents. You will hear the rest there.”
“The nation’s darling huh? What an honor! What a brilliant honor! Isn’t it? How come you thought of me?”
“President Kim… he wanted to try something different.”
“Something different, eh? Someone rougher?”
“He said a daredevil.”
“Ahh, a daredevil. Is that what I am? A daredevil? Shit .”
“Oh, wait till you hear what else he said.”
“I’m all ears, uncle.”
“President Kim said he needed a hero.”
Something close to mockery flashes on Jungkook’s face. It suits his young face, that boyish round face wears mockery right, “Don’t say. A hero? Am I a hero, uncle? Be honest.” Sukchin watches him carefully, he thinks of his next words with a thought in mind; he is a bit desperate. Kim Taehyung is in real danger. Kim Taehyung needs a hero.
“You’re a kid and I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Bullshiting won’t do with Jungkook.
“Yeah. See you at the Blue House.”