Archive of Our Own

The first time it happens, Jimin is seventeen and sitting in the back of a police car. It wasn't even for anything bad this time, he just—he needed to clear his head. He was planning on coming back. Jimin doesn't like to lose his temper, but he does this time, squeezing his eyes shut and blurting out, "Can't you just let me go?"

His voice sounds weird to his own ears, like it's resonating oddly, but he puts it down to how nauseous he feels right now.

Jimin's heart is in his mouth as the car slows down and pulls over. The policeman—he's young, Jimin thinks, probably in his early thirties—peers over his shoulder at him. "I'm sorry, baby. Just for you, okay?"

Baby? And now Jimin feels more than just a little sick, but he wordlessly holds his hands up so he can unlock the cuffs. The policeman's hands are gentle, much gentler than when he'd ID’d him and shoved him into the car.

Jimin doesn't stop holding his breath until he's walking down the street, looking back every few paces. He's never been let go before, no matter how much he'd yelled, or complained, or cried (that was only the first time. He hasn't done it since). And that look, that look in the policeman's eyes as he watched Jimin leave. It was like the way Jimin's mother looked at him when she thinks he's asleep and strokes his hair, the way Jimin's father looked at him when Jimin walked through the door when it's their weekend together. Like the way Jimin wants one of the senior boys on the basketball team to look at him.

Like he’s in love with Jimin.

-

It takes a while for Jimin to figure out. He can manipulate it, not how much it affects someone, or for how long, but he can choose when to use it. Sometimes, it slips out accidentally when he's particularly emotional, when he loses his temper, but most of the time, he can choose when to emphasize his words and make them sound just a little bit off, like they're ringing, resonating. Controlling. Making them fall in love with him.

Because that's as best as Jimin can describe it, whatever it is. They act like they're in love with him. And not just love in its more latent stages, but full-on infatuation, like they'll do anything for him.

It wears off, he knows. Jimin's taken to calling it his charm. His charm starts when Jimin chooses to use that tone in his voice, like lifting a finger, flicking a switch. And their eyes lose focus for just a second, and when they refocus on Jimin, it's with that look in them. And they treat him as anyone would treat a new lover, with affection and dedication and a willingness to do whatever he wants. And the longer they spend in Jimin's presence, the longer his charm lasts, even when Jimin's gone.

He never gets caught by the cops again, not for long, and makes it out of Busan to Seoul for once.

-

Jimin might be their kept boy, a pretty thing that hangs from their arms for all the parties, but he's the one that leaves and moves on, flitting from one to another. It's Kim Namjoon this time, sweet and intelligent and a little bumbling; a young lawyer who comes from a family of elites. Jimin isn't sure what exactly he does, but he does know that Namjoon's utterly in love with him, just like the rest.

He knows not to get too attached, but Namjoon's deliciously tall and gathers Jimin into his lap on the roof of their penthouse and tells him softly about the history of constellations between different cultures, and Jimin likes it.

The first thing that drew Jimin to him was his shock of silver-blond hair, visible even in the darkness of the house party Jimin was at with his previous fling—Kim Jiwon, better known as Bobby, rich playboy and aspiring rapper. He noticed his hair again at the Spring Gala a couple of weeks later, and this time Jimin approached him. Bobby was fun, but Jimin was getting bored, and the way Namjoon drawled, or tried to, made him break out in giggles.

Namjoon snagged two flutes of sparkling champagne from a waiter's plate and handed one to Jimin. He took a sip, eyes never leaving Jimin's face. "Bobby, huh?"

Jimin shrugged nonchalantly. He’d lost Bobby on purpose to come talk to Namjoon.

"You know, we don't really get along. Bobby and I, I mean," Namjoon explained, a little flushed from the alcohol. "Long story."

"Yeah?" Jimin tilted his head, shooting him a look from underneath his eyelashes that he's perfected at this point.

"Yeah," Namjoon continued, stuttering a bit. "I don't know if I should even be talking to you, I—"

"You should stay." That time, Jimin used it, his charm, voice layered and melodic and resonant. "I'd like it if you stayed."

Dazed is a good look on Namjoon. The way he licked his lips had Jimin suddenly wanting to rise up on his toes and kiss him. "Oh, God, I—of course," he said.

-

Jimin's dancing with Namjoon, or more accurately, dancing on him, grinding his ass against his crotch a little shamelessly, when he catches the eye of someone across the packed room. It's dark, lights strobing around, much like the first time he ever saw Namjoon, and Jimin should really stop doing this but he's flighty by nature, so flighty.

Namjoon's hands are big on his hips and Jimin tilts his head to allow him to press his mouth to Jimin's neck, never breaking eye contact with the boy who is watching him so intently. Jimin thinks that he's almost smirking at him when he takes a drink out of the red plastic cup in his hand. He toasts him. Jimin returns his smile, letting his mouth fall open lewdly as Namjoon bites particularly roughly underneath his ear.

He runs into him outside the bathroom later, leaning against the wall, fixated on his phone. He's even more handsome up close, Jimin thinks, hair falling into his eyes and he's tall, much taller than Jimin. Maybe he's getting predictable, he reflects, before nudging the guy lightly. "Hey," Jimin starts.

Handsome looks up at him, surprised look melting into his earlier cocky grin. "Hey."

His voice makes Jimin shiver. "Alone?" Jimin asks, pressing on.

He snorts. "Unlike you. Where did your boyfriend go?"

Jimin's mouth quirks. "Looking for drinks."

"You're cute, but I don't mess around with people who are taken."

"Cute, huh?" Jimin draws out the word. His lips are glossy and his jeans are skin-tight and Jimin knows he's not just cute. Handsome is straightforward, though, and Jimin rises to the challenge. "Didn't stop you earlier," he points out, this time layered with his charm.

Handsome's eyes widen for a second, before he shrugs in acquiesce. "Jeon Jungkook."

"Park Jimin," Jimin responds, pressing a little bit closer to him when someone moves past them down the hall. He doesn't step back once they're gone.

"Jimin," Jungkook says, like he's tasting the word, and Jimin decides he likes the way his name sounds in his mouth. "Do you want to get out of here?"

There's a yellowing bruise around Jungkook's left eye, Jimin notices, under the streetlight, as he presses another messy kiss to his lips. He decides he likes that too.

-

Jimin checks his phone as he naps in Jungkook's bed, sheets tucked around his naked waist. The sun streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows. He's sleepy, all fucked out. It seems the love his charm causes just as easily manifests as lust, most of the time. There are no new messages. Namjoon had stopped texting him a while ago, like they all do.

Someone's calling him, an unknown number, and Jimin picks up after a moment's dilemma. The voice is older and female, and Jimin feels a split-second of relief because it isn't an ex-lover, before he listens to what she's saying.

Jungkook finds him like that later, still sitting up with the sheets wrapped around himself, phone facedown next to him, hand pressed to his mouth, trying not to cry or throw up or both. He immediately comes to Jimin's side, an arm winding around his waist.

"Babe? What's wrong?" Jungkook asks. Jimin almost pushes him away.

He's so disgusted with himself. He feels physically nauseous, stomach turning. Namjoon's—Namjoon's hospitalized, for not eating, for not sleeping, for wasting away. Signs of depression, the doctors thought, or so Namjoon's mother had explained.

Jimin knows what it is, though. It's lovesickness.

Jungkook holds him as he cries, and he doesn't want it, not really. Jungkook's presence is only another reminder of his guilt. He's only—he's only here because Jimin's charmed him, just like the rest, and Jimin had been having fun, didn't think anything was wrong. Didn't think anything could go wrong.

Except he spent too long with Namjoon (months? Half a year?) and when he left, Namjoon's heart broke and now he's sick and it's all Jimin's fault. He wonders just who else he's done this to. Who else he's left, crushed their hearts, because he thought this, his fucking charm, wore off quickly. How was he to know that it left them to waste away, heartache the most deadly affliction of them all. Bobby, Jaebum, Hyunwoo, a string of lovers he'd left as soon as he got bored.

God, and Jimin likes Jungkook a lot, thinks he's just a cute kid underneath that chiseled jaw. A little bad with feelings and a little temperamental, but Jimin likes him. He doesn't know what he should do, except that Jungkook needs to get as far away from him as possible, weaned off of—off of Jimin's charm or something, and Jimin tries to explain.

He tries to explain. Jimin strokes his hair and cups his face (he has to reach up since Jungkook is so tall, just like how Namjoon was, and fuck, Jimin really feels sick). Whispers, "Jungkookie, I think we should stop seeing each other."

"—What?"

Jungkook's look of shock is enough to make Jimin's heart hurt. Vaguely, he wonders if this is what it feels like, what he's done to all of them. "I—I think it would be better if—"

"No," Jungkook cuts him off, face contorting. "You—you can't just—"

Jimin's really about to cry now, so he tries to turn away, but Jungkook's hand is tight around his wrist. "I mean it, Jungkookie—"

Jungkook flinches at the nickname. He shouts, "You can't do that to me."

It's the first time Jungkook has ever lost his temper and his voice is different, somehow. Jimin’s mind goes blank and he’s speechless for a second. He almost places the feeling, before he's awash with this numbing anger, and he shoves Jungkook away. It’s almost like he's watching himself from above, an odd sense of removal, as he steps back and spits at Jungkook venomously. "Don't tell me what to fucking do."

Jimin doesn't even like to swear. Something’s different. He keeps stepping back. He’s never been this mad before, never in his entire life, but he can barely breathe through how badly he wants to hit something, anything right now.

Jungkook’s looking at him with an expression of horror. “Hyung, I didn't, I didn't mean to—”

“Mean to what?” Jimin almost doesn't recognize his own voice, that's how angry he is. At least his charm hasn't slipped out, he thinks a little bitterly, like it tends to do when he gets overly emotional. He’s gotten better at controlling it. That, and he doesn't think the level of acidity in his voice right now is very conducive to love.

Jungkook’s face still looks drained of blood. He looks tired and worn out, and something akin to worry almost flares inside Jimin, until it's drowned out again with another wave of anger. “Hyung, please have a glass of water and—and go to sleep. We can talk later, when this—when you aren't like this anymore.”

Jimin almost argues with him. He feels hatred, resentment, directed at Jungkook even though he has no idea why. “Fine.”

His blood is pumping fast, vision still tinged red, but Jimin takes a deep breath and tries to put out the flames in his mind. He has an inkling of what this might be. Jimin tosses and turns all night, sweating into the sheets. Jungkook doesn't come to their bedroom.

-

When Jungkook explains, the next day, how sometimes when he speaks, his words make people angry, instill a burning hatred, Jimin sees it coming. He sees it coming from a mile away and still, it’s kind of a relief to know that he didn't dream up his own charm, that it's real and he's not the only one.

“I didn't mean to use it on you,” Jungkook says quietly. “I just—I wouldn't ever want to influence you like that. I lost my temper, I’m sorry.”

Jimin almost lets himself reach out and touch his face, but he stops at the last minute. He swallows his guilt as Jungkook continues. “I do feel like, it builds on something real, though, something already there? So if you’re angry about something, my—what I do magnifies it.”

Several things click into place for Jimin. “That bruise on your face when we met—”

Jungkook laughs, but it's sad, so sad, and Jimin wants to hold him close. “Yeah, that, that happens a lot. It's usually focused on me, the anger. I got into a lot of fights in high school.”

It’s something Jimin’s never considered before, for his own charm. It, the love, whatever, has always been in regards to him, but it makes him wonder when it might've been turned somewhere else, if he missed it. He cups his face. “High school then, was when it started?”

Jungkook nods, staring at his hands. “Puberty, I think. I started noticing it a lot.”

He opens his mouth like he's about to say more, but stops. Jimin reaches over and interlocks their fingers.

“Jungkookie?” Jimin asks softly. Jungkook looks up at him, eyes a little wide from his tone, and the dilation of his pupils have Jimin pressing on. “I have something to tell you.” It’s now or never. “Sometimes, I—I can do the same thing.”

Jungkook's hands still. “What?”

Jimin squeezes his eyes shut. He can't look at Jungkook right now. “My words, they do the same thing, if I want them to. Except it isn't—except the feeling is love. It’s love, I make people fall in love with me.”

He feels Jungkook pull their fingers apart, and Jimin isn't brave, not like this. “Jimin.” Jungkook’s voice is hard. “Jimin, did you—?”

It seems like Jimin’s silence is all Jungkook needs to hear, and Jimin feels him standing up. So this is what heartbreak is, Jimin thinks, as he tries to swallow and finds that he’s too lightheaded to think.

His eyes fly open when he hears the door open. “Jungkook—Jungkook, wait!”

This time, it's Jungkook’s eyes that are shut, as he takes a shuddering breath. “I need to think.”

-

Jimin's sitting on the couch with the TV on mute and his feet tucked underneath him when he hears the door open again. It's dark, and between the hoodie and the angle, he can't see Jungkook’s face.

"A few things," Jungkook starts. His voice is gravelly, like the way it gets when he's been re-recording a cover for too long, aiming for perfection. Times like that, Jimin would laugh and stroke his hair, leave a bowl of ramen on his desk and whisper in his ear to lure him to the bedroom. "I don't think we should see each other anymore."

Jimin had expected as much, but it still hurts all the same, aches deep in his chest. He swallows. "Okay."

"I can't,"—Jungkook sucks in a sharp breath—"I almost can't say this, because I don't know what's real and what isn't, because I feel like I'm in love with you, God damn it."

His voice breaks. Jimin's eyes sting, and he claps a hand over his mouth to keep from making noise. He's not going to break down, not now. He'd spun up an apology in his head, something desperate, something to convince Jungkook to stay. Something about how he didn't mean to, he doesn't know what's real either.

Jungkook scrubs his face with both hands. "Fuck, I look at you and you're still the best thing I've ever seen in my life, I'm still in love with you and you have—you have no idea how hard this is for me. I don't even know if I want this."

Jimin's sorry, he's so sorry. He's never seen Jungkook like this, and he fucking hates it, but he feels like his words aren't worth all that much at this point. He pulls his arms around his knees tighter, like that will hold everything together.

The light hits Jungkook's face as he drops down into a squat, still cradling his own face in his hands. "I've always wondered, you know. What it felt like to be under the command of whatever my voice brought out in people. The anger. I guess I know now, huh?"

His soft laugh hurts more than any curse would. "Jungkook—" Jimin whispers.

Jungkook flinches, voice rising in volume. His eyes are shiny, too. "It feels fucking natural, is what it is. You don't even notice it happening to you. I'll be gone by morning."

-

When Jimin slips, he fucking slips. He's taken to lingering at seedy bars, mixing his alcohol from the drinks that people buy him. He's pretty good at getting boys, even without bothering with his charm. Or maybe his ass is nice, Jimin doesn't care.

The bartender, Hoseok, who's taken to watching out for him, calling taxis and turning away various creeps, finally stops in front of him to talk after he slides a shot of soju across the bar. He's seen Jimin leave with a different guy every night. "You could put that to good use, you know?" he starts.

Jimin's confused. He's only slightly intoxicated, but he finds himself entranced with Hoseok's mouth as he talks. There's a mole on his top lip. "What do you mean?"

"The whole seducing thing. Don't waste it on the guys here."

"Who do you want me to waste it on?" Jimin asks. "You?"

Hoseok laughs, but his cheeks are tinged pink. "I have a couple of connections. Just some odd jobs. You could do your thing, maybe get some money out of it."

"I'm not looking to sell sex," Jimin drawls, a little loudly.

"I'm not talking about that," Hoseok exclaims, looking around. He leans forward, voice dropping. "Jobs where your charming nature can come in handy when you want to manipulate people for, information, say. People pay a lot for information."

Jimin's interest is piqued. Charming. If only Hoseok knew. "Yeah? Wait, sit down, tell me more."

-

Taehyung's different, Jimin knows from the get-go. Jimin has taken to examining the pupils of the people he talks to almost obsessively, anyone he comes in contact with. He finds that brown is too simple a description, and that dilation is a pretty good indicator of desire. He's more careful about reining in his charm, but it doesn't hurt to check.

Taehyung is the only one who meets his eyes and holds his gaze, staring like he's almost looking through him.

"Something in my eyes?" Jimin asks lightly. He's flirting, but without the aid of his charm this time. His natural abilities are pretty honed, or so he'd like to think. It just takes longer.

"Hm?" Taehyung gives him a quizzical look. His eyebrows are strong and he's ridiculously handsome.

Jimin looks down at the bar where he usually comes to pick up his assignments, draws a thumbnail along the grain before looking back up at Taehyung and giving him a quirk of his mouth. "You were staring. Did you find what you were looking for?"

"You?" Taehyung has a wide grin that shows off every single one of his perfect teeth and oh, okay. So he can give as good as he gets.

Jimin laughs, tossing his head back and covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "Really."

"Yeah." Taehyung clasps his wrist gently, and Jimin shivers at the feeling of his long fingers. His hands are big, maybe even twice the size of Jimin's own. "I was looking at your pupils, actually."

His voice is nonchalant, and the confirmation is almost a relief to Jimin. That, and the way he speaks so carefully, combined with the rumors Jimin's been hearing about him.

The kind of work Jimin does with his charm is more subtle—or commonplace might be a better word for it—the brand of seduction that a lot of the female mercs employ. He only uses it for his marks now, hasn't used it on any of his lovers, at least not on purpose. Taehyung, though, is more specialized, less of a mercenary and more of an assassin. He's never gotten any blood on his hands, so to speak, not when all of his marks kill themselves after he's gotten to them.

No one in these circles knows how he does it. Taehyung has a fucking cheery personality too, a little on the wild side that most chalk down to schizophrenia on the milder end of the spectrum, but Jimin recognizes it as a defense mechanism to deal with—to deal with whatever is in his voice. Because he's sure that's what this is. That's why he's seeking Taehyung out like this, even when Jimin makes it a point not to get involved with anyone in their line of work.

"Yeah?" Jimin allows. "I do that a lot too. Just to test their reaction to what I say." It's vague enough to not give anything away, but Taehyung gives a start, eyes sharpening as he watches Jimin.

Taehyung tilts his head, giving him a long look, before sprawling his legs out on the bar stool and leaning back on both elbows. Jimin wouldn't mind getting acquainted with that lap, but that's for later. "What kind of reaction?"

Jimin gives him a quick shrug, pouting slightly. "Hard to explain."

Taehyung stands, suddenly, leaning into Jimin's space, mouth by his ear. God, Jimin's found himself with another tall one. "Wanna get out of here and give it a shot?"

-

Jimin does this pretty often, though he's more used to getting pushed against the grimy bricks around the corner from the bar, not faced with a Kim Taehyung crossing his arms at him, giving him a piercing look. "So, Park Jimin, best honey pot in the business, or so they say. What's the secret?"

Raising an eyebrow, Jimin reaches out to tug him closer by the belt loops. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours. Kim Taehyung, forty-two successful hits, huh."

Taehyung sucks in a breath. Jimin's perfected this voice, not the one with his charm, but just a plain old 'fuck me later' one. Jimin knows he has him hooked from the way Taehyung's gaze drops to his mouth, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. "I think that you can do this, this thing with your voice."

Jimin maintains eye-contact, smiling slowly. "Thing? Very eloquent."

"Whatever," Taehyung grumbles. "So what is it then? What emotion do you mess with?"

Interesting choice of words. "Love," Jimin says simply. "In whatever manifestation. I call it my charm."

"Oh," Taehyung breathes, mouth open. There's a glint in his eyes. "Wow. I don't really think I can call mine that. Is that—you haven't been using it on me, right?"

"I don't use it unless it's for a job." Jimin looks away this time, scuffing the concrete with his boots, before realizing something and suddenly his smile is mischievous. "You feeling something for me?"

"What—I just—" Taehyung's cute when he's flushing and Jimin tugs the sleeves of his sweater over his knuckles, punches him gently in the shoulder. "I think it's cool. More useful than mine, you know. I just make people sad." He wrinkles his nose.

That explains a lot. No wonder he's so good at... assassinating, Jimin thinks. He's not even the one doing the dirty work, he just sets the events in motion. "You seem pretty calm about it all," Jimin points out. "Have you met others, like us?" With this ability, is left implied.

"A couple." Taehyung tugs on his ear. "A girl with envy in Belgrade and another with happiness in São Paulo. It seems like people with this thing always end up in some kind of business like ours—" He spreads his hands out, waving them around vaguely.

Jimin understands. After a while, it gets hard to use on the people around him, not knowing if the way they treat him is some remnant effect of his emotion alternation, not knowing what's real. It's a little easier on his conscience when it's for a mark, a hit he wants to pull (Jimin likes to think that he's some Robin Hood type. He's picky with the jobs he takes). "Happiness," he says, turning it over in his head. "That sounds nice."

"Don't they all sound nice, in theory?" The lift of Taehyung's grin is more sad, this time. Jimin supposes he has a point. "The happiness is more of a high, it's a hard crash after. I asked her to use it on me, once," he explains.

"I see."

"Have you met anyone, then?"

"Just one." Jimin swallows. The wind bites and the alley smells of old oil. "His was anger."

"That's pretty sick, too." Taehyung scratches his nose. "I still think yours takes the cake. Love," he enunciates the word carefully, leaning back. "You could do anything with that. I just—I just make people miserable."

Jimin understands why Taehyung jokes around so much, now, and reaches out to take his hand, humming. He's been seeing his charm as more of a curse, lately, and it’s not even half as bad as Taehyung's on the surface.

Briefly, he wonders what happened to his family after Taehyung hit puberty and his speak manifested. It couldn't have been pretty. Jimin thinks he knows now why his own parents divorced. He was probably taking all the love they had for each other for himself, accidentally, but he doesn't allow himself to dwell.

"Hey," Taehyung pokes his cheek, jolting him out of his reverie. "I was thinking, do you want to be partners?"

-

The hits are easier when it's the two of them working together, the lures more conducive to fine-tuning when there are two emotions in play. They're making quite a name for themselves, the duo with a perfect success rate and clean kills. No one knows how they do it.

Taehyung wants to find out if people have ever died of lovesickness. Jimin shuts him down. It still weighs on him sometimes, the omnipresent guilt, worse when he's not distracted with a job.

It feels like redemption, when they run into Jungkook.

Sometimes, some asshole will hire more than one team to take out a mark. Maybe they want to be doubly sure that their hit is taken out, maybe they want to drive the price down, Jimin doesn't fucking know. What he does know is that it never ends pretty (for the employer or for the other team, though, depends on how Taehyung is feeling that particular day).

The thing with the emotions that Taehyung and Jimin manipulate is, they're neat. Or maybe neat isn't the right word for it, but they're effectively discreet and useful for jobs.

Taehyung's sadness, like in its natural form, is mostly introspective or broad. Taehyung had explained that, from what he's seen, the feeling of sadness itself is less focused on a person (unless it's a person who isn't there) but rather a general sense of despair. There are breakdowns that get out-of-control, but it usually manifests quietly, eating away within.

Jimin's love feels simple too. By now he’d expected that he'd have a better grasp of just what it is, but then again, Jimin's never the one experiencing it. He's more familiar with the subsequent displays. Some people become reckless, some turn conniving. Some pine and others feel a toxic envy. There's a lot of misery that comes with it, and he jokes about that with Taehyung a lot. Jimin's realized that the emotions are always interconnected, indistinguishable from each other at times, but love most of all. One thing is always the same—there's always a desperate longing for Jimin that he can use.

Anger, though. Anger is messy and volatile, seen from a mile away.

It feels like time has slowed down, when Jimin sees a man chatting with their target, the back of his head causing a hollow feeling in his chest because yeah, that’s Jungkook. He turns a little more, and Jimin soaks in the sight of his face. There's a scar on his cheekbone, faint, one that hasn't been there before, and a cut on his bottom lip.

Then the punches start flying, their target—a clean-shaved man who turns out to be surprisingly spry—shouting at the top of his lungs and getting a sickening hit at Jungkook's stomach. Jungkook doubles over and Jimin gasps. Everything snaps back into focus as the crowd recoils, people yelling, and Jimin shoves over.

He has a mission, Taehyung is on the upper floor of the townhouse where the party they've snuck into is held, but Jimin's mindlessly pressing himself between Jungkook and his assailant.

"—Jimin?" Jungkook has a look of utter shock, and Jimin almost reaches out to touch his face before he remembers just where he is.

Fuck, and he's got no plan. He was originally supposed to lure their mark to a hotel and have Taehyung finish up, a clean two-step job that has become their modus operandi. Except now, they've drawn the attention of the crowd, and everyone's noticed his face enough to pick him out later, and he thinks he sees the security in their discreet clothing moving towards him, and—"Stop!" Jimin yells, overwhelmed, charm slipping out.

For one second, silence falls as everyone within earshot recoils, the dazed look coming over their eyes. Jimin has seconds, maybe, and before he knows it, he's reeling in their hit to whisper in his ear, "Five o'clock, tomorrow night, Conrad lobby. I'll be there," before grabbing Jungkook's wrist and making a break for it.

Taehyung is at their predetermined safe-house in Itaewon already when Jimin arrives. "What the fuck happened in there? Who's this?"

Jimin's still breathing hard. He jerks his chin between the two of them. "Jungkook, Taehyung. Taehyung, Jungkook. I need a glass of water."

"Why the fuck am I here, Jimin?" Jungkook asks. He could be looking better, but he's hell of a lot less angry than he is in Jimin's most vivid memory of him.

Honestly, Jimin doesn't really have a good reason. He takes a sharp breath through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. "We need to talk."

"I had a job to do," Jungkook hisses. "I didn't finish—"

"Park Jinyoung, forty-four, CEO of JYP Enterprises, right? We know, your employer, our employer, clearly lacks a brain and thinks he's out-smarting us by hiring more than one team. Maybe he's hoping we'll take each other out and save him the cash later."

Jungkook blanches. "No way."

"Yes, way," Taehyung cuts in, crossing his arms. He turns toward Jimin. "That doesn't explain why you brought him here, though. How do you know him?"

Jungkook immediately bristles at the hostility in his voice. "Is this another poor guy you're stringing along, Jimin?"

"What—"

"Shut the fuck up, both of you." Jimin snaps. He didn't think this through. It was an impulse, when he saw Jungkook. He didn't want to let him go again, but hell, he's so fucking tired. "Taehyung, this is the guy with the control over anger I told you about. Jungkook, Taehyung can affect sadness the same way you and I—yeah."

Taehyung rubs his face with both hands. "Jesus. I'm going to make some coffee, it's almost midnight and I have a feeling we need to talk for a while."

When he's gone, Jimin sneaks a glance at Jungkook’s face. His expression is unreadable.

"So, is he here of his own volition, or is he in love with you?" Jungkook's words have no bite to them, just a tad of sarcasm, and it's worse like that somehow.

"I haven't used my charm on him, if that's what you're asking," Jimin says quietly. All of his self-doubt comes rushing back. Truth to be told, Jimin's been worried sick for a while, just how good his control is. He's afraid that maybe, some of it might've slipped out, influencing Taehyung, or anyone around him really.

"Charm? Is that what you're calling it?" Jungkook asks with disbelief. "I guess it suits you."

Taehyung comes back, handing Jimin a mug before sliding another across the dining room table to Jungkook. "Here. Didn't know how you like it, you looked like a black coffee kind of guy to me, though."

"Two sugars and a splash of cream, actually," Jimin interjects. Both Taehyung and Jungkook stare at him.

"I'll have it black, thanks," Jungkook says, a little acidly.

Taehyung looks between the two of them, eyebrows furrowed. "Alright, then. Anyone want to go first? No? Okay, I guess I will." He leans back in his chair, tilting it so it's on the two back legs. "Jimin and I are mercenaries for hire, usually for assassinations. A hundred and six successful hits and counting. We use our speak in conjunction to pull shit off. Jimin's terrifying, you know."

Jungkook snorts. "You don't say. I'm the same, except it's anger and it gets messy. I’m not usually hired to do any kills, just to destroy reputations, and what's better for that than losing your shit and beating up a random stranger in public?" His smile is bitter. Jimin runs his gaze over the cut on his lip again, the small scar on his cheekbone, the shadow of a bruise on his left jaw.

"God, Jungkook, what are you doing to yourself?" Jimin breathes. Jungkook winces from actual pain and Jimin gets up, pushing his chair back. "I'm getting our first-aid kit."

Their bathroom cabinets are well-stocked, and Jimin finds the black bag they use for any injuries from missions. Before he returns to the dining room, he leans his forehead against the bathroom mirror for a long second, grounding himself in the weight of his breath.

Taehyung's slurping his coffee and running his mouth as Jungkook stares sullenly at his own mug when Jimin gets back. "—My parents didn't stand a chance, you know. It was pretty bad, especially for a fifteen year-old me."

Jimin's heard this story. It's fucking depressing. "Take off your shirt," he directs Jungkook.

Jungkook gives him a lazy grin, and something flutters in Jimin's chest. "Haven't heard that in a long time."

"God help me, Jeon Jungkook." Jimin angrily smears arnica cream over his torso—those are some abs he hasn't touched in a while—before brandishing a can of hot-and-cold spray. "Close your eyes."

Jimin feels almost satisfied as Jungkook winces at the sting of the spray. Not so stoic after all. Taehyung's finished his story. "Anyway, how do you guys know each other? Jimin here is pretty hush-hush about his past."

"We used to—"

"I thought I was in love with him but it turned out he was only using his thing."

Taehyung gapes at him. "Aw, shit. Shit. Jimin, dude."

"Can you shut the fuck up," Jimin hisses. It sounds worse when Jungkook says it so nonchalantly, like it meant nothing to him. "We can talk more in the morning."

"I should get going," Jungkook says, standing up. He’s gotten even taller.

Jimin bites his lip. The room still stinks of the herbal medicine, and he wonders if he can taste it in the air. "No, stay. It's easier and it's late."

"You're literally talking to a hired merc who gets beat up on purpose."

"Why do you do that." Jimin blurts out. He hates to imagine it. Jungkook’s never been the type to back down from a confrontation. He fiddles with the tube of bruise cream in his fingers, almost burns his tongue on the coffee.

"What else am I supposed to do? Not all of us can mess around with such useful emotions as yours."

Jimin's taken aback. It leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. He hardly sees his own charm as useful. "Just stay. We have a guest bedroom."

"I think it'd be a good idea," Taehyung pipes in. "Besides, don't you want to get back at our employer? Three types to play with would be fun."

Jungkook pauses for a second, deliberating. Jimin tries to reconcile the unreadable mask of his face with the Jungkook he used to know. "Fine."

When Jimin shows Jungkook his room, Jungkook is silent. It's pretty sparse, a mattress and a comforter, but then again, they didn't exactly expect any visitors. Taehyung had occupied this room before, and there are remnants of his posters on the walls, a Cardcaptor Sakura one behind the door. He'd ended up sleeping in Jimin's room once they ended up sleeping together, and thus, it remains empty.

Jungkook speaks up just as he's about to leave. "Are you guys dating?"

Jimin turns. The room is dark and the slats of the blinds cast lines across Jungkook’s face. There’s a pang in Jimin’s chest that might be longing for something right in front of him. "What's it to you?"

A shrug. "Just wondering."

"I don't know." Jimin really doesn't know. What he has with Taehyung is comfortable, an unspoken agreement that neither of them want to tip the balance of. A natural extension of their relationship that was kick-started by leftover adrenaline from difficult assignments, hot-blooded and a little reckless. "It's—it's hard to tell, you know. If he actually likes me. If anyone actually likes me. It's hard to tell whether it's for me."

He doesn't know why he's trying to explain this to Jungkook. Jimin's lost sleep over it, torn between begging Taehyung to leave because neither of them really, really know if he's here of his own volition or letting him stay. Taehyung might think he likes Jimin, but the ever-present doubt is still eating away at whatever chance of a relationship they have between them.

Taehyung knows it. He doesn't push Jimin’s boundaries, and Jimin is grateful for that.

Jungkook's pressing his lips together. "I didn't know you cared."

It stings. "Well, I do. Goodnight, Jungkook."

When Jimin shuts the door behind him, he wants to sink down to the ground and cry. It doesn't help when Taehyung comes out of his—their—bedroom, looking for him, collecting Jimin into his arms as Jimin tries to push him away.

-

The vendetta hit on their employer goes remarkably smoothly. It starts with Jimin luring the men in the security room out, before Jungkook and Taehyung swiftly sneak into the top floor office. The building is a squat, grey construction, windows all along one face, a cement slab of a roof curling around the side. The man in question is a rival CEO of their earlier mark, rather stand-offish and unpleasantly elitist. Jimin sits alone in front of the monitor later, plowing his way through a bag of Lays as he watches them toy with the guy. He's cracking under emotional duress. Jimin almost feels bad for him.

Taehyung and Jungkook are laughing when Jimin gets back to their apartment. They’ve changed into crewnecks and sweatpants worn soft, and Jimin can't help but wonder what it'd be like if he met them in an alternate reality, one in which none of them were saddled with the speak.

Jungkook stills a bit at the sight of him, but he hands Jimin an envelope full of cash and a plate of Chinese takeout. It almost feels like a peace offering.

They fall into place like that. Jungkook stays, for good, for one reason or another. Jimin tries to apologize, less through his words and more through his actions. Jungkook claims he's only with them for the time being due to the ease of pulling off hits with a three person team, but Taehyung and Jimin know better.

There's a fuckload of tension that comes to a head when Jungkook walks in on Taehyung bending Jimin over the kitchen table. Jimin's feeling a little reckless, and a part of him wanted Jungkook to catch them. The way Taehyung has him pressed against the edge, one hand clamped over his mouth, has him whimpering.

Taehyung's flustered enough to pull out in some semblance of propriety, but Jimin just perches on the edge of the table and carefully pushes the hem of his shirt down. His hair's a mess and his lips are spit-slick. "You're welcome to stay,” he says breathily. His heart is thudding in his ears.

Jungkook stays, again.

Sometimes, they discuss how hard it is, the speak. How it's less of a blessing, and more of a shitty well of self-doubt and destroyer of emotional connections. How it's impossible to tell exactly to what degree the relationships they have are affected. How easy it is to get obsessed with what is real, that constant pursuit of authenticity. He'd rather that this power never happened to him, Taehyung admits quietly.

Later, Jimin makes a terrible joke about how Jungkook and him must be the poster children for hate sex. Taehyung huffs—what about him? Emotional sex, maybe? Jungkook offers. The kind where you're crying, Jimin chimes in. Maybe you know it's the last time you'll ever see each other, so it's slow and you're crying and it should really be classified as making love. Taehyung pinches his arm and whines.

Maybe, Jimin thinks, this could be something. Maybe the three of them can make it work.

-

This time, they have to do a kidnapping. It’s not their usual job, but it piques Jungkook’s interest nevertheless. A young businessman, son of the chairman of a conglomerate that Jimin doesn't even know how to pronounce the name of, is the target. It's going to be the ol' bait-and-switch. Jimin being the bait, Jungkook and Taehyung on stand-by, switching the mark to a hostage set-up. Jimin doesn't feel too good about pulling off something like this, thinks it's not very ethical.

Jungkook snorts, tells him what do they care about ethics? Taehyung pulls up some files about a bankruptcy the company had a hand in, taking away thousands of jobs in Gyeonggi. Jimin relents.

It's going smoothly, until it isn't.

"Hey," Jimin says, breaking into a lull in the conversation. "I'm Jimin, it's lovely to meet you."

Their target is ridiculously handsome, with a face that looks like it belongs on billboards and television CFs. Not for the first time, Jimin wishes they’d splurged on mics and earpieces. This is a golden opportunity to toy with his two not-lovers.

He shakes Jimin's hand firmly. "Kim Seokjin. Not as lovely as you, I’d say."

Jimin giggles. He's not tipsy yet, not quite, just enough to take the edge off things. The perfume of the flowers in the foyer is intoxicating and musky. "You were looking bored. These kind of events not your thing?"

Seokjin casts an eye around. There are people milling around under the billowing canopy in stiff little suits. He sighs, giving Jimin a confidential smile. "Not really, no. I prefer a more relaxed atmosphere."

"Yeah?" Jimin says, angling himself closer. He peeks up at Seokjin and layers on his charm. "Me too. I could really use some fresh air."

Jungkook is waiting outside the hallway where Jimin leads Seokjin, ready to take out the bodyguard that they’d tracked earlier, always trailing an arbitrary number of steps after him. There are sounds of a scuffle as Jimin clings to Seokjin's arm, whispering about how it’s so stuffy in there.

Seokjin turns towards the noise and Jimin frowns, tugging his sleeve. "Eyes on me, babe."

"There are—"

Jimin cuts him off. "Hey, c'mere—"

And that's when it all goes to shit.

"I know what you're doing," Seokjin says, pulling away from Jimin with a jerk.

"What?" Jimin can't tell if he's bluffing. His charm has never not worked, but he layers it on again, just in case. "What are you talking about?"

"The thing with your voice. It doesn't work on me."

Jimin's blind-sided. "I—"

Seokjin pulls his sleeve back and grips his arm, the first contact of skin-on-skin they’ve had tonight.

There's a sudden tugging feeling right through Jimin's core, like he's being displaced, and his throat is on fire. It feels like something is being pulled right through him.

He tries to speak and promptly passes out.

-

Jimin wakes up blearily. He's got a headache, something akin to being hungover, except it's ten times worse. His throat is dry and there’s some remnant feeling of unsettlement.

This is not his bed. Taehyung's legs aren't splayed over his, Jungkook's chest isn't pressed against his back. He's never seen this room in his entire fucking life.

Jimin sits up so fast his head spins. The decor is nondescript, the sunlight streaming through white curtains. And Seokjin is sitting on an armchair next to the bed, left ankle crossed over his right knee.

Everything comes rushing back to him: the botched mission, the way his charm didn't work, the way Seokjin just seemed to know his emotions were being manipulated. "What—" His voice comes out hoarse.

Seokjin looks up from the magazine he was flipping through. "You're up."

Jimin takes inventory of himself. He's only in his dress shirt from the night before, the downy comforter tucked around him. He's not—he's not restrained or anything, but he can't help but feel on edge. "What's this?"

"I think we can fill each other in." Seokjin's handsome face doesn't even look mad. His expression is open, a little earnest, and Jimin's lost. It’s more unsettling like that.

"On what?"

"You were trying to kidnap me, weren't you?" Seokjin asks. "It happens a lot, with my father being who he is. I let my guard down because you're cuter than the rest of them."

"I wasn't doing anything," Jimin sniffs. Belatedly, he wonders how Taehyung and Jungkook are doing, if they're okay, if they're worried for him. Once again, he looks around the room. His clothes aren't in sight, which includes a burner phone in his trousers.

Seokjin laughs. "Okay. The speak though, I noticed. I can hear the difference."

Jimin whips his head around to look him. God, his head fucking hurts and the room is too bright. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"No?" Seokjin leans back. "The way you can influence emotions with your voice. What’s yours?"

Jimin is reeling. He anchors his fingers in the silken sheets, gives him a wide-eyed look. He’s good at this look. "What's my what? Are you crazy?"

"Nope." Seokjin spreads out his hands. There's a glimmer of a ring. "You felt what happened when I touched you, you knew I wasn't affected. You might as well tell me."

"I wasn't doing anything," Jimin says again. He’s on the verge of a full-blown panic. "Please let me go. How did I even get here?"

"I brought you here, it's my father's hotel," Seokjin explains. "And don't worry, I'll let you go. I just wanted to talk first."

Let him go? Jimin pulls his legs in, hugging his bare knees. "What do you want?"

"Just to talk." Seokjin makes a little huffing sound of impatience. He isn't very intimidating, Jimin reflects. Broad shoulders, though, and eyebrows that could probably give Taehyung a run for his money. "Anyway, I know what you can do."

"If I could, hypothetically, do that thing you're talking about, how do you know about it?" Jimin's genuinely curious. He's never met anyone able to resist his charm before. Even Taehyung and Jungkook, other people with the ability, remain affected by it, and vice versa. Seokjin's the first person not to fall in love with him when he wants him to.

"Like I said, there are a lot of people who come after me." Seokjin looks nonchalant. He untucks his tie and plays with the end. "Only one before with your skill. He was surprised, too, when he couldn't make me feel afraid. That was his."

"Fear?" Jimin asks softly. That's a new one, an interesting one. He wonders if there's a person for every emotion, if there are any overlaps.

"Yeah," Seokjin smiles, a little faintly. "It's how I first learned of people like you. And how I learned I'm immune, so to speak." He makes air quotation marks. His fingers are a little crooked.

Jimin curls up against the headboard. It’s cold, a manufactured chill sinking into him, and he wants to wrap the comforter around his shoulders. "What happened to him?"

"Him? Nothing," Seokjin says. "We're dating, actually."

"—What?" Jimin gapes. That wasn't exactly what he was expecting.

"Yeah."

He blurts out, "How does that even—how does that work? Aren't you afraid that he's manipulating your emotions, either accidentally or on purpose? How are you able to—" How are you able to trust him, Jimin finishes in his head.

Seokjin looks at his hands, before jerking his chin at Jimin. "You felt what happened when I touched you, right?"

Jimin nods. He doesn't think that he can forget that feeling anytime soon. It just felt plain wrong, like he was being pulled through a sieve, getting ripped apart.

"I can remove your power." Seokjin says in a clipped tone as he watches Jimin’s face carefully.

It's like he's dropped a bombshell. Jimin feels faint, cupping his face in his hands before pulling a pillow into his lap. "... Sorry?"

"I can take it away, permanently, whatever it is in your voice that gives you the power to control your particular emotion. It fucking hurts, apparently, and Yoongi—my boyfriend, he actually lost his voice for a while, but it's since come back."

"No way," Jimin says quietly. This isn't something he can absorb right now. His fingers are digging into the pillow he's wrapped around.

"Yeah." Seokjin insists. "You felt it. I didn't touch you long enough to do anything, but any more skin contact and it might've happened."

Running his fingers over his throat lightly, Jimin clenches his eyes shut. There's a faint smell of incense in the air. "How can you do that?" he asks, desperation leaking into his voice. There are a million and one thoughts whirling around his head. He can't even begin to fathom what it must be like to live without—without his charm, without his control over love.

"How can you do what you do?" Seokjin replies. "I don't know. No one knows. I tried to talk to a doctor once, but they turn you away or threaten to send you over to psych. I'm sure you understand."

Jimin does. "It's—this is a lot of stuff for me to take in right now," he says weakly. "Can you give me a bit? And maybe my stuff back?"

"Sure." Seokjin stands up, dusting off his lap. "The rest of your clothes are in the closet. I didn't call the cops, or anything. Your friend who took down my bodyguard is okay too, I told them to let him go. I actually have to go right now, but here, take my card, call me sometime if you want to talk."

He rifles through his breast pocket before placing an ivory business card on the bedside desk. "Also, no hard feelings about the kidnapping. It'd be nice if you let me know who hired you, though. Ever think of using your superpower for good?"

Jimin snorts. Superpower. "There's not really much you're able to do with making people fall in love with you, surprisingly."

Seokjin gives a start. "Relationships, maybe?"

"I used to. I don't know, I'm just—it's just forcing people to stay with me." Jimin's voice shakes. He doesn't know why he's telling this to a stranger. "It's not half as nice as it sounds, this whole thing."

"I'm sorry." Seokjin bites his lip, opens his mouth like he's about to say something before turning away. He pauses at the door. "Call me, okay? Whatever you decide."

Jimin is left in the room, staring at the cream colored sheets. He needs to talk to Jungkook and Taehyung.

-

Taehyung just about tackles him when Jimin pushes open the door to their apartment. Their eclectic furniture looks odd, small, discolored. Everything feels like it's been shifted a degree off its axis. "Holy shit, Jimin."

Jungkook is lying on the couch, arm bandaged and shoulder wrapped up. He half-heartedly lifts up his other hand in greeting. "You still in one piece?"

Jimin laughs breathlessly. "I think."

"Jiminnie, what happened to you?" Taehyung pushes him to the couch, makes him sit down next to Jungkook. "I mean, I'm guessing the mission didn't go as planned, but our mark just disappeared and so did you. I got so worried. Jungkook here was worried sick too, even though he probably won't admit it. He wanted to go out looking for you with a fucking dislocated shoulder."

"Really?" Jimin pokes Jungkook's cheek even as he tries to flinch away. "I was with our mark, actually. Kim Seokjin."

"What?" Jungkook sits up, hair falling into his face. He looks young like this, looking his age for once. "While I was getting beat up...?"

Jimin tamps down on his irritation, unable to tell if it's real or some effect of Jungkook's ability. "Yeah. He could—he knows about the speak. Our speak. He's immune."

Taehyung pushes a hand through his hair, whistling. "Shit."

"Immune? How can he be, when we're not even immune to each other?" Jungkook says in disbelief.

"That's what I thought," Jimin explains, "but I felt it. He wasn't under my charm, at all. He didn't act like it." It’s still perplexing to him. No one has ever been unaffected in his life.

Jungkook threads their fingers together, not meeting Jimin's eyes. They’re cold but they're familiar. “That's, I never imagined anyone could be like that."

Jimin rubs his eyes. He has to tell them. He owes them at least that much. A selfish part of him warns him that maybe they'd leave, without the familiarity of the speak tying them together, and he doesn't want that. It’s dysfunctional right now, but they’ve made it work so far. "One more thing. He told me he could take it away."

They both fall silent. Jimin peeks out at Taehyung through his fingers. His eyebrows are together, lips pressed into a line. Jungkook's grip on his fingers has turned slack.

"Like—?" Taehyung whispers. The air conditioner turns on, a soft whir undercutting their voices.

"Yeah," Jimin says, muffled. "He said he did it before. A guy with fear." He doesn't mention that whoever it is is dating Seokjin now.

"Don't you get it?" Taehyung suddenly laughs, kind of manic. "We could—he could fix this. Us."

Jungkook is working his jaw. "You'd just give it up? Everything?"

"I don't want it. I never did." Taehyung comes closer, collapses between them on the sofa. "Guys," he says into the darkness, looking up at the ceiling fan. "I think this could be it."

Jimin's torn. He's never once imagined life without his charm. Sure, he didn't ask for it, but years of having it, as a failsafe to fall back on, has made it nothing less than an integral part of him. "Taehyung," he starts.

"No! Jimin, you always talk about it. How we—how you've never really had a relationship with anyone, because you can't tell how much of it under your influence."

"We should still take some time to think about it. We don't even know if he can—"

Taehyung tosses his head back. "Jungkook?"

"I don't know." Jungkook's voice is hard. "I don't know. We've been making it work—"

Taehyung's clenching and unclenching his fists. Jimin almost snaps at Jungkook, telling him to rein in his shit. "Really? Are you sure? I think relationships require some degree of trust. It's kind of impossible when—Jimin can make us love him. You can make us pretty fucking pissed off. I can—I've ruined my parents' lives, you know that. I can't do the same thing to you guys." He takes a deep breath.

Jimin pulls him into a tight embrace when his voice cracks. "Hey. We're all strung-out right now. This isn't a hasty decision to make, we need to think about it, okay? Carefully."

Jungkook's shaking his head. "I think this is a bad idea."

Jimin glares at him over Taehyung's hair. He smells like the almond shampoo that he’s appropriated from Jungkook who pilfered it from Jimin. "Jungkook."

"Can you imagine, Jimin? Not being able to control people anymore, the power—"

"Yeah, but it's shitty, Jungkook, you know that. I feel like—I feel like I ruin everything I touch. You try living without knowing whether or not the people around you truly want to be there, or if you're just forcing to stay with some twisted, selfish desire." Everything Jimin does comes back to this. He's sick, he's fucking sick of the guesswork, of the self-awareness that rears its ugly head whenever he wants to try to allow himself to love.

Jungkook is silent, a sullen look on his face, and Jimin touches his cheek lightly. The scar is there, visible even in the moonlight. "Wouldn't it be nice, to be on level ground? The three of us could start over again with each other."

-

Jimin bites his lip, pulling a crumpled business card from his pocket and staring at the stark lettering. He opens his burner with the other hand, dials in the number. His fingers shake. It's almost exhilarating.

"Seokjin? It's Jimin. With the ability to manipulate love? Yeah."