25 September 2016

She had already forgotten about the blonde stranger that had interrupted her peaceful night a few weeks prior. Business was slow as usual, but it gave her more time to read and draw and create new fragrances. Candle-making was a family tradition that dated all the way back to her extremely great-grandmother in the Joseon dynasty who made candles for the royal family. There was speculation that one of her relatives also had an affair with the prince and was made a concubine, but she didn't like to think about that.

The line was called Soohyang, the name of her grandmother that started making candles as a business. She had opened the candle shop during the time when the Japanese colonized Korea. It had undergone some renovations—especially after being destroyed after a bombing during the Korean War—but it was still the same spot. It tied her back to her heritage and made her feel proud.

She was just finishing wrapping up a few sconces and candles for a newly-wed couple decorating their house when the bell at the front door dinged, signaling a new customer. Without thinking, she shouted a cheerful, "Welcome!" as she always did. The couple complimented her joyous disposition and left with bows and smiles.

There were only a few people in the store at that time, but soon enough they all bought something and left, leaving a black-haired man standing at the back. He was facing the hair products rack so she couldn't see his face, but by the way one forearm was resting across his back and the other seemed to be brought to his chin, he was pondering something.

It was the perfect opportunity to make a sale.

She walked around the counter and crossed the room to stand beside him. "Is there anything I can help you with, sir?"

"Glad you asked, Candle Girl," Yoongi said as he faced her with his brows drawn in. "Which scent do you think says 'I'm sorry I stole your kid's bike but I had no choice'?"

She faltered. Why was he there again? It had been weeks since their run-in. He seriously committed this place to memory? She had forgotten about him until she saw his face. Though, she wasn't exactly complaining. He wasn't bad to look at. Though when he opened his mouth he totally ruined his good looks.

    "You stole a bike from a child?"

    He sighed as if it wasn't the first time someone said that to him. "Look, you weren't there, okay?"

    She only shook her head in disappointment. She believed that everybody should be given a second chance, but he was burning her patience to a crisp, much like the wick that crackled under the flame in the candle on her desk.

"You're a terrible person," she murmured as he ventured to the wall by her desk.

Yoongi picked up a pink candle and sniffed before recoiling and setting it back on the shelf. "Tell me something I don't know—oh, and sweets," he began, turning to face her again. "You might want to reevaluate your senses because Pink Sand smells like my dog's shit."

"Get out!" she shouted, anger boiling over. She liked to think of herself as a calm person but something about him made her feel a plethora of emotions she hadn't even heard of.

He smirked and held his hands up in defeat, beginning to back out. "Fine, Princess." Her cheeks burned at the nickname. How was she being a princess? He insulted her profession. He snickered at the way she subconsciously scrunched her nose in disgust and turned to leave. "See ya round, Candle Girl."

"I hope not..."

-

Stopping by Soohyang Candles was only one thing on Yoongi's 'to-do' list for the day. He had been intending on going back in ever since he hid there, but he knew that it was on the H.S.S. Mob's radar after that night. In order to assure that she and whoever else worked there stayed safe, he kept away until he knew from his friend, who worked as sort of a double agent for him and H.S.S., that the coast was clear.

Yoongi made sure that he had eyes and ears inside Seoul's largest gang, but only after he had fucked with them. It was a stupid action he had only completed on a dare and the fifty bucks he got was not worth it. If that girl hadn't let him hide in her shop or had given him away, he would no doubt be dead. His organs would probably be selling on the black market right then.

He shivered at the thought and pulled his hoodie further over his head to cover his face better. When meeting with his friend who also worked with the gang, he had to make sure that he wasn't recognizable. Even with his newly dyed black locks, he still had the same face. Besides, he knew they tapped his friend's phone. He knew they had people watching him.

Nothing and nobody was safe. Nobody but Yoongi himself and Jungkook.

Yoongi found himself growing increasingly paranoid in the past months. He was constantly dying his hair and used different names with everyone. He was still kicking himself for telling that girl his real name. He had destroyed his phone for a second time and was now only using disposable ones. He had millions saved up from his shady doings, and while it ensured financial stability, it also put him at risk of being found.

He only used the money for emergencies—like buying a couple hundred disposable cell phones.

His foot tapped furiously on the shiny mall floor. He was waiting in the food court among hundreds of others. He kept looking over his back, as he normally did while in public, his sunglasses and hoodie doing nothing to assure him.

Finally, Yoongi spotted the familiar tall man taking confident strides toward him. His hair was styled up and pushed back, accompanied by a pair of Gucci sunglasses. He wore an expensive sea green button-up and beige dress pants. As always, he looked the part of a wealthy businessman just back from a trip abroad. H.S.S. treated their members well.

Namjoon sat across from him and smirked before taking off his sunglasses, tucking them into the collar of his shirt. "It's good to see you, Sam. You look like shit."

To him, Yoongi was Samuel Hong, born in the U.S. but raised in Korea. And the man wasn't wrong. Compared to Namjoon, Yoongi looked like a drug addict. His black hoodie was pulled so far down over his face that he looked like the grim reaper.

"You look rich, as always," he muttered. "So how is it looking?"

Namjoon sighed wistfully, eyes resting on the giant skylight above them. "Well, the sun is shining. It's a beautiful day—"

"Namjoon."

"Oh—for you? Not good."

Yoongi groaned. "They want me dead, don't they?"

"Of course they do," he said with a hearty laughing, fingers rapping on the table. "You owe them fifty million American dollars."

He leaned forward desperately lifting his head slightly. "I don't have it, okay? I didn't even know they were worth that much!"

"It doesn't matter. They still want their money."

Yoongi took a deep breath. When he clumsily knocked a few carts of drugs into the ocean while using a crane to try and retrieve a car, he had no idea it would end up this way. "What do I do?"

"There's only one thing you can do aside from killing yourself," he said grimly, any trace of playfulness gone. "You have to fake your death and get the hell out of Korea."

"No," he protested firmly. "This is my home. I'm not leaving."

"If you don't, you will die," Namjoon stressed, genuine concern showing through.

"I'll figure it out. I'll figure out a way to get the money."

He narrowed his eyes. "Don't be stupid, Sam. Even if you give them the money, they'll still kill you."

Yoongi only stared down at his lap and shook his head. He couldn't stand the idea of leaving Korea and starting over somewhere else. It wasn't an option as far as he was concerned.

Namjoon exhaled in frustration and leaned back in his chair. "I mean, maybe Jeju. Maybe you could go there and be safe but only if you fake your death or erase any record of you ever being here."

The older nodded. He could live with Jeju, but he'd have to think about it. About all of it. He could only hide from them for so long. It was only a matter of time before he would have to make a decision. And if he didn't, he'd be done for.