I was never one to order fish tacos; el pastor or barbacoa were always my go-to choices. But the fish tacos at the little hole-in-the-wall restaurant Yeosang took us to were a revelation—possibly some of the most delicious tacos I'd ever had. Namjoon, who wasn't a fan of seafood, was blissfully lost in his third spam musubi while Yeosang and I savoured yet another taco.

'Jin would love these,' I thought mid-chew, only for the succulent bite to suddenly turn bland, like cardboard, as memories of my friend flooded my mind.

"Everything alright, Bonnie?" Yeosang asked, concern evident in his voice as he gently touched my now-clenched fist.

With effort, I swallowed the stubborn mouthful that refused to go down as easily as the others. Setting the remainder of my taco on the plate, I sighed. "How do other people manage this?" My voice trembled with the weight of my thoughts. "I understand I can't reach out to anyone from my old life—and I won't. But how do I keep these feelings from overwhelming me? How do I stop myself from being buried alive by guilt? I mean, I've basically ghosted everyone."

Namjoon set aside his half-eaten musubi, a knowing smile gracing his lips. "It seems you might have missed a detail in your briefing," he remarked. "I can't fault you; FBI protocols are hardly riveting. But rest assured, your alibi is secure."

"Remember your interview with Solar and me? You mentioned an onstage fall that resulted in your injury. My wife's cousin's friend's neighbour's son is a doctor—yes, I know, it's a bit convoluted, but it's important to keep the trail from leading back to me or the case. Anyway, this doctor works with the Bureau when needed, and he's crafted us a solution."

His explanation felt like navigating a maze, yet I sensed the weight of what he was saying and listened closely.

"He's written a letter requesting that you be given a one-month medical exemption from work," Namjoon continued. "It cites damage to your peroneal tendon from the fall. He's also arranged a 'referral' to a specialist and advised against wearing high heels for at least four weeks—and no dancing for eight weeks, pending the consultation's findings."

"Okay, that explains my absence from Copacabana," I acknowledged, marvelling at the plan's ingenuity. "But it doesn't clarify my disappearance or why Seokjin or Louisa can't reach me, especially since my phone was seized before the flight."

Yeosang interjected with a sly grin. "That part was simple... we fabricated a fake obituary for one of your distant Australian relatives. We informed both of your friends that your family arranged your travel to Sydney for the funeral. We kept the message vague but implied that your family knew about your father's debts. Jungkook, being undercover and close to those at Copacabana, will help sell the narrative."

"But weren't those debts cleared when I entered WITSEC?" I asked, confused as to why they were bringing them up again. "I swear I remember that Jungkook mentioned it during the briefing."

Namjoon nodded, mindlessly separating grains of rice on his plate as if needing something to occupy his hands. "Yes, but your friends don't know that. And since your phone plan doesn't work overseas, coupled with how you're not active on social media, it explains their inability to contact you."

I nodded, following the logic as it unfurled in my mind. "And what happens when my month off work comes to an end? What then?"

"For the sake of your safety, we're keeping that information confidential. I understand that trust can be fragile, and I'm not asking for it lightly. But I hope you can find it within you to trust Jungkook, Yeosang, and me." Namjoon's words were underscored by a single dimple as he offered a reassuring half-smile. He was right; my past was littered with broken trusts, far outnumbering the ones I had managed to keep.

"Okay," I agreed, albeit hesitantly.

"Okay," Yeosang echoed, his smile mirroring Namjoon's warmth. As I signalled that I had no further questions about 'work,' he added, "Let's finish eating. Then I'll take you home and into bed."

I spluttered, choking on a gulp of Dr Pepper as the fizzy liquid caught in my throat from his unexpected statement.

"Yeo, how many times do I have to remind you that not everyone has as good of a gaydar as you?" Namjoon chastised, laughing at the way Yeosang's cheeks flushed pink. He turned to me, his tone a mix of jest and earnestness. "You see, part of the reason I've entrusted you to Yeosang is that he's... well, about as straight as a bent nail. Relationships and intimacy aren't off-limits for you, but I thought you'd appreciate having someone around who you wouldn't have to worry about hitting on you—especially after everything you've been through."

⋆⁺₊⋆ 🖤 ⋆⁺₊⋆

The night had settled in by the time Yeosang and I arrived at his apartment—now mine too, it seemed. Despite the darkness that enveloped everything, I could tell the building was more than just nice; it was a luxurious 13-story structure right on the waterfront, overlooking Diamond Head. The gentle sound of waves breaking against the shore was soothing, and I couldn't wait to see everything in the morning light.

Though my body felt weary, my mind was reluctant to shut down. Instead of retiring to our respective rooms, Yeosang and I curled up on opposite ends of the couch, seizing this rare moment of downtime. We sipped whiskey on the rocks, sharing bits of our lives. Since he already knew everything about me, I decided to ask about his background.

"Well, my hometown is San Francisco," he replied. "But I haven't been back in years. After I moved to attend Quantico, my parents bought a vineyard in Napa Valley, which my older sister and her husband now manage."

"I've always wanted to visit Napa Valley, though not necessarily for the wine," I confessed. Yeosang chuckled, his deep laughter reminiscent of Tae's, and I quickly tucked that thought away in the mental box where I stored memories of my ex. "Growing up in Australia, I heard so much about different places in America from television and movies. Napa Valley was one of those destinations, and I've always wondered if it lives up to the hype."

Yeosang leaned back, contemplating my words. "I mainly go there to visit family. Personally I'm more of a hard liquor and gay club kind of guy, though it's been a while since I hit the New York scene." His eyes glinted with a hint of mystery, and I couldn't help but wonder what other layers of his life lay beneath the surface.

We dove into a lively conversation about our mutual affection for the Big Apple. I animatedly shared my dream of living in the trendy neighbourhoods of Manhattan, much like the iconic characters from Friends or Sex and the City. His laughter filled the room as I recounted my misadventures navigating the bustling subway system during visits to the city's famous landmarks. Our playful debate soon revolved around an age-old question: which culinary delight was more quintessentially New York—pizza or bagels?

As the evening wore on, Yeosang opened up about his journey, particularly how he came to know the two agents from New York. After graduating from Quantico, he was assigned to the New York Headquarters under Namjoon's mentorship. They worked as partners for several years, tackling cases and building a strong bond. However, when Jungkook joined the team, the dynamics shifted. Yeosang became Jungkook's partner while Namjoon received a well-deserved promotion to lead a specialised unit. Through Yeosang's stories, it was clear that he held deep admiration and respect for both men, each having left an indelible mark on his career and life.

Since all the details of my life were an open book to the FBI agents and US Marshals involved in my case, the blonde man beside me felt comfortable sharing a bit more about Namjoon and Jungkook, or "Joonie and Kook," as he affectionately called them. It was all part of his effort to earn my trust, or so he claimed.

"You wouldn't believe it by looking at him, but Namjoon grew up on a corn farm in Ames, Iowa," Yeosang revealed, a smirk playing on his lips. My eyes widened in disbelief; I certainly wouldn't have pictured the suave, cosmopolitan man I knew as a farm boy. "He was actually on track to be scouted by a minor league baseball team until he dropped out of college, left Iowa, and applied to the FBI."

"Wow, I did not see that coming," I said with a laugh. "He looks more like a basketball player with his height." I couldn't help but giggle when Yeosang mentioned that while Namjoon excelled at running, throwing and hitting things, he was decidedly less skilled at catching them. "Total klutz," he joked, and I could almost picture it.

"And what about Jungkook?" I leaned in, eager for more.

The smile on Yeosang's face transformed into one of a proud older brother. "Jungkook's childhood dream was to join the Seattle police force, just like his dad and grandfather. Thanks to his exceptional intelligence, he was fast-tracked through high school and graduated at the tender age of 15."

"Wow," I gasped. "That takes some serious brains."

"Our Jungkook is one smart cookie," Yeosang chuckled, his playful tone drawing peals of laughter from me as well. "He attended Washington State, studying both criminology and criminal psychology. By 18, he was already on the police force. A couple of years later, he went to a training session with the FBI, and they scooped him up for UC training." The pride in his voice was palpable, and I couldn't help but wonder what other layers lay beneath the surface of these remarkable men.

"Yeosang? Can I ask you something that's been on my mind?" I asked, as our conversation meandered through various topics. When he nodded, I shifted to a more serious subject—my safety while living on an island that was a popular tourist destination. A quick scroll through Instagram revealed countless people documenting their Hawaiian holidays for the world to see.

"You remember how Namjoon mentioned one reason he assigned me as your handler is that I'm gay?" he began, placing his glass on the table and turning to face me directly. "Well, there's another reason: I have access to a white-hat hacker who's helping us out. His mission is to keep any mention of Chloe Harlowe and her location off the internet, ensuring it aligns with our cover. He also scrubs any photos of you from existence."

"Can he really do that?" I asked, feeling a bit foolish for my ignorance about this side of the internet.

"Agust is the best at what he does," Yeosang assured me with a slow nod. "He's the mastermind behind all of Bonnie's digital footprints. If anyone investigates your new identity, it won't look like you've just materialised out of thin air."

"So, what exactly has he done?" I pressed, eager to learn more about the intricacies of my fabricated online existence. Namjoon had promised to brief me on my cover story, but hearing this side of things took it to a whole new level.

"Agust has woven a digital tapestry with meticulous precision," Yeosang explained, his enthusiasm evident. "He created social media profiles that mirror some aesthetics from your previous ones, complete with a fake email account overflowing with old correspondence. He delved into your interests and hobbies as Chloe, crafting social media posts, a defunct blog, Spotify playlists, and Pinterest boards for Bonnie. It's all similar enough to your old life that you won't be caught off guard if someone mentions an obscure hobby that Bonnie supposedly enjoys.

"But that's not all," Yeosang continued, leaning in slightly. "Agust planted breadcrumbs in the form of false leads and red herrings. Bonnie's childhood memories? Fabricated. References to obscure books, movies, and artists? Scattered throughout the digital landscape. If anyone digs too deep, they'll find themselves lost in a labyrinth of half-truths. And then there's the secret network of dummy accounts—digital doppelgängers who echo Bonnie's interests, repost her content, and leave comments. They lend credibility to her existence, ensuring she doesn't stand out as an anomaly."

I was dumbfounded. The extent of Agust's work was astounding. Someone was going to great lengths to protect me, and I felt both grateful and overwhelmed. Agust wasn't just a friend; he was a formidable ally who could erase someone's digital presence with a few keystrokes.

"And the pièce de résistance?" Yeosang's eyes sparkled. "Agust developed an algorithm that scans the internet for images of you. When it detects your face, his custom AI program seamlessly replaces it with someone else's. So, don't worry about appearing in photographs—you'll be a chameleon, blending into the digital crowd.

"Bonnie Sinclair truly is Agust's magnum opus. She emerged from his keystrokes as a woman with a past, a present, and a future," he said, pausing to let out a long yawn. "Her digital footprints dance in harmony, concealing the truth behind layers of code. Should anyone dare to question her existence, they'll find no seams, no loose threads—only the illusion of a life well-lived. But you'll learn more about Bonnie tomorrow... after we've gotten some sleep."

Glancing at the clock, I realised it was already past midnight. I watched as he demonstrated the myriad security features that would keep us both safe. When Yeosang bid me goodnight, I couldn't resist wrapping him in a hug. My gratitude flowed into that embrace—for what he and Agust had done for me, for allowing me to share this hidden life, and for safeguarding me.

"I'll see you in the morning," he murmured. "Sleep well, Bonnie. And welcome to Hawaii."