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The neon outside Headliner bled across the puddles on the asphalt, tangling like distorted veins of electric pink and cobalt blue. Jungkook and Taehyung strode toward the entrance, the silk of their hanboks swaying slightly with each step—a fashion choice Jungkook hadn't signed off on but had grudgingly accepted to humor Taehyung. It didn't help that every passing glance on the way here had felt like a commentary, silent but scathing. Taehyung had reveled in the attention, chin high and unbothered. Jungkook? He could've done without the parade.

Tae really needs a hobby that isn't making my life harder.

Inside, the club stirred with a kind of muted chaos. Staff moved like shadows between a bar that gleamed with obsessive polish and velvet booths showing the wear of long nights and longer make-out sessions. A faint bassline thumped from unseen speakers, its rhythm more felt than heard, as if the room itself had a heartbeat. The air carried the faint tang of spilled gin and something more elusive—anticipation, or maybe regret.

Mingyu leaned in the doorway like he owned the place, which, technically, he did. The gold chain against his white tank and ripped jeans said thug, but the sly tilt of his grin promised trouble of a different sort. "Well, well. Would you look at that!" He spread his arms wide, laughter already bubbling up. "What are you, filming Hwarang: Ravenport Edition?"

Taehyung flashed a grin, brushing imaginary dust off his embroidered sleeve. "It's called style, Mingyu. Something you'd understand if you weren't so busy living in 'Gangsta's Paradise.'"

"Style?" Mingyu's eyebrow arched as he gave Jungkook a once-over. "More like cultural cosplay. Did Taehyung force this on you, or were you feeling bold?"

Jungkook shoved his hands into his pockets, the corner of his mouth twitching against his better judgment. "Don't even ask."

Mingyu snickered as he gestured for them to follow. "Come on in, my poet warriors."

The trio moved through the club, the echoes of their footsteps swallowed by the thick carpet. Mingyu cast a glance back as they neared the far booths, his voice turning casual but probing. "By the way, Jungkook, I've got someone I think you should meet tonight. She's—"

"Hard pass." Jungkook didn't break stride, the clipped tone of his reply clear enough to squash any follow-up. "It's not the right time. Got too much going on."

Taehyung, trailing just a step behind, chimed in without hesitation. "He's already got his focus on someone."

The statement landed like a cue in a K-drama, and both Mingyu and Jungkook froze mid-step.

Is there a refund policy on best friends? Asking for myself.

"My focus is on getting through this night without strangling you."

Taehyung didn't even blink.

Mingyu turned, his grin widening with interest. "Someone, huh? Now this I have to hear. Do tell!"

"Don't." Jungkook's voice carried a sharp edge, but Taehyung ignored him completely, settling into the booth first.

"She's gorgeous, feisty, and doesn't put up with his nonsense. He's practically smitten." Taehyung propped his chin on his hand, watching Jungkook's reaction with poorly concealed glee.

Mingyu slid in, signaling a passing waitress to bring their drinks. "Smitten, huh? That's a new look for you, JK. Who's the lucky girl?"

Mingyu lives for this—digging into things that don't concern him. I should've gone home.

Jungkook dropped into the booth. "Nobody. Taehyung's delusional."

"You're right," Taehyung purred with a slow, knowing smile. "I must've imagined all those times you drooled over Vienna."

If I choked him right now, would anyone really blame me?

Mingyu whistled low, leaning forward. "Vienna. Sounds fancy. She a model? Heiress? Hitwoman?"

Jungkook's jaw tightened, his voice dropping into something almost dangerous. "She's nobody. Drop it."

Mingyu watched his reactions with open amusement. "Sounds like you've got it bad, my guy. What's the story? She play hard to get?"

"There is no story," Jungkook growled.

It's not like I'm thinking about her constantly. Just occasionally. Barely.

The waitress arrived, placing three glasses of whiskey on the table. Mingyu raised his with exaggerated ceremony. "To Vienna. May her sharp tongue never dull."

Taehyung joined the toast with a chuckle, but Jungkook glared at them both, muttering under his breath as he reluctantly clinked his glass against theirs.

Mingyu and Tae teaming up is my personal brand of hell. Idiots.

As the burn of whiskey warmed his throat, Jungkook couldn't help but feel like he'd just been cornered—by his friends, by his own thoughts, and most of all, by the memory of a freckle-dusted face that refused to leave his mind.

The velvet booth gave a soft, almost petulant sigh as Jungkook leaned back, his body taut. He crossed his arms, one hand gripping his bicep like he needed to hold himself together, his chin jutting out in a challenge. "I'm starving," he announced.

Mingyu glanced at his phone, a smirk creeping onto his face. "It's barely six. Chef's not here yet. Patience, my poet warrior."

Jungkook shrugged, unfazed. "Fine. I'll just make something myself."

Taehyung's lips twitched as he took a slow sip of whiskey, his shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. "Oh, sure, why not burn this place down like that time in Prague?"

Jungkook whipped his head around, glare loaded. "Okay, first of all, that was your fault."

"Uh-huh." Taehyung crossed his arms, all mock seriousness. "Pretty sure it was your pan on fire, not mine."

Mingyu sat up straighter, curiosity lighting his face. "Wait, wait. What the hell happened in Prague?"

Jungkook groaned, dragging a hand down his face as if trying to physically scrape the memory away. "Don't encourage him."

Taehyung's grin stretched wide, one elbow resting on the edge of the table, fingers drumming an exaggerated beat. He shifted forward, his whiskey glass tilting precariously in his other hand. "Ah, the infamous Prague incident."

Jungkook shot him a warning look, but it was already too late.

"Picture this," Taehyung began, gesturing dramatically, "two young, handsome lads, fresh out of high school, traveling through the cobbled streets of Prague. We meet two adorable Czech girls at a café. They're charmed, obviously, and invite us to their father's restaurant. And my genius friend here decides the way to their hearts is through bulgogi."

Jungkook cut in, waving his hand. "Correction: you decided we'd make bulgogi. I was fine sticking to, I don't know, beer and charm."

"Charm?" Taehyung let out a snort. "Sure. Anyway, we borrow their dad's restaurant kitchen—"

"Break into. The restaurant was closed." Jungkook didn't miss a beat.

"Borrow," Taehyung breathed out with exaggerated patience. "Semantics. So, we're in the kitchen. I'm slicing vegetables like a pro, and JK—"

"—is grilling the meat perfectly, I might add," Jungkook interjected.

"—leaves the pan unattended to puff a cigarette," Taehyung finished, glaring at him. "Next thing I know, the entire kitchen is up in flames. Smoke everywhere. Pure chaos."

"Because you cranked up the gas like a maniac!" Jungkook shot back.

Mingyu's laughter burst out, rough and unrestrained, ricocheting through the room and snagging the attention of his staff. "Wait, wait. You two dumbasses actually set a kitchen on fire trying to impress some girls?"

"Not 'set,'" Jungkook protested. "It was more like... an accident."

"An avoidable accident," Taehyung said pointedly.

Jungkook threw up his hands. "I was outside!"

"You left the gas on!" Taehyung leaned forward. "Admit it, JK. You're the reason the Prague Fire Department knows how to say 'bulgogi.'"

Mingyu shook his head. "You're both banned from my kitchen. I don't care if it's a famine."

"Oh, it gets worse," Taehyung added, leaning back smugly. "Their dad storms in, smoke alarms blaring, calling us every Czech insult in the book—"

"And then?" Mingyu prompted, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Then," Taehyung continued, spreading his hands wide, "the man called the fire department and the cops."

Jungkook let out a long groan, tipping his head back against the booth. "And my sister had to bail us out. Twice."

Mingyu paused mid-laugh. "JK's got a sister? Why've you been hiding her? She sounds like my kind of woman. Hook me up."

The booth's temperature plummeted. Jungkook's easy smirk disappeared, replaced by a scowl.

The nerve on him.

"Don't," he warned flatly, the word heavy as iron.

Taehyung stiffened, his earlier bravado deflating. "Mingyu, buddy," he forced a laugh. "I'd shut up now if I were you."

Mingyu's laugh faltered as he raised his hands in surrender, though the glint in his eye said he wasn't entirely sorry. "Hey, I'm kidding! Relax."

Relax? Sure, let me just flip that switch real quick. Asshole.

Taehyung cleared his throat loudly, his gaze flicking nervously between Jungkook and Mingyu. "Anyway! Jungyoon—his sister—rips us a new one. The rest of our trip? Grounded. Hotel-bound. No girls. No beer. Just regret."

"National embarrassment, she called us," Jungkook muttered, his voice softer, almost distant.

"And she wasn't wrong," Taehyung added with a grin, trying to lighten the mood.

Before Mingyu could pry further, one of his men approached the table, urgency etched in every hurried step. "Boss, we've got a situation."

Mingyu sighed, standing. "Stay put, kids. And for the love of everything, stay out of my kitchen."

As he stepped away, Taehyung let out a slow breath, his eyes darting to Jungkook. "You good?"

Jungkook didn't answer. His gaze had dropped to the table, where his fingers moved in small, deliberate patterns, tracing a faint line along the grain of the marble. Somewhere in his mind, Jungyoon's voice echoed—soft, warm, protective. A memory he could never outrun.

God, I miss her...

Jungkook leaned back, the whiskey in his glass catching the amber glow of the chandelier above as he swirled it absently. A few paces away, Mingyu murmured in a sharp, annoyed tone to one of his lackeys, their words muffled but pointed enough to bristle the air. Taehyung tipped his head slightly, his gaze narrowing as he caught fragments of the exchange.

"Nightshade... Salazar... oxytren..."

He shot Jungkook a look. "Sounds like Mingyu's latest headache."

Jungkook didn't respond, letting the faint burn of whiskey slide down his throat as he watched Mingyu return to the table, his stride quick, irritation sharper than his cologne. Mingyu dropped into his seat and knocked back his drink in one motion, the glass hitting the table with a dull thud.

"What's oxytren?" Taehyung asked, his tone deliberately casual.

Mingyu let out a bitter laugh, his fingers hovering near the edge of his glass before curling into a fist. "Synthetic trash Salazar's been flooding the market with. Cheaper than dirt, addictive as hell. And the sheep? They're eating it up, no questions asked. Meanwhile, I'm watching my margins bleed."

"Aw, what a tragedy." Jungkook's voice was dry, his lip curling. "Losing customers because someone else figured out how to poison people faster and cheaper. Somebody start a GoFundMe page for poor Mingyu."

Mingyu glared at him. "This isn't about poisoning people. It's about business. We run the cleanest product in the city. Everyone knows that."

"Sure," Jungkook shot back, resting his elbows on the table. "That's what we always hear from the morally upstanding drug lords of the world. Best product. Cleanest supply. A real public service."

Mingyu dragged the base of his glass along the table before tipping it toward Jungkook. "Don't preach to me. My job is to make people happy. And our ecstasy does that. We're not cutting it with bleach or fentanyl or some other toxic crap like Salazar's goons."

"Make people happy?" Jungkook repeated, his voice tight with disbelief. "You mean turn them into addicts? Ruin their lives?"

Mingyu waved a hand dismissively, already tired of the conversation. "It's about supply and demand. People want to feel good; I give it to them. Simple as that."

Jungkook's eyelid twitched as he tapped his index finger against the table once, then twice, before leaning forward. His voice, when it came, was almost too quiet. "And what about the people who don't get back up after one of your pills? What about their families? You ever think about them, or is that just collateral damage?"

Mingyu's laugh was humorless, his eyes hard. "Oh, please! Get off your high horse. You ain't better than me, JK."

Taehyung's hand darted to his glass, thumb brushing the sweaty surface like it might distract him from the conversation. His gaze lingered on Jungkook a second too long before jumping back to Mingyu. "Maybe we table this. Or at least drink enough to make it worth it."

Jungkook nudged his empty glass across the table and stood up. "I'm not thirsty anymore."

"And where are you going?" Mingyu called, leaning back with a smirk that didn't reach his eyes.

Jungkook patted the cigarette pack in his pocket as he turned toward the exit. "Anywhere but here."

Outside, the sky was still streaked with the bruises of daylight, faint oranges smearing into a colder, iron-gray. The air bit harder than it should've for this early in the evening, but Jungkook didn't care. He flicked his lighter, the small flame flaring, catching the silver curve of his lip piercings before it vanished. The cigarette hissed to life between his lips, the first drag hitting like a fist to the chest. He welcomed it.

Mingyu's full of it.

He poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. Mingyu's voice wouldn't quit. "You ain't better than me, JK."

A bitter laugh scraped out of him, barely loud enough to disturb the stillness.

He thinks I don't know that?

He tilted his head back, resting it against the rough brick behind him, his eyes tracking the faint tendrils of smoke as they twisted upward and disappeared.

I'm not trying to be better. I'm just trying to make it right—or at least make it make sense.

He took another drag, the ember glowing brighter. Michele's face popped into his mind, ghostly and persistent, then the tiger lily symbol pinned to the middle of the murder board. It didn't belong there—none of it did—but it was there anyway, taunting him.

How does it connect? How the hell does it all connect?

He blew out another plume of smoke, his thoughts ricocheting to Vienna, uninvited and unwelcome. She was going to be a problem—not just because she had a badge and too many questions, but because he kept thinking about her when he shouldn't.

She'd never tell me outright—not about Michele, not about the tiger lily. But there has to be a way to...

He stopped himself, grinding the thought into silence. The cigarette between his fingers burned down to half.

No. I don't need her help. I don't need that information.

But even as he tried to convince himself, the tiger lily's vivid lines pressed harder into his memory.

What the hell was it doing there?

The question twisted tighter, and for a second, he let himself believe it was the only reason Vienna was on his mind. That his thoughts weren't drifting toward her for reasons that had nothing to do with the case.

This is just an excuse, JK. You're not chasing answers—you're chasing her.

The cigarette flared again before the heat crept too close to his skin. Jungkook flicked it away, the ember extinguished the second it hit the pavement.

"I don't need her," he muttered, but the words tasted like a lie.

Jungkook pushed off the wall and headed for the door. When he shoved it open, the sound cracked like a gunshot against the quiet. He let it swing shut behind him with a satisfying slam, not bothering to glance back as he disappeared into the club.

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A/n:
We finally learned
what happened in Prague (remember Jungkook and Taehyung's conversation
back in chapter 2?)!

If you're enjoying Hot-Hearted consider voting for it
in People's Choice category -
the link is in my bio!

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so very happy ☺️💜
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