"I'm a bitch and a boss, I'ma shine like gloss."

~D.C

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It's ridiculously easy to find my brother, but I suspect it's a conscientious decision on his part rather than an error. He's played games like this with me ever since we were kids, leaving bread crumbs worth of clues for me to search for him through the woods near our house, where I'd often get lost.

Each iota of dirt I tracked into the house would result in crossed fingers, and those fingers would eventually be used to fend off brutal hands that tore at my hair, left welts as big as my then-love for Seokjin. He stared on, a film of disgust on his face from the uncleanliness that was the existence of me. He hated when things were dirty, yet he always seemed to endure it in some masochistic joy when it came to me covered in filth. It was about power and control, and he knew I'd come back to him when he called the next time.

A mix of trust and my own hubris kept me from pitching my white flag, and so it would be a battle between us every weekend, seeing who would declare a truce first. We should've known then that we were beyond the fragile string of familial ties.

He always liked to create puzzles out of our surroundings, like a twisted mockery of family. So, what would remind him of his brother dearest the most?

I take a seat on my couch and let Yeontan lick my fingers as I think. The only thing he seems to care about that concerns our shared childhood is my mother and my house, but I decide to focus on the latter for now.

My home address 1222 Hillmount Avenue. Hillmount. Sounds like Hilton. Is he at the Hilton? I shake my head. No, too obvious. He laid out that trap very nicely, though. Think more high-class.

(122? 222? 12?)

(Numbers. 2nd. Latitude longitude? Street? 2nd Street?)

What's on 2nd Street?

Hampton Inn... Urban Wine... JW Marriott...

(Hillmount? Marriott? J for Jin? Worth a shot.)

Go through a little trial and error, and I find Room 122 at the JW Marriott on East 2nd Street booked under a name going by the alias—you guessed it—Jin, a nickname our mother used to call him. It's one of his more lazily thought-out puzzles, but it's his way of dipping his toes in the water, vetting me to see if I've forgotten his tricks.

But I haven't. I never will.

A short bike ride later (one of the perks about living right by South Congress—you can take the scenic route through the hike & bike trail all the way to downtown Austin) and I'm in front of my biggest lead. The outside is adorned in soothing, ambient lighting that looks more like a night-time lounge than anything else. The obsidian surface of the building reflects city life back onto the world below, and there's something so domestic about the whole scene that I have to stop and stare.

People come in and out of the restaurant section of the hotel, and even from the distance, I can tell by the way they walk and hold themselves up by the head that they come from old and new money alike.

I straighten out my dress shirt. I can be a chameleon when I want to be.

One flash of a suggestive smile to the receptionist leads me right into the building in all of its glory. If the outside was nice enough, the interior of the JW Marriott is nothing but a dick-measuring contest for who can blow the most money, from crystal chandeliers to waiters with caviar and champagne on their trays, making their way over to the restaurant with a determination that can't possibly fit their job description.

All in all, the perfect place for Seokjin to feel right at home.

The plan is to enter the elevator, make a show of patting my pants down, and approaching the front desk sheepishly, asking for a new key card to 'my' room. Hopefully, the receptionist is smitten enough with me to not realize she's never met me before.

I know, I know. It's shaky at best, but it's the only plan I have.

However, when I turn to do just that, fate delivers me my target in the form of a window that looks straight into the sauna. Maybe God really does exist.

Like a dream (or nightmare, depending on how you look at it) come true, there is Seokjin, alone and unarmed. Though I can't see his face through the steam that obscures most of my vision, anyone could tell there's that certain offness about his demeanor that sets him apart from the average man, a sleekness about him that isn't human at all.

And now, he's presenting himself to me, as if I couldn't go in there and bleed him out like the pig he is despite the cameras. Arrogant little prick.

The humidity hits me full-force when the double doors open, and I find Seokjin leaning back on the tiled pool edge, eyes half-lidded and soaking in the heat like he revels in it. Droplets of water cling to his chest, like they're afraid to leave his side. All it would take is one blade through his sternum to stop his breathing forever.

I used to idolize him, and old habits die hard. I analyzed every move he made to follow to a T, but now all that's left of that part of me is the same scrutiny and the dull hatred that comes with it.

Seokjin turns when he hears the door close, and his face breaks out into a smile that never reaches his eyes.

"Ah, brother!" he drawls. "How wonderful to s-"

"Cut the shit, Seokjin," I growl, and an insufferable smirk places itself on his lips in the wake of a dying introduction, but it's better than hearing his voice amplified by the walls. He watches me without complaint, my shoes reverberate through the sauna as I step further in. Click-clack, click-clack.

I get close enough to see the bloodlust in his eyes, but he remains steady. In fact, there seems to be a note of humor in his face. Fucking bastard.

"Now," I say, fingers twitching, "you have 10 seconds to tell me who the fuck Min Yoongi is, or I swear..."

Seokjin snickers, and Lucifer bounces off the walls. "Or what? You'll kill me?"

"Don't push it."

My eyes narrow as he licks his lips, long and slow like a tiger licking its chops before chow time, and it feels like an eternity passes where we simply stare at each other. Who will draw their weapon and fire first?

With a low chuckle, Seokjin finally gets out of the pool and approaches me, spraying a cascade of water across the sauna floor. They slither toward the tip of my shoes and pause at the sole, and suddenly, the sauna is too hot, too humid, too small. It's backed me into a corner, where all I can do is put up my hands to shield my tattered spirit.

But I won't choke. I won't drown. Not now.

"Min Yoongi, huh?" Seokjin reiterates.

I swallow. "That's what I said."

"And why should I tell you who he is?"

"Because if you don't," I say, my eyes snapping up to his, "I'll give him what he's looking for, and I don't think you'd like that very much."

He lets out a humorless laugh, then stews in our shared silence. Even he knows what I'm talking about without having to ask; the hammer has finally come down on him, and it comes in the form of a self-employed bounty hunter with a chip on his shoulder. And, if I were to work in tandem with this person, things would become much harder for him to remain in Austin. Either way, a win-win situation for me.

After weighing the odds, Seokjin decides he's had enough of the melodrama and opens his mouth.

"He went by Suga back in Gangnam. He used to be a small-time producer," he begins. What a juvenile nickname. "All I remember about him is that he was a real introverted guy, always paranoid about the public knowing his real name or familial ties. I mean, it was inevitable that people in the industry knew it, including me. He probably wanted to hide the fact that his daddy gave him all his money."

I ignore the fact that the word daddy came out of his mouth and ask, "Who's his dad?"

"Min Sung-ho. He was an actor I worked with," he mumbles. Something's off.

"Did you kill him?" I ask in Korean, mindful of the cameras. Seokjin only picks at his fingernails, but that's enough to confirm my suspicions. He was undoubtedly another person who got in his way and had to be picked off.

And that's why Yoongi's name sounded so familiar. Back when Seokjin's departure was still sore, I would vehemently scour news articles—no matter how niche—for any mention of high-profile deaths around Gangnam, ruled an accident or otherwise. Then, I'd spend hours drawing up boards linking it all together. Food poisoning, heart failure, dizzy spells, though none pinned it on the real culprit.

Though, the last time I did all of this was a year ago, and the fact that I didn't remember his name off the top of my head probably means it happened at least that long ago.

No, I don't have plans on turning him in. At least, not yet. It's more satisfying to watch authorities scramble than getting my rocks off to Seokjin tied to an electric chair. Besides, I'm not about to let curiosity kill the cat just yet.

"Is he a threat?" I ask.

He scoffs, saying, "He's a spoiled rich kid. He's not going to do anything."

"Are you sure? He was too low-profile for you to suspect, and obviously knows what he's doing. He tailed you all the way to Austin to get enough info for a cover." I step closer, jab a finger into his chest, and smile wickedly. "I'd say you're getting soft."

Seokjin jerks away from me with a snarl. I just love eliciting a reaction from him. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Don't I? You're the one who brought me into this fucking mess in the first place. You shouldn't have come back," I hiss.

"There's a good reason I did," he says. I pause.

"And why's that?"

"Isn't it enough to want to catch up with family?"

"Right," I say with a scoff. "Like you care about family."

Seokjin smiles, and there's a glint of something sinister in his eyes. Not the usual, blank stare that I'm greeted with when I dare look in his direction, but the thinly-veiled smugness that comes with having perfected one of his puzzles.

And that's when I know something bigger than me is afoot.

"You'd do best to stay out of my way, little brother. The king is back to reclaim his throne."

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안녕 여러분! I hope everyone enjoyed
this chapter. What did you guys think?
Any theories on what will happen next?
Please share with me in the comments!

QOTD: Any suggestions on what I should cover
next, KPop or not?

Lol shameless self-promo: GO CHECK OUT MY COVER OF 'HIP' ON MY SOUNDCLOUD! Link
in bio!

No but fr, I'm stumped.I already have one completed, (hint: Billie Eilish)
but I can't find a suitable song to do next.
My vocal range is kind of high, and my style can vary from
ballads or pop, though not too
synth-heavy. I've been thinking of covering
4 o'clock and Fairy of Shampoo. Help!

Until next time, happy reading!

Love,
Haneul