Kun's mouth opened, but was cut short in a flash. "What do you want to know about 17? Can't tell you much, but I have some juicy secrets," He stretched out his last two words, almost like he was enticing us to indulge. He leaned forward too, continuing to egg on us.

   "We aren't here to gossip, maybe another time," Someone glided up behind Mark and I, spreading his arms along the backs of our chairs. His crystal glass hung loosely from his fingers and his head, aflame with red, sagged between us, a sloppy grin plastered on. Shotaro grinned back, in a less sloppy, but in an equally flirtatious way.

   "How packed are your happy hours?" Kun finally asked.

   "Here or at the casino?"

   Again, Kun was cut off. "Both," Yuta quickly answered.

   "Well the casino's going to be a mad house this Saturday, so I'll be working, but here they aren't as rowdy, maybe a fight or two, but nothing serious." He adjusted his chin atop his palm.

   "Good. We can infiltrate Saturday." Mark mumbled.

   Shotaro must have heard him, as he let out a snort. "You're really thinking of breaking into the casino during happy hour?"

   "When else would you try and crack open their vault? The dead of night?" Mark retorted, sipping his whiskey.

   Shotaro let out another scoff of amusement, his arm dropping down onto the bar top to catch his forehead. His body seemed to deflate into his bent arm as he cackled, but he soon shot his head back up. "God, you crack me up. Obviously not, but there's hundreds of people inside the casino, let alone the entire building, so I'd like to hear this little plan of yours."

   "You're a little cocky, aren't you?" Yuta said teasingly.

   "Why wouldn't I be? I've worked for them a while now, I know every hallway and back room of that casino better than you do your own armory." He leaned forward. "Plus, I've sucked them dry of their earnings several times now, so I have a few weapons up my sleeve you can use." Yuta, seemingly oblivious to Mark and I, leaned forward also, his eyes so focused on Shotaro it looked like he'd burn holes into the man.

   Mark, from over Yuta's back, sent me an irritated, yet somehow playful, look. "How do we know we can trust you, Shotaro." His name rolled off Mark's tongue like a deflated tire, slow and flat.

   "Chill out, Whiskey Boy, you've met Sungchan, or at least I presume so."

   "Not really my type, but yeah." Yuta said, still wedged between Mark and I's chairs.

   Shotaro arched a brow. "He really went through with it, ay?"

   The glass in Yuta's hand twitched. "Busted through our front door, stained our floors, and almost got us killed. So yeah, we've met the prick."

   "And I thought my nicknames were harsh." The man peeled himself off the counter and reached below the bar, his hand drawing back with a beer bottle of his own. He took the cap between his teeth and jerked his hand, the cap clattering to the ground and the bottle hissing faintly as he brought it to his lips. He took a quick sip before saying, "Want to know how to get in seamlessly?"

   "And how to get 17 off our asses long enough to get into the building." Kun said, spinning his glass.

   "How often do 17 visit the casino?" I suddenly asked. Shotaro flicked his eyes, glittering like the alcohol in his bottle, over to me.

   "A few come over for a 'monthly check-up', but that ultimately means grabbing a quick stack of cash and going to hide back in their headquarters." A pause, then, "Oh, but Seokmin likes to stay over the most, quite a lot recently too."

   "Are any of the members at the casino, or are going to be visiting?" Mark asked.

   Shotaro tilted his head in thought, his bottle knocking rhythmically against his jaw. "Pretty sure something happened in Dresden - and it being 17 - they wanted to continue their reputation of being noisy assholes."

   "So Dokyeom isn't lurking the halls?" I asked, which earned me a chuckle from Mark.

   "Oh, he is, but I can create a diversion." Shotaro casually said. He took another swig.

   Kun dropped forward onto the bar top, his elbows catching him. "What kind of diversion are we thinking?"

   "Sungchan could purposely get him and his buddies into some deep shit, like toying with one of 17's suppliers. That'll hopefully get Seokmin to stay in his office for a while, at least for you..." His index finger swung between us, like it was scanning us.

   "Six or seven of us plan to enter." Yuta finished for him, who was now back to slouching against Mark's chair.

   "Then he'll need to really fuck up." Shotaro said, eyes darting around the bar.

   "Like what?" Kun questioned.

   "A possible destruction of property?" I offered, gingerly bringing my drink to my lips. I took a light sip, watching as the men beside me hummed as others teetered their heads in mild agreement. The drink stung slightly as it ran down my throat, but the lime chilled it; it was pleasantly refreshing.

   "Personal property maybe." Mark said, taking a long sip of his drink as well.

   "I'll just tell him to total Seokmin's car. That thing is like a piece of gold to him." Shotaro mimicked Mark, his bottle fizzing.

   A silence grew between us, but it wasn't awkward, it was more of a thoughtful one. I let my eyes wander the chipped walls of the bar to the dance floor, that was for the most part vacant, except for a tight huddle of people. I watched, with some form of mild indifference, as the huddle writhed and erupted with drunk laughter as the slightest outburst of a limb. Amidst the tightly packed cluster, I took note of a head of black that cradled wire glasses. His face, majority hidden amongst the jungle of sweaty appendages, was hazy and stretched out in a lopsided grin, his eyes foggy. He resembled Doyoung, I thought, but I buried the thought when a question - one that I've been pondering for for the last day or so - resurfaced.

   "Why have we shifted to 17?" Kun met my eyes with his own inquisitive ones. "We came here to get back the guns the Blood Angels stole, but haven't we taken those back?"

   "That's where things bleed into 17's territory- quite literally." Kun turned his body to face me, leaning his side on the counter. He held his drink in an idle hand as he talked. "You remember when Taeyong snapped that one captives neck?"

   "The snappy one?" Kun sighed while Yuta let out a booming laugh. "Get it?" Yuta wheezed out.

   "As I was saying, he and the one dead guy Yuta stripped had things that connected them to 17, like Seungcheol's copied key card and a stolen token. Could've just been that they also raided their casino, but that's highly unlikely."

   "Those dumbasses couldn't even shoot straight." Mark griped.

   "I wouldn't talk, Lee, because you would've gotten shot if I wasn't there to help you." I turned just in time to catch a small smile gracing his stone face, but it was soon wiped off. "I don't believe I ever got a 'thank you' in return."

   "I said it."

   "I was half conscious."

   "So?"

   He sighed. "Thank you." He held my stare, and for the first time it sounded genuine, not laced with his typical sarcastic anger. "Happy?"

   That didn't last long, I thought. "Yep. Now, Shotaro," the man perked up, "I have a few questions, most of which went unanswered."

   "Fire away."

   "You know our plan, correct?"

   "It's a little grey, but for the most part yeah."

   "Then why don't you tell us about yours, even if you did just come up with it two minutes ago?"

   He sighed like he was bored out of his mind, but his grin told the opposite. "I'll have to do it fairly close to when you six plan to walk in, but I'll tell Sungchan to tell Seokmin that some of the workers are taking his car out to the wash. Like two hours will pass then I'll give the order to ram the car into a tree or something."

   "Even better, their own casino," Yuta said, his glass now empty and flipping in his hand.

   "I like the way you think..."

   "Yuta. Nakamoto Yuta." A playful smirk stretched his chapped lips.

   "I like the way you think, Nakamoto." Shotaro finished, his face tinted pink. "But that'll have Seokmin infuriated, and it'll send all of them into his office. And lucky for y'all, all the potential victims are usually lookouts, so you'll be in the clear for like an hour. He tends to ramble."

   Mark straightened up, rolling out his shoulders, prior to speaking. "We need to know you'll go through with this plan. You do work for 17 after all, and they are notorious for back-stabs."

   "Do I look like a back-stabber?" He asked, his tone dipped in faux offense.

   "No, but we can never be too sure." Kun said, firing back the rest of his drink. His glass connected with the bar top just as Shotaro sent a card flying in my direction. I caught it under my palm and turned it over; it listed his full name and two numbers, both of which weren't labeled.

   "My information. Do with it as you please." His fingers angled his bottle in a peculiar way as he drank.

   "I'll contact you shortly, Osaki Shotaro." Kun plucked the card from my hand and thrust himself off the chair, starting for the dance floor. Before he joined the cluster of people, he stopped by a lone table and held out the card to a tall man that was slouched in a chair, a cap hiding his face. I watched with slight interest as the man flipped the card around before pocketing it, and as Kun got swamped by the people swaying and grinding.

   When I returned my attention to Shotaro, I found him and Yuta, who took it upon himself to keep his and the bartender's tension alive. He slunk into Kun's once abandoned chair and struck up a conversation with Shotaro, both men in a deep trance at a simple glance from one another.

   "They look to be having fun." Mark commented. I hummed and fell back into my chair, feeling the wood bend like rubber.

   "That isn't one of his tactics, is it?" Mark glanced down at me. "Like to fish information out of people.

   He let out a huff of a laugh. "He does use it against people, but he seems genuinely interested in this Shotaro guy."

   "Not so much his partner though." I mumbled, rolling the stem of my glass between my fingers.

   "Not many people like Sungchan. He made quite the first impression."

   "Do you like him?" I looked up and met his stare.

   He shook his head. "Not really. He's a bit to smug for my liking."

   "You don't like anyone." I murmur, the hint of a pout coloring my features as I poured a hefty amount of alcohol into my mouth.

   "I choose to like certain people, Yubin, it's not -"

   "Whatever you say, whiskey boy." I sighed, throwing my elbow onto the bar top. Mark discarded his contradiction for a laugh, using his ring-clad hand - that still held its glass - to deal me a lighthearted punch to my shoulder. I shared his laugh, smile and squinted eyes staring ahead, but our small moment was torn away when Shotaro coasted up across from Mark, stealing his glass from him.

   "Another glass, Mr. Lee?" He smirked, a newfound shine to his eyes and quirk to his lips.

   "If you don't mind," His arms planted themselves next to mine. "Oh, and when Yuta decides to let you breathe, I've got a question for you." Shotaro chortled as he poured more alcohol, from an even bigger crystal decanter, into Mark's glass. Once he was finished putting on his show, he slid the glass back into Mark's open hand, stepping to where Yuta was left, eyes watching the bartender with a form of sultry fondness.

   "I'll be outside if you need me," Yuta paused, giving Shotaro a quick squeeze and brush of his wrist, "Shota." He then left his chair and sauntered out of the bar, leaving the man aforementioned to stare pink-cheeked as he left.

   "Already using nicknames, God." Mark snickered and sipped lightly at his drink.

   "When's the wedding?" Mark nearly spat out what was in his mouth as Shotaro waved his hand as if he was trying to dust away the color that stained his face.

   "He's just being friendly." He cleared his throat before continuing, "So what was it you wanted from me?"

   "You don't happen to know how to get in the vault?" Mark inquired.

   "It's with a keycard, you should know that." Shotaro said. He ran a hand through his hair, a strand or two of silver falling over his forehead.

   "But those things are nuisances to copy and Boss can't use his for obvious reasons." His finger trailed the rim of his drink.

   "Sungchan gave you that code didn't you? Just use that." He was quick to respond, almost like he was nervous.

   "We don't trust that code, Shotaro. We'll need something else." I reasoned.

   "What makes Sungchan any different from me?" He demanded. "Yes he broke in, but he gave you as much valuable information as I did, maybe even more."

   "Sungchan works for 17-"

   "So do I."

   "You didn't let her finish." Mark sharply said. He took a deep breath, then, "Sungchan works for 17, but you somewhat do. Sungchan follows their orders and will bend at Seungcheol's will, while it's obvious that you fire back. You're robbing them of their profit for Christ's sake!"

   Shotaro was quiet for a moment. "Sungchan won't bend in half like metal, more like wood."

   "And?"

   "And I bend like concrete." He held Mark's glare with one as equally as spine-chilling.

   Mark shifted in his seat, rather aggressively knocking back a quick sip of whiskey. "Look, I don't know why you've become so defiant, but this is what we're offering: You lend us your key card - and don't play dumb, we know you have one - and we use Yubin over here to get into that vault. She'll have her hair styled like yours and with your card, it'll look like you opened the vault. We'll be in and out in a matter of hours."

   "Take it or leave it." I ordered, suppressing my newly bubbling anxiety.

   Shotaro stilled, blinked, and rubbed his eyes, a mild sigh escaping him in a hiss. "Fine. I'm just worried you'll get shot, Sungchan too. I've lost enough people in my life for it to be considered healthy."

   "I feel you." Mark muttered, and I resisted the urge to question him. Shotaro's hand fished around in his pockets before revealing a plastic card, plain white with his name printed on it. He slapped it onto the counter and flicked it at us.

   "I still don't know how you're going to pull this off." He sounded tired as he bent down. He straightened up with a huff, a black hat hiding his hair, and started for the edge of the bar. He rounded the counter, clapping another masked man on the back, and strode up to us. He took our necks in his hands, rough like sandpaper, and leaned us three into a tight huddle. I could smell the alcohol as he spoke, "But I'm interested to see you try. See you Saturday, and if you need any help, don't hesitate to contact Sungchan and I. We'll always be free."

   He tapped our necks, almost like he was breaking a spell, and slipped away and out the door, like smoke in the wind. I replaced his hand with mine, feeling the ghost of Shotaro's fingers, and watched as Mark did the same.

   "He's a weird fellow." I say, bringing the remnants of my drink to my lips in a quick swish of my hand.

   "Definitely someone to keep in mind, though." Mark downed the rest of his drink - which was more than half the glass - and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He stepped off his stool and patted my arm, turning to walk towards the doors Yuta and Shotaro exited. I followed without hesitation, discarding my glass and trotting up to his side as he elbowed open the door.

   The night air felt like a misty wave, engulfing us both as cars zipped by without care to bystanders and the wind whistled a soft song. Mark's and Yuta's bikes were still wedged up against each other like fallen trees and, apart from the occasional drunk stumbling into a shady corner, the streets were barren. Of course they would be, I told myself, it's nearly two in the morning.

   "How much longer are you thinking you'll spend with your bartender friend?" Mark's voice brought me to turn towards him, but my eyes landed on two others. Both Yuta and Shotaro were leaning against the bar's decaying exterior, with Yuta's arm slung over the other's shoulders and the latter's hat pulled so low that you couldn't see his nose. Shotaro brought two fingers up to his lips, inhaled, then passed whatever he had to Yuta's free hand. A plume of smoke billowed out from under his hat.

   Yuta brought the stubby cigarette to his lips, inhaled deeply, then said, in a hazy tone, "I'll be back before sunrise." Each word carried a tuft of smoke. I saw Mark roll his eyes.

   "Don't add him to your one-night stand list."

   Yuta scoffed, smoke puffing out of his mouth. "Never! Shota will get better treatment."

   The man under his arm snorted, slapping his thigh. "We'll be fine. I won't let him do anything too dangerous."

   "What, are you two going to rob a convenience store?" I asked dubiously. Shotaro only inhaled more smoke as Yuta gasped.

   "Ya know, that sounds a lot better than what we originally planned."

   "And that was..." Mark never got his answer, as the two men guffawed and seemingly forgot about us entirely, not sparing a single glance as we crossed the street and straddled Yuta's bike.

   "You're leaving Yuta to take the junk bike home?"

   "He'll probably just leave it here for the kids in Dresden to pick up." Mark lent down and snatched up his helmet.

   "But won't Jaehyun be upset?"

   He tossed the helmet over his shoulder and into my lap. "P.S. will appreciate it. They've been low on vehicles for a while now."

   I narrowed my eyes at his back. "How many gangs are there in those three cities alone."

   "Far more than you can ever imagine." His voice was hollow like bones and dead. He looked over his shoulder and flicked his chin down at the helmet. "Where the helmet, we're about to take off."

   "No." I felt Mark jolt. "You're the one driving, you should wear it."

   The kickstand hummed, the bike tipped, and Mark snaked his arm back and slapped the helmet. "You just recovered from a concussion, Yubin. I don't want to have to deal with that again."

   I picked up the object and attempted to shove it atop his tousled blonde locks, his quizzical eyes following, but his hand stopped me inches from his hair. "You're tense, I can tell. Just wear the helmet in case you get mad."

   He sighed and pushed the helmet back, the edge knocking against my forehead. I grimaced as he said, "If we happen to get into a crash, this lessens the chance of you dying." His eyes were steady, like a pond at the dead of night. "So where the helmet Kang." He grabbed it from me and set it on my head, tenderly tapping it until I swatted at his hand like it was an annoying bug. Mark grinned as he turned forward and started the bike, the engine eliciting a powerful roar and my arms instinctively going to wrap around his hips.

   "Where to?" I shouted. I rest my chin atop his shoulder blade.

   "Back home." Was all he said as the remaining sound was drowned out by the growl the motorcycle made as we sped away. 

kinda bland but also kinda fire 

thoughts on yuta's and shotaro's relationship (cause idk if i fuck with it or nah)

Thanxx for reading!!