Say ‘I Do’ to a Heist

Taehyung - Seonsaengnim

Taehyung entered the makeshift police tent with a deliberate slowness, every step carefully measured, every detail considered. The morning sunlight filtered through the flimsy material of the tent, highlighting the chaotic mess inside: crumpled papers, buzzing radios, and an assortment of tired officers. And there, in the middle of it all, was Jungkook.

He stood over the suspect—a wiry man barely holding himself together, hands fidgeting with the cuffs as if trying to escape reality itself. Taehyung recognized Signal instantly, though he made sure not to let it show. His mind flicked to one thought: Poor guy. He looks ready to bolt just from seeing me walk in.

Indeed, Signal’s face had turned an amusing shade of pale. His eyes darted toward Taehyung before snapping back to Jungkook, panic barely concealed. Taehyung bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking. If Signal gives me away with one dumb look, I’ll make sure his next job is licking envelopes in the middle of nowhere.

Jungkook, oblivious to the momentary exchange, greeted him. “Jaesun-ssi,” he said, rising from his chair, the scrape of the metal legs cutting through the tension. His tone softened slightly, as if speaking to Taehyung brought him some relief. “You’re here. Thanks for coming by.”

“Of course,” Taehyung replied smoothly, his voice laced with just the right amount of exhaustion. He let his gaze flicker to Signal for half a second, just long enough to unsettle the poor guy further, before turning back to Jungkook. “I’ll wait for you to finish.”

Jungkook nodded, clearly grateful. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

Taehyung stepped to the side and settled into a chair. He leaned back slightly, crossing one leg over the other, exuding the air of a man trying his best to stay calm while his brother was allegedly trapped inside a heist. His eyes, however, drifted to the wall of the tent. His ears? Oh, they were locked onto the conversation like a hawk.

Jungkook turned back to Signal, who was doing his best impression of a terrified deer caught in headlights.

“Alright,” Jungkook snapped, his voice sharp enough to make Taehyung’s fingers itch with secondhand anxiety. “Where were we? The description of Seonsaengnim. Let’s hear it.”

Taehyung’s interest piqued immediately. Ah, here we go.

Signal stumbled over his words, stammering something about a face mask. Jungkook wasn’t having it. “A face mask?” he repeated, incredulous. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? Height, build, age range, hair color, voice—you’re telling me you don’t remember any of that?”

Taehyung glanced at Signal from the corner of his eye. Don’t mess this up, he willed silently. Lie convincingly, and I might actually start liking you.

“I—uh…” Signal’s voice trembled, and Taehyung swore the man’s forehead glistened with enough sweat to water a plant. “He wasn’t tall. Maybe… one seventy?”

Jungkook scribbled a note, his face unreadable. “Go on.”

Signal swallowed hard. “Older. Like, uh… in his forties, maybe.”

Taehyung fought the urge to grin. Good boy. You’re earning your keep.

“And blond,” Signal blurted out, almost too quickly.

“Blond?” Jungkook raised an eyebrow. “You’re sure?”

Signal nodded like a bobblehead. “Positive.”

Blond? Forty? Short? Bulky? Taehyung could’ve applauded if it wouldn’t have blown his cover. The description was the antithesis of himself. He wondered if Jungkook would take the bait or if this would only deepen his suspicions. Either way, it was a win for Taehyung. Confusion was just as effective as deception.

“What about his voice?” Jungkook pressed.

“Uh… regular?” Signal said weakly, like he was grasping at straws.

“Regular?” Jungkook’s tone could’ve frozen lava.

Signal threw his hands up defensively. “I don’t know! He didn’t sound weird or anything!”

Jungkook’s pen tapped rhythmically against the table, a sound that even made Taehyung’s nerves fray slightly. Finally, Jungkook leaned back in his chair and said, “Fine. If that’s all you’ve got, we’ll work with it. But don’t think for a second that we’re done here.”

Signal slumped in his chair, looking like he might cry.

When Jungkook stood and gestured for another officer to take Signal away, Taehyung’s heart sped up slightly—not that it showed on his face.

“Take him to the station nearby,” Jungkook instructed firmly. “There’s no space here to hold him. And keep a close eye on him. I’m not done with this guy yet.”

He turned back to Signal, his gaze cold and commanding. “We’ll be talking again soon. Be ready.”

Signal nodded weakly, letting himself be led away. Taehyung’s thoughts raced. Well, that’s inconvenient. I’ll need to get him out of there before he spills something useful.

He filed it away for later. First, he had to deal with Jungkook.

Jungkook approached him with a light smile, and for a split second, Taehyung felt like a kid who’d gotten away with stealing the last cookie.

“Thanks for waiting, Jaesun-ssi,” Jungkook said, his tone noticeably gentler.

“Of course,” Taehyung replied, schooling his expression into something appropriately concerned. Inside, though, he was buzzing with excitement. And so it begins.

Jungkook gestured toward the door. “Let’s step outside. I want to update you on the situation.”

Taehyung stood gracefully, his smile faint but polite. “Lead the way.”

As they walked out, Taehyung couldn’t help but think how much fun he was having. Sure, the stakes were high, and there was a very real chance he could blow his cover. But the thrill of being so close to Jungkook, so close to the chaos he’d orchestrated, was intoxicating.

And oh, how deliciously clueless Jungkook was.

*******

Jungkook 

Jungkook didn’t know why he’d asked Jaesun to step outside. It wasn’t as if they couldn’t have spoken in the tent, but something about the suffocating air inside—the endless phone calls, Seokjin’s endless typing—was too much. Fresh air wasn’t just a luxury; it was a necessity.

“Seokjin, we’ll get some coffee and come back in a minute,” Jungkook said, trying not to make it obvious that he was already halfway out the door.

Seokjin didn’t even glance up. “Yeah, sure. Get me one, too. Americano. Large.”

Jungkook didn’t respond. He just gestured for Jaesun to follow, and the two of them headed toward the nearest coffee shop.

The walk was silent at first. Jungkook’s boots crunched against the pavement, a stark contrast to the near-silent steps of Jaesun. It annoyed him—how someone could move with so much grace even while nursing a bruise on his cheek and a plaster on his arm from the earlier car accident.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Jungkook asked, not out of genuine concern but more to fill the awkward silence.

“I’m fine,” Jaesun replied, his voice low but steady.

It frustrated Jungkook further, how Jaesun could brush off something like a car accident and still walk like he was stepping out of a luxury brand photoshoot. There was elegance in the way his arms swung slightly at his sides, the sharpness of his jawline catching the glow of a streetlamp, and the way his shirt clung just right to his shoulders. Damn it. Focus.

“You think everything’s okay?” Jaesun asked suddenly, his voice breaking through Jungkook’s thoughts.

“With what?”

“With Yejin.”

Yejin. The bride. The hostage they’d all assumed Seonsaengnim would drag back into the spotlight for another livestream. But the heist crew had chosen different hostages this time, leaving Yejin untouched. It didn’t sit right with anyone.

“She’s fine,” Jungkook said, though he wasn’t entirely sure. “The person I interviewed earlier described Seonsaengnim. We’re getting closer. We’ll catch him. Soon.”

Jaesun didn’t respond immediately. He just nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line.

When they reached the coffee shop, it was mercifully empty except for a bored-looking barista scrolling on her phone. Jungkook ordered a latte for himself, an Americano for Seokjin, and, after some hesitation, a caramel macchiato for Jaesun.

“You don’t strike me as a black coffee type,” Jungkook muttered as they waited.

They sat down at one of the small, round tables while waiting for their drinks. Jungkook leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, while Jaesun sat opposite him, his posture a little more hunched. He was staring at his hands, nervously kneading his fingers.

And that’s when it hit Jungkook—again.

The sharpness of Jaesun’s profile was like a sculptor’s masterpiece. His nose curved in just the right way, his lips slightly parted as he chewed on his bottom lip. Even the bruise on his cheek added a rugged kind of charm, contrasting with the softness of his eyes. His hair, dark and slightly tousled, framed his face perfectly, and the plaster on his arm peeked out from under his sleeve, a small but somehow endearing detail.

Jungkook hated how his gaze lingered, how his thoughts drifted to places they absolutely shouldn’t. What the hell was wrong with him?

“Everything okay?” Jaesun asked, looking up suddenly.

Jungkook blinked, snapping out of whatever ridiculous trance he’d fallen into. “Huh? Yeah. Fine. Why?”

“You were staring at me.”

“I wasn’t staring,” Jungkook said quickly, sitting up straighter.

Jaesun raised an eyebrow but didn’t press the issue.

Their drinks arrived, mercifully interrupting the awkward moment. Jungkook grabbed his latte and took a sip, scalding his tongue in the process. Perfect. Just what he needed to pull himself together.

“So, uh…” Jungkook cleared his throat. “You don’t need to worry about Yejin. We’re doing everything we can.”

Jaesun nodded, but his expression didn’t change. He was still kneading his fingers, his gaze dropping back to his hands. Jungkook watched him for a moment longer, then forced himself to look away.

The last thing he needed was to let his guard down around Jaesun. Not when there were far bigger things at stake. Not when his gut was telling him that something about Jaesun didn’t add up.

And definitely not when his chest tightened every time Jaesun so much as looked in his direction.

*******

Taehyung - Seonsaengnim 

Taehyung—no, Jaesun—sat across from Jungkook in the small coffee shop, kneading his fingers like a nervous wreck. It was all part of the performance. Vulnerability was a tool, after all, and he wielded it with precision. A hunched posture here, a shaky breath there, and Jungkook’s gaze was exactly where Taehyung wanted it—right on him.

Well, maybe not exactly there.

Because Jungkook wasn’t just looking. He was staring.

It started subtly at first: a lingering glance, a slight hesitation before speaking. Then came the full-blown intensity, like Jungkook was trying to memorize every line and angle of Taehyung’s face. His big eyes scanned him with a mix of confusion and… something else Taehyung couldn’t quite put a finger on.

And wasn’t that ironic? The relentless investigator, the so-called bulldog of the force, sitting here practically swooning over the very man he was hunting. The resemblance to “Money Heist” was almost too much to handle. Was this fate? Some cosmic joke? If it weren’t so dangerous, Taehyung might have laughed out loud.

Instead, he settled for amusement.

Jungkook was adorable when he was flustered. The way his nose scrunched slightly when he looked away too quickly. The little twitch in his jaw when he caught himself slipping. And then there was that habit—Jungkook poking his tongue into the inside of his cheek, like he was trying to physically restrain himself from saying or doing something reckless. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but once Taehyung caught it, he couldn’t unsee it.

The motion was distracting in ways that made Taehyung internally groan. His focus wavered, his thoughts drifting to how unfairly charming Jungkook looked when he did that—like he was caught between frustration and self-control.

But no.

No, no, no. This was far too important to lose control over something as trivial as Jungkook’s absurdly pretty face.

This heist wasn’t just some petty theft. It was Taehyung’s masterpiece, his magnum opus, the culmination of years of planning and preparation. One misstep and it would all come crashing down—his crew, his brother, his entire plan. And yet, here he was, distracted by the way Jungkook’s eyes flickered with a thousand emotions at once.

It didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter that Jungkook somehow managed to look both strong and vulnerable at the same time. It didn’t matter that his messy black hair fell perfectly into place like he wasn’t even trying. It didn’t matter that every time he shifted in his seat, Taehyung found his attention wandering to the curve of his jaw or the slight furrow of his brows.

“Everything okay?” Taehyung asked, finally breaking the silence, his voice calm despite the chaos in his head.

Jungkook snapped out of whatever spiral he’d been in, blinking like he’d just woken up from a dream. “Huh? Yeah. Fine. Why?”

“You were staring at me.”

The way Jungkook stiffened, the way his eyes widened for just a fraction of a second before he scrambled to compose himself—it was almost too good. “I wasn’t staring,” Jungkook said quickly, sitting up straighter, his latte forgotten on the table.

“Of course not,” Taehyung replied, raising an eyebrow but letting the matter drop. It was more fun to let Jungkook squirm.

Their drinks arrived then, providing a much-needed distraction. Taehyung wrapped his hands around his cup, letting the warmth seep into his fingers, while Jungkook sipped his latte with the caution of someone who’d just burned his tongue.

“So, uh…” Jungkook cleared his throat, trying to reclaim some semblance of control. “You don’t need to worry about Yejin. We’re doing everything we can.”

Taehyung nodded, keeping his expression carefully neutral. He let his fingers knead together again, playing up the act. Vulnerable older brother. Concerned family member. A perfect mask.

But Jungkook’s gaze didn’t waver. Even when he tried to look away, his eyes kept darting back, like he couldn’t help himself. Taehyung could feel the weight of it, the intensity, and for a brief moment, it unnerved him.

Because he felt it too.

The connection. The pull. The ridiculous, infuriating chemistry between them.

But it didn’t matter.

It didn’t matter when Jungkook’s deep voice sent an uninvited shiver down his spine. It didn’t matter when his chest tightened every time Jungkook looked at him with those big, searching eyes. It didn’t matter when Taehyung felt a pang of something dangerously close to guilt every time Jungkook mentioned Yejin, his family, or the lives being ripped apart by the heist.

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter.

Their walk back to the police tent was quieter, but the tension hung heavy between them. The night air was cool, the faint buzz of the city providing a soundtrack to their steps. Jungkook kept glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, clearly trying to figure him out.

Taehyung, for his part, kept his expression unreadable. But inside? Inside, he was laughing.

Because the irony was almost poetic.

Jungkook, the relentless investigator, was falling for the very man he was chasing. And Taehyung? The mastermind behind it all? He was walking a tightrope, balancing his plans, his masks, and the growing distraction that was Jungkook.

This isn’t a love story, Taehyung reminded himself as they reached the tent. This is war. And I’m going to win.