Chapter Text
Taehyung’s life is far from perfect. But it does have perfect moments. Like scoring a job that sounds easy enough for him to actually keep it. It feels like coming up for air after a deep dive into total chaos, day after day after day.
Last night, when he was going through the newspaper, eyes burning, limbs heavy from being on his feet for way too long, Taehyung barely noticed how weirdly the ad was phrased. His brain just chose to blank out the chunks that now give him a strange gut feeling, the longer it takes to actually get to the place. He expected an office block in central Seoul, one of these shiny skyscrapers he would only ever set foot in to scrub high tech toilets.
Not a suburban factory hall. Taehyung has no idea what someone would need a personal assistant for out here. It all sounded reasonable on the phone, explained in that deep, calm voice coming out of the speaker, almost lulling him into sleep. Cleaning, bookings, running errands. Neat appearance, well-mannered, good work ethic – all the usual blah-blah. The one that almost always gets him is punctuality. But at this place he could just claim he missed his bus and probably get away with a scolding, whenever his little sister decides to throw a fit ten minutes before he has to head out for work. What worries him the most are those two little words he chose to ignore – adult work.
Staring at the red neon sign above heavy wooden doors, Taehyung wishes he didn’t.
Noir - the idea that it’s probably just a marketing agency with a trendy French name now seems so stupid that he wants to bang his head against the nearest lamppost until the single braincell he obviously has left splits into two.
Frozen in place on the sidewalk on the other side of the street, it takes him way too long to puzzle the pieces together, even though it’s painstakingly obvious. Right above the door he should have gone through five minutes ago to be on time for his interview, the lettering on the brick wall says Fallen Angel Productions. And next to the discreet entrance to the building, there’s a shop called Diabolic Zone. Taehyung can’t quite make out the things in the shop window, but he doesn’t exactly want to take a closer look either.
He ended up in the red-light district. His future workplace is right above a sex shop and a porn studio. So much for the grossly overpaid, easy job of his dreams.
His first impulse is to turn back around, head for the bus stop and back into town, checking every shop and office window along the way, with the hope that they would hire an under qualified loser with a history of changing jobs more often than his underwear. But he should probably at least tell them that he changed his mind. And calling from the other side of the street just because those doors look like the gates to hell would be the most cowardly thing Taehyung has ever done. And he has done a lot of dumb shit. Enough to not even be surprised about ending up here.
Enough to cross the street reluctantly, to make sure that he would at least walk away from here with his head held high, knowing that he wouldn’t be remembered as a total failure by yet another person.
Taehyung wipes his sweaty hands on his pants, realising that he’s probably painfully overdressed, even though the suit is cheap and his tie knot messy, to say the least. But he will just have to wear it with pride.
The buzzer goes off aggressively before Taehyung has the time to ring the doorbell. Taken aback, he stares at the door handle way too long and only snaps out of his stupor as soon as he hears that deep, calming voice again.
“Third floor, the elevator’s broken. You’re ten minutes late.”
Taehyung’s fingers itch, pulled to the speaker button and there’s a snarky reply lingering on his tongue. Something to let whoever is on the over end know that he’s perfectly capable of checking his phone for the time. Something like how about replacing adult work with brothel so people wouldn’t have to work through the initial shock when they get here.
But he decides to go for the door instead, lunging forward and pushing his whole body weight into it, before the buzzer stops and he’d have to ring again like a total idiot.
The metal staircase looks old and rusty at places but tidier than expected. Cleaning that thing probably takes hours. Good thing he has no intent on actually taking the job.
It seems a bit drastic to drag himself up three steep flights of stairs, just to speak to somebody in person. He’s definitely going a bit overboard with the politeness, especially considering the fact that these people make a living in porn, selling sex toys and … other things he doesn’t want to know about. But that thought only crosses his mind when he’s already on the second floor.
So he just keeps going, out of breath when he finally reaches the entrance to – whatever this place is. Taehyung wipes his forehead with a shaky hand, ruining the neat hairstyle he spent at least twenty minutes on but he can’t imagine that anybody here actually cares.
They probably don’t expect him to knock on the front door either. He still does out of habit, then feels absolutely ridiculous and decides to let himself in.
The first thing Taehyung notices once he slides the heavy metal door open is how spacious and tidy this place is. He expected it to be crowded with lots of curtains and other room dividers separating the old office into sections, all equipped with uncomfortable beds and loads of sex toys for quick fucks and even faster orgasms.
Instead he’s greeted by a classic l-shaped sofa and a couple of leather armchairs, forming an entrance area in an otherwise open floor plan. After this workout he could definitely use a quick nap on those thick cushions, just allowing himself to space out and dream about something other than the furnishings he now slowly recognizes for what they are.
Of course, everything is in various shades of black.
Spread out as it is, it doesn’t hit you in the face immediately, screaming ‘ beware of the kinky ’. In a weird way, everything comes together as a contemporary apartment with odd extras, just like a gynaecological chair in the far back of the hall. There is no décor in the whole space whatsoever, it’s plain and simple, cut to the core.
Taehyung can’t tell what half of the stuff is but he’s sure that everything has a specific purpose somewhere between pleasure and torture. Most likely the latter, though. It goes beyond Taehyung why somebody would enjoy spending their time in a cage, surrounded by nothing but thick rods. Or why somebody would pay to be tied up on a cross or be beaten by a wild array of instruments people had probably used in the dark age. He can’t imagine what type of person would find some kind of twisted enjoyment in watching someone hang from the high ceiling.
Well, certainly the guy who nonchalantly observes Taehyung’s every second here, even though he was frozen in place with only his chest moving like crazy. The man’s gaze is almost piercing and his voice definitely on the edge of annoyance as he nods to the armchair across from him and finally breaks the silence.
“Do you want to sit down or do you prefer cooling your heels?”
Taehyung feels himself moving before his brain has enough time to even process the question. There would’ve been no need to sit down, not if he just wants to politely decline the job offer he didn’t even get yet. And that isn’t the only reason he would’ve been better off standing.
Looking down on him, that man’s presence just felt slightly uncomfortable, but sitting across from him, Taehyung feels like nothing more than a bundle of raw nerves. The whole speech he made up on his way up here is blown out of his mind in a matter of seconds, not a single word left.
“Sorry for being late,” he hears himself mumble instead, examining the small coffee table in front of him, so he doesn’t have to keep that disturbingly intense eye contact up.
“It’s fine if it’s not a habit of yours. If you want to work for me, I need to be able to rely on your punctuality,” his interviewer replies on spot, not even thinking about his answer for one second or bothering to introduce himself properly, even though Taehyung knows his name was something with Min.
He leans forward to take a few stacks of papers from the coffee table, neatly placed next to each other like only someone with OCD would care for. He flips through a couple of them, probably refreshing his memory of Taehyung’s application – and the lack of actual references qualifying him for the job.
“You’re Taehyung, right?” he asks, adjusting the fit of his glasses to continue reading. “No experience whatsoever. What makes you think you can work for me?”
Taehyung huffs in amusement, feels a wave of laughter bubbling up his throat in irrepressible bursts – until he stares at an unmoving face for ten, fifteen, twenty seconds and realises it wasn’t a joke. His face falls, confusion and disbelief taking over.
“What makes you think I can’t?” he blurts out without a second thought, completely forgetting about his decision that he doesn’t want the job anymore in the first place. With his potential boss behaving as if he was the CEO of some fancy law firm and not just leading a brothel, it’s hard to keep his thoughts on track.
At least Taehyung’s little courageous comeback makes him smile. If he’s lacking every other qualification, he definitely could provoke some emotion in that man. And apparently the realisation that something is indeed missing.
Before Taehyung can blink twice, he puts the documents down and holds his hand out. For only a second, though. After that, he retracts the gesture and continues with a verbal only introduction.
“I’m Yoongi and usually I have manners. So, I am willing to believe you’re capable but you still have to convince me. What are your talents, Taehyung? I’m not asking for certificates, I’m asking for real-life and beneficial abilities I can’t miss out on.”
Mere minutes ago, Taehyung couldn’t have come up with an answer to that, other than that there was really nothing anybody couldn’t miss out on. But right now, with someone actually implying he’s not even fit to do the simplest tasks for a pimp, Taehyung’s brows furrow, a hint of anger pulling on them.
“Everything you told me about on the phone. I’m organised and efficient, I can get a lot of work done in short periods of time, I’m good at cleaning, I make good coffee that will keep you going through extra hours, I can cook, even though I think that won’t be necessary here and my manners are better tha- … I’m good with people.”
“Mine. Your manners are better than mine, that’s correct. I pride myself on other traits, Taehyung.” Yoongi’s voice is raspy and quiet, almost a whisper, as if this job interview is some kind of secret both have to keep hidden and treasured from a distance. As if something more was buried underneath those words, a silent promise. Or a threat. Taehyung can’t tell.
“But I’m glad to hear those things. Let’s test it,” he continues with more volume now, straightening his posture again. “Make me a coffee. Black without sugar, please.”
This would’ve been the moment to tell Yoongi no, explain how the job isn’t for him, that he will leave now, instead of letting his gaze travel through the hall again, trying to spot a coffee machine. And failing, too distracted by one freaky piece of furniture after another, drawing his attention to it.
Taehyung already breathes in to ask but clasps his mouth shut again when Yoongi’s arrogant posture reminds him that he has something to prove here. He tries to get to his feet as collected as possible, determined to search every corner of the place for a cup if he has to.
It seems like he’s forced to do exactly that, since Yoongi shows no interest in anything other than Taehyung’s confusion and struggle, a content grin pulling on the corners of his mouth. Taehyung feels his heavy gaze on him while he waits another two seconds for a more precise task.
And Yoongi’s eyes still burn holes into Taehyung while he slowly trails past a bed on a platform, halting for a moment and a few irritated blinks at the countless hooks sticking out of the heavy wooden frame. He goes on to explore a whole area that seems clinic themed, a couple of feet away from something that looks like a throne.
Could this place be any more ridiculous? Just by looking at that thing and imagining Yoongi in it, ordering somebody to lick his feet or whatever people do in here, Taehyung feels another wave of disbelieving laughter tickle in his throat. He presses his lips together and keeps on searching, giving his best to make it seem as casual as strolling down a beach promenade with all the time in the world. It’s hard to pretend that coming closer and passing by the sheer endless variety of torture equipment doesn’t send chills down his spine, though.
After at least five minutes of roaming around without spotting anything that looks even remotely like a kitchen, Taehyung feels his confidence dropping. But he’s not ready to give up yet.
He checks the walls for sockets next but every single one he finds is empty. Every cupboard he pulls open just smacks another collection of weird stuff right in his face, along with blankets, first-aid kits, everything but a simple coffee machine.
Until he finally turns around with a frustrated huff, ready to snap and ask why Yoongi won’t just tell him where the damn thing is. That’s when Taehyung notices the little kitchenette, realising he started out three steps away at most, with his back turned to the doorway. Because that is the place Yoongi had told him to sit at.
Taking a deep breath, grim smile twitching on the corners of his lips, Taehyung makes his way over to it, squaring his shoulders when he passes Yoongi.
“It’s getting warmer.”
Taehyung stops dead in his tracks, fighting for his patience, hands clenching to fists at his sides for a second before he forces himself to relax. Putting on a fake smile, he turns around, goes all the way back to the other side of the room just to pull a window open.
“Better?” he asks innocently, knowing full well Yoongi didn’t complain about the temperature.
Again, Yoongi makes no effort to hide his grin, eyeing Taehyung up shamelessly.
“It can’t hurt to have a little fresh air. Thank you, I enjoy having useful company around.”
“You’re welcome,” Taehyung says slowly, feeling more and more ridiculous about putting on a show with every second of Yoongi not losing his composure one bit. He wonders what he would have to do to make that man flinch. If screaming at the top of his lungs would be enough or if it needed a plane crashing right into the building to crush that sense of calmness flowing off of him. It makes Taehyung’s own nerves rise but he tries his best to hide it, going straight to the kitchen and checking the coffee machine out.
It doesn’t take long until he figures out how it works, thankful for something other than Yoongi to focus on. Keeping busy, concentrating on simple tasks only, always helped to calm him down, but knowing that somebody behind him is still shamelessly observing his every move, Taehyung has trouble keeping his hands steady.
The wait is even worse. For a brief second, he considers turning around. But what for? Small talk is out of the question, he can’t imagine asking about mundane things like the weather or traffic while being met with that weird stare. So he just crosses his arms and stubbornly stares at the coffee dripping down into the pot until it becomes almost hypnotising.
When it’s halfway full of the black liquid, he hears rustling behind him. The noise of paper getting dragged and pulled up makes him even more nervous, signalling that Yoongi is having a look at his application once again. He hasn’t spent much time on it, so there is a possibility of minor typos, which wouldn’t bother him usually. But right now, the idea of Yoongi pointing them out is nerve-wrecking for some reason.
When he finally speaks, it’s even worse.
“How flexible are you?”
“E-excuse me?” Taehyung stammers, looking over his shoulder to throw him a disbelieving look. “I’m not a … I mean I won’t sleep with … why does it matter how flexible I am?”
“Pardon?” Yoongi asks, a puzzled expression on his face. He checks the papers on his lap again, obviously searching for something in the text to prove his point that the ad had been about searching a new prostitute to work here all along.
As soon as Yoongi gasps, Taehyung raises his eyebrows. So does Yoongi, now scanning Taehyung’s appearance again, shaking his head, the tone of his voice amused, yet apologetic.
“Timewise. I was talking about how flexible you are coming and leaving here since I won’t need your assistance all day. I’m not asking you to fuck my clients. This is not a brothel.”
Oh Taehyung mouths silently because his voice refused to work, blood rushing to his cheeks rapidly. He turns back around, takes some deep breaths to get his composure back, not think too much about the way Yoongi talks about fucking so casually, despite claiming that it isn’t part of his work routine.
“Very flexible… I mean I can come in whenever … no, probably not, because I didn’t expect you to be this far out.” He cuts himself off, pouring coffee into a cup, wishing it would have taken at least another ten minutes for it to be done, so he wouldn’t have to walk back over to Yoongi, feeling his gaze burn into him as he places the cup on the coffee table.
Taehyung stares at the armchair for a few seconds, unsure what to do now. He could just leave. But instead, he sits down warily and fills the uncomfortable silence with mumbled words.
“I can’t be here before eight and I need my lunch break to be at least an hour so I can head back into town and pick my sister up from school. I’m okay with working on weekends and after hours, but not on Wednesday and Friday. That’s when my mum’s doing night shifts, so I’d have to be home at six to cook dinner.”
“Why didn’t you mention that specifically? This right here are your talents, Taehyung. Everyone can say they’re organised and fast, but only a few can manage what you are doing on a day-to-day basis,” Yoongi states dryly, in complete contrast to his actual warm and complimenting words. He reaches for the coffee cup immediately after, sipping on it with caution not to burn himself.
This is his test. If this coffee is as good as Taehyung claimed it to be a couple of minutes ago, Yoongi might consider him as his assistant. If he wants the job, which he’s only still considering because the payment is way above average for simple tasks like cleaning and running errands. At least that’s the only logical explanation for why he didn’t leave yet.
“It’s good, thank you,” Yoongi hums, deeply satisfied and it gives Taehyung a strange gut feeling that makes him fidget in his chair. “My schedule changes regularly but as for now, I don’t expect my regular clients to cancel, they appreciate routine just as much as I do. My appointments don’t start before noon, so that’s convenient for you, I assume. On the weekends, they last into the night, though. But you can have Fridays off, that’s fine. I definitely need you to clean the area I used after most of the appointments, though. The minimum is an hour, it can go up to six hours or overnight but I believe we’d find a way to manage that.”
“Six hours?” Taehyung repeats, eyes widening in shock. Until he realises that he doesn’t want to know why on earth somebody would book himself a trip to hell for six long hours and blinks himself out of it. “I mean … yes. Sounds good.”
Not really, cleaning the area where people probably lost all kinds of bodily fluids sounds horrible. But rubber gloves and bleach were invented for a reason. For the right pay, he would obviously do just about anything.
“Or overnight, yes. I think the most challenging and longest appointment was a client who stayed for five consecutive days. Does the idea of that scare you?” Yoongi asks, looking at him over the edge of the big cup as he continues to drink his coffee like nothing weird was happening.
“No.”
Taehyung tries to make his voice sound as firm as possible, to stop kneading his hands in his lap and squirming in his chair, so he would get away with shamelessly lying to Yoongi’s face. He feels weird about it, though. Not just the situation, as he should, but about not telling him the truth. It has to be some kind of weird interrogation technique Yoongi uses on his clients, guilt tripping them into throwing all their money at him. That would explain why going through these doors felt like stepping right into some kind of trap.
“Lies like that are alright with me, I respect your boundaries. What I won’t tolerate whatsoever though, is you overstepping those of my clients. You’ll be managing my appointments, telling me who I will be meeting up with half an hour in advance, so I can go get into the headspace and prepare the scene. That implies you will have access to very personal information. They trust me to care for them and I have to trust you not to take anything you’ll hear or see here outside of these rooms. Obviously, you will sign a non-disclosure agreement. But I really need you to understand that these people are dear to me and I want them to be safe. Everyone working for me has to be discreet and treat their data as confidential. Do you understand?”
Taehyung opens his mouth, brows furrowed, confusion making his head swim, unable to put all the questions bouncing around in it into words. Eventually, he gives Yoongi a small nod, even though he doesn’t understand a thing. At least not all the details, when it comes to exactly how this works. Maybe he doesn’t even have to know, though. Discretion can sometimes mean playing dumb.
“You’ll get the hang of it soon enough, I expect great things from you,” Yoongi stresses as he puts the emptied cup down, grabbing documents and a pen again. Crossing things out, he studies something that appears to be a list, at least from Taehyung’s point of view and it makes perfect sense that someone like Yoongi would work precisely and with a plan.
“So. Managing appointments, cleaning, brewing delicious coffee… oh, yes. Sometimes, I run out of hygiene towels, wipes, lube, condoms, gloves, dental dams, rope, you name it. Most of the stuff, you’ll be able to get from the sex shop next door since we work closely together. Other stuff may require you driving to the other end of Seoul, especially when it comes to specific things like replacing a flogger or getting a new set of syringes and scalpels. Are you mobile?”
“I don’t have a car but I can take the bus?” Taehyung asks, unsure why he doesn’t feel like taking the opportunity to state that this job obviously isn’t for him instead. That he isn’t up for great things like supplying a sex worker with enough lube and condoms to fuck his clients for five consecutive days.
“You can have mine, that’s no problem. Since you’re running errands for me, it’s probably easier to use my car and my gas anyway,” Yoongi offers quickly.
“I don’t have a license either,” Taehyung confesses quietly. He has no idea why he’s ashamed about it, since it isn’t an issue of laziness or failing tests, just the simple fact that his single mom can’t afford to pay for driving classes. That they need to spend every last won on food and his brother’s private school, so he would maybe, someday, get a scholarship for a good university.
“No problem that can’t be fixed,” Yoongi reassures him just as quietly, now smiling without any hint of provocation or amusement for the first time during their whole encounter. “It’s not like I don’t have time, if there’s something to be replaced that can’t wait, I will get it myself. Everything else can be done by bus, I assume, if you’re willing to do that for me.”
Taehyung feels himself nodding eagerly before he even consciously decides to change his mind and work for Yoongi. Maybe it’s the way he looks at him now, no trace of arrogance left, not the least bit uncomfortable about being around someone from a lower working-class family. It’s the unexpected aura of kindness that makes the tightness in Taehyung’s chest loosen up a little bit.
“Yes… I can do that,” he replies, a coy smile pulling on his lips, until he eventually remembers how his last boss told him not to grin like an idiot about the smallest praise. That it’s annoying, unprofessional, makes him look incredibly dumb.
“I’m glad to hear that,” Yoongi says, quickly shifting his attention to his list again, ticking off yet another item on there. “I think I’ve covered the most important aspects regarding your tasks here. Do you have any questions, Taehyung?”
About a million but none of them stay in his mind long enough to actually form the words. He looks at the paperwork for a while, licking his lips and sighing as quietly as possible, when eventually, the only thing remaining is: “When do you want me to start?”
“Tomorrow at 4pm. I have a time-consuming client and I’ll need your assistance afterwards. Your first task is to bring me lunch. I appreciate everything with meat, more specifically lamb skewers. A side of kimchi, vegetables and rice. You can buy yourself lunch as well.”
With that, Yoongi stands up and for the first time, Taehyung notices how slim his figure is. He’s not on the taller or muscular side but his appearance still radiates energy and strength. His movements are smooth and confident as he picks up a bunch of papers from the different stacks on the coffee table and hands them out to Taehyung.
“These are the contracts, including the non-disclosure agreement. Read them thoroughly whenever you're ready. I expect a final answer after two days of testing if you're interested in working for me or not. Before that, you obviously will not come in contact with any information regarding my clients,” Yoongi explains, taking a deep breath as if talking that much strained his vocal chords immensely, “I’ll pay you weekly since we can’t exactly say how many hours you will work in a month. If you are working on the weekends, your hourly earnings go up by a hundred percent. I know that someone as young and as busy as you probably wants his weekends to himself, so I hope this will repay you for your time properly.”
Taehyung nods, skimming through the contracts, trying to make it seem as if he wasn’t the least bit intimidated by them, when in reality the amount of small print scares the shit out of him. With every word Yoongi said, it sounded more and more like once he signs these, he’d be more of a personal slave than a personal assistant, supposed to jump whenever Yoongi flicks his fingers.
“Thank you for the weekends, but…“ Taehyung pauses, nervously licking his lips and searching Yoongi’s gaze, despite his heart racing like it wants to jump out of his chest. “Can we agree on minimum work hours? I need to know how many extra jobs I’d have to take.”
“So, you really are supporting your family as well? That’s noble, I respect that a lot, but are you chasing your dreams too?”
What dreams? Taehyung almost blurts out, but stops himself, remembering that he’s talking to his future boss. A sex worker who he doesn’t really want to know anything personal about him. His presence already feels strangely overwhelming as it is. Taehyung doesn’t even want to imagine what actually getting to know him, letting that stare in, would feel like.
“Yeah… sure,” he mumbles after blinking himself out of his stupor, putting on a polite little smile, like the ones he shoots a cashier at the supermarket before leaving. Which will hopefully be soon.
“I hope I’m not overstepping any boundaries here, if I am, please let me know, but I want you to know that your life is valuable, too. Your dreams are valid and achieving them should be your goal in life. If not now, then hopefully once the opportunity is there.”
Yoongi tears his gaze away, a slightly bewildered expression ghosting over his face, as if he confused himself by giving that little encouragement speech out of nowhere, before he sits down quickly again, providing more distance and eye-level.
“So, work hours. Judging by the way I’m sometimes helplessly overwhelmed by everything, I’d like to set a minimum of about twenty hours per week. But knowing my schedule, especially Saturdays, you’ll probably face a full-time job here.”
He likes the sound of that, in theory. If it wouldn’t come with life advice he didn’t ask for and didn’t really want to hear either. Taehyung holds on to his smile as best as he can but it has to look a bit forced around the edges, as he feels his jaw cramping up.
“Full-time sounds good. Anything else you want me to keep in mind? For tomorrow, I mean.”
Definitely not as a whole life philosophy. As if someone who owned this place could talk big about achieving their dreams. That lecture was a pile of bullshit in his eyes and he can’t entirely suppress the sour ring in his voice.
“I’m sorry,” Yoongi mumbles, still avoiding eye-contact. It’s weird to see him like that now, crumbling like this isn’t his line of work anymore, not his place to shine and be on top of his game. “No, that’s about all.”
Meaning it’s time to leave. Taehyung can’t move for a while, though. He’s confused by how seeing the other man’s confidence fall apart didn’t feel satisfying at all. More like the first times he saw his dad drunk and passing out on the kitchen floor. It felt wrong, like something he needs to fix with reassuring words, even though he knows they almost always set him up to being treated like someone’s doormat.
“See you tomorrow then,” Taehyung says instead, voice softening without intent.
“See you tomorrow.”
Back at being professional. That’s how he wanted it, so he’s in no position to be disappointed by that neutral expression after getting a glimpse of the actual human being behind a wall of arrogance and indifference. Taehyung gives Yoongi one last nod, hastily getting to his feet, feeling pretty confident about the whole thing on his way out.
Right until he’s halfway down the first flight of stairs and hears that noise - the elevator pinging as it reaches the second floor, doors sliding open smoothly, a couple of chatting people stepping out of it.
Either someone fixed it in roughly half an hour or Min Yoongi has been fucking with him from the minute he arrived here.
And what’s even worse – clutching the stack of paper that promises some kind of future, Taehyung shrugs it off and keeps going, realising that he doesn’t even care.