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Rating:

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Underage Sex

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Multi

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RTL 102.5 RPF

Language:

English

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Published:: 2023-12-11
Completed:: 2023-12-11
Words:: 124,921
Chapters:: 5/5
Hits:: 76

Chapter Text

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Work Header
Rating:
• Explicit
Archive Warnings:
• No Archive Warnings Apply
• Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category:
• M/M
Fandom:
• Jeon - Miranda
Relationship:
• Jungkook Jeon /Kim Taehyung
Characters:
• Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette
• Aaron Burr
• John Laurens
• Thomas Jefferson
• James Madison
• Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler
• Martha Taehyung
• Thomas Pinckney
Additional Tags:
• Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy
• Alternate Universe - Modern Setting
• American Politics
• Older Man/Younger Man
• Power Imbalance
• Daddy Kink
• Slow Burn
• Suit Porn
• Size Kink
• Praise Kink
• Hand & Finger Kink
• Class Issues
• Immigrants: They Get The Job Done
• Sugar Daddy
Language:
English
Collections:
fav works, Good ones
Stats:
Published:
2016-02-02
Completed:
2016-03-05
Words:
123,027
Chapters:
34/34
Comments:
1,208
Kudos:
4,930
Bookmarks:
1,179
Hits:
126,078
Quid Pro Quo
rillrill
Summary:
A senator, war hero, rising star in the theatre of American politics, filthy rich southerner from money older than dirt. A scrappy kid from New York, drowning in student loans, barely getting by, brilliant. Useful.
You see where this is going. You follow.
Notes:
I said I probably wouldn't write a modern AU for this fandom. I say a lot of things I don't mean.
Here be dragons: yes, there's a distinct power imbalance here. Yeah, there's a romance that grows out of it. No, that's probably not a healthy situation to jump into IRL. Let's just get that out of the way up top.
The "choose not to warn" tag should be heeded with light caution. There's no non-con/violence/underage here, but I've also chosen not to tag every single kink I wrote into this since it did become more of a traditional romance and frankly a whole mess of tags just looks bad. That said, there are D/s undertones throughout the whole thing and the power dynamics are very much a factor in what makes the relationship tick, so if you're made uncomfortable by those themes, you can't say that I didn't warn you.
Anyway, that's all, enjoy.
(See the end of the work for other works inspired by this one.)
Chapter 1
Chapter Text
Jungkook ’s work computer takes about ten minutes to boot up in the morning. It’s not even a desktop, but a crappy HP laptop he has to bring with him from home every day, because he barely even has a desk. He’s shoved into about half a cubicle’s worth of desk room, sharing space with the water cooler. Which means that every five minutes he’s got one or two people holding conversation over his shoulder, which means that very little gets done unless he locks himself in with noise-canceling headphones and just has at it.

Literally the only thing worth coming to work for most days is the coffee. Which is pretty good. It’s a Keurig. Those things ain’t cheap.

But. Well. Otherwise?

He’s not dramatic. But there are days when Jungkook Jeon would literally rather fling himself into the sun than show up to work at PolitiFinder, this tenth-rate news blog and literally the only place that hired him when he moved to D.C., fresh out of grad school with a stack of resumes and a thirst for…

Well, it doesn’t matter, he thinks, filling up his mug with a dark roast from the Keurig. His second of the day. He likes a single first cup at home before he gets ready, a warm-up coffee to get his mind working properly. He’s not really a person before coffee.

So the point is this: it's Thursday morning, and he's slouching in his desk chair, which is not great, as far as desk chairs go. It's better than the one back in the shitty dorm he lived in when he was a 24-year-old RA at Columbia, but it's still doing a number on his back, and that's when Myles Cooper shows up, six-cup coffee mug clenched in his left fist and his iPad in the other and a look on his face as if he's got something to say that Jungkook won't like.

"I'm gonna stop you right there," he says preemptively. "No, I don't want to move desks, this one is fine. I hear all the gossip." Because the only other option is a storage closet, and this location might suck but he's certainly not going to go sit in a closet to do his work. Like he's Harry goddamn Potter or something.

But Cooper just frowns over his little round wire-rims, like it's not something he'd ever even consider. "Why would you move desks?" he asks, and then doesn't wait for the answer. "I've got an assignment for you."

Great, he thinks, downing what's left of his coffee and sliding the mug to the back edge of his desk. Cooper's assignments are predictably shit. "What is it?"

"The National Zoo is having trouble getting their pandas to mate," Cooper says magnanimously. "We're going to cover it."

"Wait. Seriously?" Jungkook blinks. "You're gonna send me — a graduate of Columbia University, mind you — to go interview some pandas who won't fuck?"

It's unprofessional, but he can say practically anything. Cooper is a brick wall, consumed with his iPad. "Finger on the pulse, Jungkook ," he says blandly.

"Actually, I was thinking." Jungkook grabs for the legal pad he keeps beside his desk, each page filled to the last line with scribbles, notes, phone numbers, sources. His bible. He runs his eyes down the page until he hits the one he's after. "I got a friend who knows this guy, Lafayette. He's Kim Taehyung 's chief of staff. Nice guy, from what I hear, but he's saying there's trouble in the office. Like half the staff just got fired without warning or notice and nobody knows what's up. You don't think we should look into that?"

Cooper cocks a brow. "You don't think that's a little above your pay grade?"

"All due respect, no, I don't," Jungkook replies testily. "I mean, I've got an in, I have the source. Don't tell me you're gonna give this to —“

"Sam'll look into it," says Cooper, eyes already back on the screen in front of him. "Go talk to the zookeeper. Good chat, Jungkook ."

There's a very real moment in which Jungkook weighs the consequences of picking up his empty mug and hurling it across the room, making it shatter on the doorframe right over Cooper's shitty, noxious head. But the moment passes, and Cooper leaves, and Jungkook stares at his laptop, which has only been on for half an hour and is already burning hot to the touch, and all he can do is seethe inwardly.

He takes a minute. He composes himself. He looks up the number for the Asian mammals department at the National Zoo.

He puts Gilbert du Motier-Lafayette's phone number in his contacts anyway.

So he's distinctly underdressed for the Four Seasons Kim town, in his sneakers and khakis and blue button-down, messenger bag from Target slung over his shoulder. Everything he owns is either going on a decade old, from Target, or both. In a roomful of sleek suits, he senses that he sticks out like a sore thumb: Journalist. Or, well, not even journalist. Blogger. Slob with a blog and half a byline at PolitiFinder.

He's also distinctly afraid, now that he thinks about it, that he might smell like the panda enclosure. Not one of his top five smells, personally.

But he gets a drink — gin and tonic, house liquor, because he's not here to impress anyone, and he scans the room. There's a reason he avoids places like this on purpose: everyone is just here to be seen. He's not sure what this Lafayette guy looks like. All John had said was "You'll know him when you see him." Because that explains so much.

Jungkook pulls his drink toward him, stabs the lime with his little red cocktail straw and pushes it all the way to the bottom before taking a sip. The drink is much more tonic than gin, and it half strikes him to complain. He's got his hand out to flag down the bartender when —

Oh. He sees what John meant, "You'll know him when you see him." Because this Lafayette guy is walking toward him with singular confidence, hair tied back in a ponytail much like Jungkook 's own, slickly suited in navy blue. He's got on thick-rimmed glasses and he's half consumed by whatever's happening on his phone, but then he looks up, eyes meeting Jungkook 's with searching purpose, and Jungkook nods. And that's that.

Lafayette slides into the seat beside him at the bar. "John's friend, I presume," he says, his voice low and thickly accented. Jungkook nods and holds out a hand to shake.

"Jungkook Jeon ," he says, gripping the other man's hand a little too tightly, glancing at the gold cuff links that gleam in his pressed lavender shirt. "I'm with PolitiFinder."

"Right, yes," says Lafayette. "And you wanted to know why we fired John Andre."

"I - well, yeah, actually, that's why I'm here," Jungkook says, stumbling over his words a little. "I was curious -"

"Go fuck yourself." Lafayette signals the bartender and orders a glass of merlot, barely looking at the wine list. Jungkook stirs the lime in his drink, waiting for a follow-up to that, but Lafayette seems disinclined to provide one, simply taking a sip of his wine and making a little face of acceptance in response.

Jungkook inhales, squaring his shoulders for a fight. "Look, John said you were willing to talk to me."

"He said you worked for Politico, not PolitiFinder," Lafayette says disdainfully. "There's a difference."

"I'm aware," Jungkook says through gritted teeth.

"I've never heard of you. How many Twitter followers do you have?"

"Couple hundred," Jungkook says. "I'm not - journalism isn't my trade, I honestly just kind of fell into this." He says it like it's an explanation. He knows it isn't.

"Right," Lafayette says slowly. "Well. It was nice to meet you." He picks up his glass of wine, drops a twenty on the bar. "Perhaps we'll meet again."

"Perhaps," echoes Jungkook , and then Lafayette is gone, winding his way across the room. Jungkook has two choices, he realizes — accept the snub and stay seated, or chase him down. Those aren't choices. He has one option. He's not going to lose. Not with this kind of lead.

He pulls a ten from his own wallet and leaves it at the bar.

Lafayette has been sitting at a round table with three other men for the past hour. Two of them Jungkook couldn't place. Lobbyists, by the look of their clothes and the way they keep laughing a little too hard, their gestures a little too ingratiating. They're not interesting. Jungkook has no love lost for lobbyists. Lafayette seems to be swinging hot and cold on them; his look of disinterest occasionally breaking open in a wide laugh.

The fourth member of their party is Senator Kim Taehyung .

He's more handsome in person than when he gave the keynote speech at the DNC two years ago, Jungkook will give him that; tall and broad-shouldered in a charcoal suit. He's even less open to the lobbyists than his chief of staff, face frozen in an expression that strikes Jungkook as polite but immovable. He gestures openly, with broad hands, on the rare occasion that he speaks.

Jungkook watches them for the better part of an hour, shrouded in this corner, faces half in shadows. It gets boring; he nurses his drink down to the dregs and then crunches the ice cubes one by one between his molars. All that's left in his glass are the desiccated remains of the lime slice by the time Lafayette stands up and shakes a round of hands, signaling his leave.

There's an empty seat. There's a shot.

Jungkook takes it.

Taehyung looks up at him with a carefully disguised look of bewilderment as he slides into the seat Lafayette has just vacated, cueing up a voice memo and hitting 'record' as he sits. "Jungkook Jeon ," he says, offering a handshake that the senator accepts graciously. "Senator, it's a pleasure."

"Likewise," says Taehyung . "You're not also with ABMK, I assume -"

"Me? No." Jungkook settles into the chair, asserting as much space as he can and dropping his phone on the table. The lobbyists are both looking at him like he's dangerous, and it occurs to him that this is power, that he can use it. "Senator, we haven't met before. Lafayette is a friend of a friend, I thought he might introduce us. I was curious about the recent vacancies on your staff—“

Taehyung laughs. "I'm the last person you want to talk to about that. Give your resumé to my chief of staff if you’re interested.”

"Oh, no, I'm not interested in a job," he amends quickly. "This is strictly... another form of professional curiosity, I guess you could say."

"Ah." Taehyung looks to the lobbyists and then takes a sip of his drink. "What did you say your last name was?"

"Jeon , sir." Jungkook crosses his legs, settles back a little deeper into his chair. "Full disclosure, I'm actually with the press."

"Well, then I think we're done here," says Taehyung quickly. "I'm afraid I can't tell you anything about Mr. Andre's departure other than that he has chosen to pursue other opportunities. Have a good night, Mr. Jeon ."

With this, he gestures for Jungkook to give them their leave. Jungkook doesn't move. "Fine," he says. "I probably shouldn't have led with 'I'm with the press,' but this isn't some kind of exposé. A single quote would be enough."

"I think I already gave you one." Senator Taehyung says with finality.

Fuck it. It was worth a try. He heaves himself up from the chair and heads for the door. Jungkook chances a look back over his shoulder as he leaves, and sees Taehyung watching him go, his heavy brows knit together as he tries to feign nonchalance.

It's unseasonably cold outside, near freezing even as the end of March cedes to the start of April. Jungkook buttons his threadworn peacoat (more gravitas than a parka) as he steps out into the chill, mentally recalibrating the distance to the nearest metro station. He can see his breath in the air as he hurries along the street, hands jammed into his coat pockets. He starts to reach into his back pocket for his phone, when -- oh, fuck.

He remembers specifically where he left it, on the table, recording a voice memo - shit. He just walked away, leaving it to record everything Taehyung and the lobbyists were saying. Jesus Christ, Jungkook , you're a fucking genius, he thinks, stopping mid-stride to high-five himself there on the sidewalk. Well played. Never mind that it was a complete accident. So he pivots and starts back toward the Four Seasons.

"Nobody turned in a phone," the bartender says.

"Are you sure?" Jungkook asks, his stomach sinking like a stone. "Could you just double check? Please?"

The man gives the bar a sarcastic once-over, sweeping his eyes up and down. "Double checked. Nothing."

"Look, I really need it back," Jungkook says, his voice taking on a noticeably pleading, unattractive tone. "Please. Nobody would have stolen it, it's like, an iPhone 4S. It's not even worth the money it'd cost to get it stripped for parts."

"Did you check the last place you saw it?" asks the bartender.

Jungkook nods feverishly. "Yeah. It wasn't over there." Taehyung and his party were gone by the time he made it all the way back to the hotel, too, leaving nothing but a pile of cocktail napkins in their wake.

"Can't help you, then," says the bartender, turning back to the martini he's pouring. "Leave your name and email. If anyone turns it in, we'll call you."

"Great. Fucking great. Super helpful and efficient system," Jungkook mutters as he turns on his heel and heads for the door. He seethes all the way to the metro, on the train, and all the way back to his apartment. Possibly his one chance at an exclusive, and he fucking lost it.

Both roommates' doors are shut when he gets home, so he doesn't bother trying to complain to John or Hercules. Instead, he slams things around in the kitchen for a few minutes while fixing a grilled cheese sandwich, then eats it resentfully while waiting for his ancient laptop to boot up. He's rinsing crumbs off the plastic flatware when an email alert dings on his freshly-restarted computer, and heads back to the kitchen table, dreading yet another after-hours work email from Cooper.

From: G. Taehyung
Subject: Your phone

Provided that you are the Jungkook Jeon with whom I spoke briefly at the Four Seasons Kim town tonight, I believe I am in current possession of your cell phone.

If so, please contact me immediately so as to arrange its return. We will, of course, discuss the removal of some sensitive information.

Of course, if you are a different Jungkook Jeon , please disregard this message altogether.

G.W.

He blinks as he reads it again, and then a third time.

Jackpot.
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He doesn't say anything about it in the morning, as he fixes himself a sandwich to take with him to work, stepping around John in the apartment's tiny kitchen as he licks the excess peanut butter off the knife before running it under the faucet. (All the better to not have to clean peanut butter sludge out of the sink, he rationalizes.) John keeps up a running patter about the latest developments at work, how he thinks his legal internship at the HRC might turn into a job offer soon, and Jungkook peppers the conversation with mild Awesomes and That's so great, mans, but his mind is elsewhere.

He's not deleting that recording. There must be something really fucking juicy on there if Taehyung is demanding that it go before the phone is returned. It's moments like these that Jungkook is proud of his ability to create nearly-unguessable passcodes.

When he's finally seated at his desk, second cup of coffee in hand and laptop wheezing as it boots up, he finally has the words in mind. He opens a fresh email and taps them in, hitting the sticky S key with particular gusto: Senator, I would be happy to meet with you. You name the time and the place. A. Jeon

"Morning, Jeon ," announces Sam Seabury, popping open the top of his thermos and holding it beneath the water cooler. "How were the pandas?"

"Their libidos were as sluggish as ever," Jungkook says absently, scanning the short paragraph for typos and other errors. "How's your story on Jay coming along?"

"Quite well, actually," Seabury says proudly. "I got two exclusive quotes and an interesting bit of info from a friend at the Department of the Interior..."

"Ah," says Jungkook . Satisfied with his reply, he's prepared to hit send, but then Sam is leaning over his shoulder and it's too late.

"What senator are you meeting?" he demands.

Jungkook blanches. "Nobody," he says. Your message has been sent, Gmail tells him. Little good that does. Seabury spins to lean against his desk, filling most of his plane of view and staring down at him, thermos still clutched in one hand.

"You shouldn't hold out on sources," Seabury warns him, his voice sanctimonious enough to raise Jungkook 's hackles. "If someone else could do a better job with a lead, you should be a team player and hand it off. Front page real estate is a precious thing, you don't want a real story getting buried -"

"We work at a website, Seabury, we can put whatever fucking story we want on the front page," Jungkook snaps. "There's no such thing as byline seniority in clickbait."

"I went to j-school, Jeon , this isn't clickbait. This is my career." Seabury is staring down at him with that pinched, offended look that makes Jungkook 's fuse — admittedly short on a good day — sizzle down to nothing in record time. He's been ready to blow for the past month. So he does something incredibly rational, what anyone would do.

He snatches Seabury's annoying fucking thermos that he refills twenty times a day from his hand, unscrews the lid, and sloshes the contents all over the front of the prick's pressed, starched, pleated pants, then hurls the thermos at the ground for good measure, swelling with pleasure and pride as the cheap plastic lid snaps into two.

"Fuck off, Seabury," he snaps again, slamming his laptop shut and cramming it into his messenger bag. "Tell Cooper to go fuck himself too. I'm done with this fucking job."

The oh-shit-oh-shit-oh-my-god-what-the-fuck-did-I-just-do sets in approximately five minutes after he leaves the PolitiFinder offices and starts huffing down the street. He's never quit a job like that. He's never even quit a job at all, not without having something better already lined up. This, though — no no no, fuck, Jungkook , this was a horrible no good very bad idea.

He thinks he vaguely remembers a smattering of applause as he stormed out of the office, middle fingers held high. He's not entirely certain that it was real, but he thinks he remembers it. His perception doesn't lie to him.

Quickly, he struggles to justify this to himself. He grits his teeth and tries to count the reasons he just did the right thing, that letting his temper get the best of him was a blessing in disguise. They didn't pay me enough anyway. Nobody appreciated me there. I deserved better. Nobody should have to work with that prick Seabury in the first place.

He groans as he holds his smarttrip against the scanner and pushes on through the turnstile. Nope, no matter how he spins it, he just seriously fucked himself.

The one upside about his new unemployment, he decides, is that he can do whatever he wants today. He figures he deserves that much, one afternoon to himself. He takes the train to Foggy Bottom and sets up his laptop in a coffee shop across the street from the EEOB, orders a cappuccino and takes tiny sips until a new email dings into his inbox.

From: G. Taehyung
Subject: Re: Re: Your phone

Great. Shall we do this afternoon at two? Lunch at Green Olive, near Capitol Hill. It's on me.

G.W.

Jungkook taps out a quick reply in agreement, then turns back to his own problems, pulling up his online bank statement. The situation is - well, to put it lightly, pretty fucking dire. He's been living paycheck to paycheck since he moved here, but he's never really not had a job. The idea of being unemployed in a city like this chills him to the bone. John's had short bouts of unemployment in their time as roommates, is still basically underemployed as it is, but he's also no stranger to receiving occasional bailouts from the Bank of Dad. His relentlessly positive attitude about getting by is a byproduct of never having been truly afraid he wouldn't be able to.

But now, freshly unemployed, having quit in a way that would have certainly gotten him fired had he not stormed out when he did (not really beating the system save for on a theoretical level), Jungkook feels every cell in his body succumb to a rising panic. This is bad. This is very, very bad and he has just done a monumentally stupid thing.

He pulls the peanut butter sandwich from his bag and tears into it. Eyes the clock. 10:49am. Fuck it.

He walks to Green Olive, despite it being a substantial half hour away on foot and his brick of a computer weighing him down with every step. It's still chilly outside, but he's sweating by the time he arrives at the restaurant, which is much nicer than he expected. Maybe getting so sweaty en route was a mistake. He pulls his hair back in a knot before stepping inside.

The hostess immediately escorts him to a table in the corner, near the back of the restaurant. Jungkook doesn't know what he's expecting, but he's mildly surprised to see Taehyung there alone.

"Senator," he says nervously as Taehyung rises from his seat, one broad hand extended. He's smiling calmly, looks like this could be any everyday business meeting at all, and Jungkook forces himself to match his smile, act like he's not inwardly panicking at the entire fucking situation.

"Mr. Jeon ," says Taehyung , shaking his hand briskly. His grip is so much stronger than Jungkook was prepared for.

"Call me Jungkook ," he says automatically, his mind elsewhere, then cringes. This isn't really a scenario in which he wishes to encourage familiarity. "Or, you know, whatever you want. It doesn't matter. Sir."

"So... Jungkook ?" Taehyung 's eyes glimmer with a hint of a smile as they both sit, and Jungkook exhales.

"Sure. I - Jungkook is good. That's what most people call me." He surreptitiously wipes his sweaty palm on his jeans under the table, then opens the menu. Shit. He remembers Taehyung emphasizing that this lunch was on him. He sure fucking hopes so. Oh my god I just lost my job oh fuck —

He glances up. Taehyung , weirdly, is still smiling, his face frozen in some parody of familiarity. This is what he always hates about politicians. The mask never comes off around journalists.

"So," he says, forcing the change of subject. Might as well rip the band-aid right off. "My phone."

"Of course," Taehyung says, reaching into his jacket pocket and sliding the phone across the table. "You really ought to be more careful with your possessions, son."

A flicker of annoyance ripples through Jungkook . Three minutes' face time, total, and he's already breaking out the nicknames? To hell with this broad-shouldered heap of stoic smarm. He pulls his phone toward him, hitting the power button. Freshly charged. At least Taehyung 's a conscientious heap of stoic smarm.

"Thanks," he says. He moves to pocket it, but Taehyung raises a hand, shaking his head. Not yet, his expression seems to dictate, and Jungkook obeys, sliding it back toward the middle of the table. An objet d'cease-fire. That's got to be a thing, he thinks.

"I believe there was another matter on the table," Taehyung says, choosing his words carefully.

Jungkook sighs. He's been over these words a hundred times since last night, chosen them for maximum diplomacy and effect. "I'm not deleting anything until I've listened to it first," he says carefully. "I want to know what I'm complicit in hiding."

Taehyung chuckles. "No, I don't think we can do that," he says. "We're not going to let that happen."

"You're not going to let that happen, you mean," Jungkook says. "What's with the royal 'we', sir?"

Taehyung raises both eyebrows, the familiar style finally fading from his face. "You're right, then," he says. "I'm not going to let that happen."

"Okay, now we're getting somewhere," Jungkook says, but before he can argue further, a waitress has appeared at the table. He orders a Diet Coke and then tacks on his lunch order as well, the salmon and rice pilaf, because if this is going to go as quickly as he thinks it might, he's still making it his business to get a free lunch out of it.

"Right," Taehyung says slowly, as the waitress takes her leave. "As I was saying, I'm afraid that's not a possibility."

"So there's something that you don't want me to hear on there," Jungkook says. But Taehyung shakes his head.

"There may be. There also may not be. Schrodinger's classified information," Taehyung says casually. "But that's actually not the point. You realize you'd be breaking multiple ethical codes, right? I'm certain whatever publication you work for has stipulations about publishing stories based on conversations recorded secretly and without consent."

"The guy who voted for the PATRIOT Act is lecturing me about the ethics of wiretapping," Jungkook snorts. "This is too good."

He sees Taehyung 's eyes flash in irritation, knows he's probably overstepped his boundaries, but the senator inhales sharply and only says, "I was a freshman representative at the time. You know I take privacy very seriously."

"Of course," Jungkook says, raising his hands in supplication. "Fine. Let's say, then, that I'm not going to write any kind of story. Let's say that my wanting to listen to it is purely private and personal now, because you've got my interest piqued."

"You can't honestly think I'm that stupid," says Taehyung . "You're still a member of the press. We're not friendly."

"Well, joke's on you, because I just quit that job this morning," Jungkook fires back a little too quickly. Fuck. He wasn't planning on disclosing that. But, well, now it's out in the ether and Taehyung cocks a brow, taking a sip of the sparkling water in front of him.

"I see," he says. "Should I offer my congratulations?"

Jungkook has no idea what he's saying, at this point. He's still a little bit bewildered by the events of the morning, and he doesn't know why he's spilling all of this to someone he doesn't even know. A goddamn United States senator, at that. But Taehyung 's manner is just placid enough to feel like an invitation. It occurs to him, dimly, that this is probably on purpose. That this man can coax all forms of confessions and ill-advised gossip out of people who don't know him well, or at all.

But the thing is, he has no one else to tell. He's not exactly itching to confess to his roommates and only two friends that he's just quit his job with no savings and no prospects. He doesn't have a ton of other friends. He's not really a big fan of therapy. He feels, too, as though he'll vomit if he keeps it in much longer.

"Not really," he admits to Taehyung , who gives him a probing look before he continues. "I kind of lost my temper with a coworker. It wasn't — well, I did the whole 'You can't fire me, I quit' thing, a little bit. Not really my finest moment."

"Ah," says Taehyung . "I assume I'm the first person you've told?"

"Yeah," Jungkook says. "How did you know?"

"Just a hunch." Taehyung takes another sip of his water as Jungkook 's drink arrives. "May I ask what you studied? Since I get the sense that journalism was not, ah, your particular passion."

"I have a master's in public policy from Columbia," Jungkook says sheepishly. "I didn't want to be a journalist. I just kind of took the first job I was offered when I moved here last year. I'm not really in a place to take a bunch of unpaid internships, I just needed something that would keep me alive."

Taehyung nods. "I see. You're how old?"

"Twenty-five." Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek. "I know. It's... I had a long road. I spent three years in the military before I started undergrad."

At this, Taehyung seems to take an interest, perk up. "What branch?" he asks, leaning forward.

"The Army." Jungkook takes a sip of his Diet Coke, staring at the tablecloth intently. "I was never in combat or anything, I spent most of it doing paperwork on base. I had some, uh, ethical qualms about enlisting. But it paid for school. The foster care system doesn't exactly help you save for college or anything."

He glances up to see Taehyung looking at him with a slightly softer glint to his eye now. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm rambling."

"Not at all," Taehyung says. "Where are you from originally?"

"New York. Well, the British Virgin Isles, technically, but I grew up in the Bronx," Jungkook explains. "I have citizenship and everything, I was just born there."

"Foster care to the Army to Columbia," Taehyung muses. "That's quite a story."

"Well, now I'm about to be homeless if I can't figure this job situation out," Jungkook mutters. "I'm sorry. You don't care. I know that."

Their food arrives, and the waitress smiles at Jungkook as she places his salmon down in front of him. His appetite seems to have faded over the past few minutes' ill-advised disclosure. Taehyung 's Cubano sandwich and fries still look excellent, though, Jungkook thinks as Taehyung overturns the glass ketchup bottle and shakes it a little. Nothing comes out.

"You've gotta hit it a little," Jungkook says without thinking, and Taehyung laughs a little.

"Believe it or not, I have handled one of these before," he says, and with that, gives the bottle one single, vigorous smack on the side. A glob of ketchup slides onto his plate, but Jungkook isn't paying attention. For some reason, he can't tear his eyes away from Taehyung 's hands.

(So Kim Taehyung 's an attractive man. He's also got a wedding ring on his left hand. Jungkook rolls his eyes. This isn't something he needs to dwell on. He's got larger concerns.)

They eat in silence, Jungkook shoveling forkfuls of rice down his throat almost on autopilot. He can sense Taehyung watching him more than he's eating himself, but doesn't catch him in the act until he looks up halfway through a bite. "Is something wrong, sir?"

Taehyung shakes his head. "What did you do your master's thesis on?" he asks.

"The economic effects of gentrification on the working poor in Brooklyn," Jungkook answers as he swallows another mouthful of salmon. "I was working a service job and doing an internship at the same time, too."

"Impressive," Taehyung nods. "Where did you intern?"

"The AFL-CIO and then with the public advocate's office," he answers. "I was doing a lot of policy analysis, writing papers, that kind of thing. It wasn't super well-paid, but I got a lot out of it. Why does this sound like a job interview?"

With a shrug, Taehyung balls up his napkin and tosses it on his plate, covering up the last few scattered fries. "You do know I just lost my personal assistant."

"Right," Jungkook says slowly, not allowing himself to get his hopes up. His stomach is already churning in disbelief, though. "John Andre..."

"And since you were so curious, FYI, he actually left on his own. He chose to take another, more lucrative position elsewhere," Taehyung muses. "You wouldn't be... I doubt you'd be interested."

"How does it pay?" Jungkook can't help asking. "Because, I mean, I'm really not trying to look a gift horse in the mouth here, but my whole situation is kind of, um, dire."

Taehyung chuckles. He pulls a pen from his pocket and jots down a figure on another napkin, then slides it across the table. Jungkook 's eyes widen as he looks it over. It's not exorbitant, pretty standard for a government position as far as he knows, but it's still far more money than he was making at PolitiFinder.

His eyes flick up to meet Taehyung 's. "That's a starting salary, of course," Taehyung says. "I think you'll find that if we click, there will be certain performance-based bonuses. Lots of perks. Vacation time. Fantastic networking. Would you be interested?"

Jungkook blinks. "This is some kind of joke, right?"

"Not a joke," Taehyung says, holding up both hands. "I don't normally do this. I'm aware it's quite forward. But you seem like a decent kid, and I regret that we got off to the... start that we did. Are you interested?"

There's a brief pause, and Taehyung extends his hand to shake, eyes still locked on Jungkook 's. After a moment of dizzying, confused hesitation, Jungkook takes a deep breath, nods, and shakes it.

"The voice memo," he adds. "Do you still want me to delete it?"

Taehyung shrugs. "It's your choice."

Brow furrowed, Jungkook picks up his phone from where it still sits on the table. There's no way this isn't a test. Hesitantly, he taps in his passcode, then pulls up the voice memo.

He stares at it for a brief, conflicted few seconds.

He hits delete.

"Welcome aboard," says Senator Taehyung .
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“Hey,” John greets him as he steps out of the bathroom, the scents of of toothpaste and aftershave wafting out after him. He’s dressed like he’s going somewhere. Oh, right, it’s Friday night. Jungkook often feels like he’d forget what day of the week it was if he weren’t beholden to a work schedule.

“Hey,” Jungkook says, unbuttoning his coat and tossing it over the couch to join his messenger bag. “You look nice. Hot date?”

John’s cheeks flush the slightest bit pink, dulling his freckles, and he glances down at his chinos and freshly-ironed button-down, sleeves cuffed deliberately mid-forearm. “Just a guy who works for the veep,” he shrugs. “He suggested we grab drinks, it’s not really a whole thing.”

“Whatever gets you off Grindr,” Jungkook shrugs. “God, have a couple shots for me. I had the weirdest fucking day.”

“Yeah?” John isn’t really paying attention, opening the coat closet and toeing into his Sperrys. “More bullshit at work? Cooper up your ass again?”

“Uh.” He’s not really sure how to phrase it. “I… Okay, I can sense that you’re going to get judgmental about this.”

“Jungkook ,” John says, patiently but dry, leaning against the closet doorframe with his arms folded and a faint smile tugging at the edges of his lips. “When have I ever judged you?”

“You get that look, the ‘Oh God, Jeon , what the hell did you do, you’re an idiot, why do I’ — okay, look, you’re doing it right now,” Jungkook says, pointing for emphasis. “It’s not that bad. Okay, it was kind of bad. I didn’t think.”

“Holy shit, Jungkook , what did you do?”

“I quit my job,” Jungkook says quickly. Ripping off the bandage. “But! No, this is the crazy part. I quit like an asshole, and three hours later I got a job offer from — okay, you’re never gonna guess, I’m just gonna tell you.” He pauses for dramatic effect, then intones, “Kim Taehyung .”

John’s mouth drops open. Just a little bit, and he closes it right back up quickly enough, but the point is made. “How?!”

Jungkook pauses. This, too, he’s not quite sure how to explain. “It’s a long story. Don’t worry about it,” he says quickly. “But is that insane or what? Just further proof that the universe rewards total numbskull impulsive actions. Fortune favors the ballsy.”

“Guess so,” John snorts. “Man, that’s awesome. Congratulations. If I run into Lafayette tonight, I’ll — actually, that’s an idea. I was gonna meet up with a bunch of people tonight, I think he’s gonna be there. Do you want to come along?”

It’s a loaded question. Because John’s other friends are — it’s not that Jungkook dislikes them. Not in so many words, at least. It’s just that they have so little in common. There are certainly times when he realizes exactly how different his world is from John’s.

But what else is he going to do? Stay home all night? It’s not like he has any real work to do. He swallows, shrugs, sucks it up. He can play nice with the rich kids for a night.

“Yeah, totally,” he says. “Text me when you’re gonna meet. I’m down.”

It's a little after ten when he shows up to the bar John indicated in his text. It's one of those eminently D.C. joints, half a sports bar and half built for networking, the kind of after-hours office water cooler Jungkook came to know well during his internships in New York.

He senses, again, that he's underdressed. Most of the men here have shed their suit jackets and loosened their ties, but the vibe of the room is still reminiscent of the backstage at a Brooks Brothers catalog shoot. Jungkook never feels out of place intellectually. He knows, both in his heart and from prior experience, that he can argue and flirt and tease with the best of them. But visually, that's a different story. He's been the poor kid in enough classrooms and parties to know when he's not being taken seriously. It's not that anyone's staring at him, rather, their eyes seem to glaze over when he interrupts their field of view, their gaze moving past him like he's not even there.

That's the thing these people have. Visibility. And the confidence that comes from always knowing that they're being seen.

Jungkook doesn't have to square his shoulders; his posture is already impeccable. He strides up to John's cohort near the bar. John's positioned himself at the center of their cluster, another man's arm casually looped around his waist. Jungkook eyes the guy. Handsome. Not a bad pull for John these days.

"Hey, man," he says, tapping John lightly on the arm. "Told you I'd try to make it. This your friend?"

"Jungkook !" John looks drunk, and elated to see him. "Yeah. This is Thom Pinckney, from the VP's office — Thom, this is my friend Jungkook Jeon . He just got hired by Kim Taehyung ."

"Did he?" interjects Lafayette, who is leaning against the bar, a beautiful woman with braids perched on the seat beside him. "This is the first I've heard."

Jungkook shoots him a wide grin. "We're gonna be coworkers, I guess," he says, holding out a hand to shake. "Think we got off on the wrong foot. Hi. Jungkook Jeon ."

Lafayette pauses, as if he's unsure whether to humor him, before suddenly breaking into genuine laughter. “Call me Lafayette," he says, accepting the handshake before gesturing to the woman beside him. "This is my fiancée, Adrienne."

"Pleasure," she says, her accent a little thinner, her tone a little warmer. "I apologize for my love. His sense of humor is an acquired taste."

"No, no, no apologies necessary," Jungkook assures her. He turns back to Lafayette. "So how long have you been with Taehyung ?"

Lafayette shrugs. "A couple years. I have enjoyed them immensely. So you are the new Andre, then?"

Jungkook nods, accepting the beer John passes him without question. "So what's he like? You know, as a boss, as a person, whatever."

"I... well." Lafayette rolls his eyes theatrically behind his glasses. "Come outside for a smoke break?"

Jungkook doesn't smoke, never acquired the taste, but something in Lafayette's expression signals that he should follow. So he does, tapping John on the arm and gesturing that he'll be outside, before pounding the rest of his beer in two goes.

It's still chilly out, but Lafayette doesn't seem to feel the cold as deeply as Jungkook , who shoves his hands hard into his coat pockets as Lafayette lights a Gauloise and takes a drag.

"So," Jungkook says, willing his teeth not to chatter. Lafayette looks like a fucking male model with his scarf under his lapels, not even wrapped around his throat, and Jungkook is really wishing he'd get on with this instead of standing around posing. Goddamn enigmatic Frenchmen and their decorative scarves. "What's the deal with Taehyung ?"

Lafayette sighs and exhales, blowing smoke upward into the light of the street lamp above them. "Senator Taehyung is... he takes a personal interest in his staffers," he says. "He's a wonderful man. When I was having visa troubles, he called in favors, had it extended by three years without a single question asked. You are very lucky to have the position that you do."

"But?" Jungkook asks, skeptical. Because there's no way there isn't a second part to that statement, a caveat heavy enough to outweigh the good. But Lafayette simply shrugs and takes another drag on his cigarette.

"But you will find that he can be difficult to work for," Lafayette says. "He has high expectations. He wants you to succeed and to grow, but he will put you through the ringer doing it. He's in line for the Minority Whip job, and it's because people trust him, they respect him, but more than that, they fear us. He's a decent man who does not resort to idle threats to get things accomplished. That's our job."

"I'm not entirely certain I understand," Jungkook says, although he's starting to understand just fine. Lafayette cocks a brow.

"You're not an intimidating man," Lafayette observes. It doesn't sound as if it's meant as an outright insult - just more of that home-grown European blunt honesty, Jungkook supposes - but it hits him hard, right between the ribs. "You will have to work on that. He'll teach you."

"Okay," Jungkook says slowly. "This is beginning to sound kind of cult-y."

Lafayette laughs. "No, no. We aren't a cult. We're more like an army, truth be told. You know we call him 'The General?'"

"Do you now," Jungkook shivers, his teeth clacking together involuntarily. Lafayette seems determined to smoke that thing down to the filter, and Jungkook is about to tap out and head inside when Lafayette's expression changes from thoughtful to irritated.

"Oh, fuck," he mutters, and tosses the cigarette to the ground, grinding it beneath the heel of his boot. "To whom do I owe the pleasure, Mr. Burr?”

Jungkook spins around. Sidling up the walk behind him is a slight man, about his height, with a brilliant smile that gleams against his dark skin in the streetlight glow. "Pleasure's all mine, Lafayette," says the man. "Don't you love a coincidence on a Friday night? Makes you feel as though the weekend's really arrived."

"Jungkook , this is Aaron Burr," Lafayette says. "We are… coworkers."

"Friends first, coworkers second," says Aaron Burr, and Lafayette rolls his eyes.

"Burr, this is —”

"Jungkook Jeon ," Jungkook cuts him off, reaching out for a handshake. Burr's grip is weak, almost delicate. It catches Jungkook off-guard. "I'm the new John Andre."

"Of course," Burr says. "I did hear the position had been filled. Congratulations, Mr. Jeon ."

“Mr. Burr is our policy director," Lafayette explains. "You'll discover his penchant for writing twenty-page position papers that manage to say nothing at all before long."

"All in the subtle details, my friend," Burr says, his voice buttery and warm. Jungkook looks him over warily. There's something about him that he doesn't quite understand. Burr straightens his own cashmere scarf at his throat and checks his watch. "Much as I'd love to stay and entertain this, I do have dinner plans, so... I'll see you both on Monday."

"Peace out," Jungkook says, offering a jokey little salute, and that's the end of that, but Lafayette is still looking at Burr as he continues to make his way down the sidewalk.

"Be careful about him," Lafayette says after a thoughtful moment. "Don't say I never warned you."

Jungkook 's fingers and the tip of his nose have long gone numb by the time they make their way back inside. John has his arm tight around his date's waist, their noses practically brushing together as they talk at close range in the loud bar, and Jungkook figures that he probably shouldn't expect John home before Saturday afternoon. He says a polite good night to Lafayette and Adrienne, interrupting a conversation in rapid-fire French, and tightens his flannel scarf around his throat before he sets off back out into the cold.

The metro station is surprisingly quiet for a Friday night, and he puts his headphones on as he waits on the platform, staring up at the cavernous tunnels, their curving concrete ceilings shadowy and ominous even with a Kendrick soundtrack. He can't stop thinking about what Lafayette told him about Taehyung and his stringent expectations. He can't stop thinking about Taehyung , full stop. Jungkook prides himself on being able to read situations, to read people. He's never been able to get less of a read on anyone in his life.

A glimmer of movement strikes his peripheral attention somewhere down the platform, but as soon as he turns his head, it's gone.

So Taehyung is an enigma. So there's more to the position than getting coffee and fielding phone calls. That doesn't surprise him. If anything, it emboldens him, knowing that above all else, he's serving some greater cause. That at the end of the day, the work he does will mean something. If it comes with a side order of personal-assistant grunt work, he can deal with that. For the time being, he can deal with that.

The train arrives. The doors open. With a single sweeping look up and down the platform, he gets on.

He goes home alone, and doesn't wait up for John.
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If Jungkook can say anything about Taehyung ’s people, it’s that they work fast. He woke up on Saturday morning to an email of documents, papers to read, lists to memorize. He suddenly has very little idea of what he’s gotten himself into. Every other job he’s taken had a more gently-sloping onboarding process, but Taehyung ’s office seems to be a place where zero-to-100 acceleration is just the normal rate of getting things done.

He scours Taehyung ’s Wikipedia page tirelessly, commits it all to memory. He doesn’t want to start out already behind. He wonders, somehow, whether this has all been a fever dream of some sort. The past three days have been so surreal, so outside of what he's come to know as the norm, that when Monday morning arrives and he puts on his only suit, packs a lunch, and takes the train to work, he's half expecting not to be let into the Russell Senate Office Building at all.

But that doesn't happen. Instead, Aaron Burr meets him at security, ushers him past and shoves him in front of a camera to take a photo for his own ID laminate. The entire affair takes all of five minutes, and then the guard presents him with the glossy plastic badge bearing his name and bleary-eyed headshot.

"Don't worry," Burr says, catching Jungkook 's wrinkled look of disgust as he examines the unflattering photo. "Nobody looks good in these. It's the fluorescent lighting." (A closer glance at the badge flapping against Burr's chest reveals a smiling headshot seemingly devoid of the same dark undereye circles and ashen complexion that plague Jungkook 's midwinter appearance, but, he thinks, Burr seems to have a way of making the best of these things.)

"By the way," Burr says, punching the button for the elevator, "The General's already here. As a rule, you'll want to make a habit of coming in before he does. You get there when he gets there, you don't leave until he leaves. You sleep when you're dead. Got it?"

"Not sleeping isn't exactly a problem for me," Jungkook says, playful and game, but Burr gives him a disapproving look.

"He doesn't appreciate attempts at humor, either," Burr says as they step into the car. "I thought I'd save you the embarrassment. He's a literal man. Save the jokes for after hours."

"Okay." Jungkook blinks. "Is there anything I actually can say? Or do? Or is my whole life, y'know, he says jump and I say how high?"

"Now you're getting it," Burr says. "Don't get me wrong. You seem like a nice enough kid, but..."

"How old are you?" Jungkook can't resist asking.

"Twenty-six," Burr says, nonchalant.

Jungkook frowns, beset with sudden annoyance. "You're a year older than me. Maybe don't call me 'kid.'"

The elevator door opens on a ding, revealing a hallway that manages to be both blandly bureaucratic and impersonally ostentatious at once. "Fair enough," Burr says. If he's taken offense to Jungkook 's candor, he doesn't show it. "This is us, by the way. 416."

He's not sure what he expects as he steps into the office, but it looks like every other political office he's ever visited or interned in: a central bullpen of desks ringed by three corner offices. One of the offices bears Burr's name on a polished bronze nameplate; another bears Lafayette's. The third door is left intimidatingly blank. Burr gestures to it.

"And that's you," he says, and without further elaboration, he strides back across the bullpen, disappearing into his office and shutting the door behind him.

Jungkook knocks. It seems like the thing to do. No answer.

He knocks again. A little harder.

"Come in," Taehyung says, and he swallows hard and pushes through the door.

”So this is your first federal job," Taehyung says as he leans back in his imposing leather desk chair. He's twirling a pen idly between two of his fingers, and Jungkook , again, finds himself transfixed, watching Taehyung 's hand move back and forth through the air, his fingers long and thick but nimble. The bit of wrist he can see, the sliver not covered by wristwatch or shirt cuff, is just as broad and powerful, and Jungkook swallows, involuntarily, his mouth suddenly wet with saliva for reasons he can't justify or explain.

"Yes, sir," he says after an expectant pause. "If you don't count the military, I mean."

"Different kind of federal job," Taehyung says. "Frankly, between you and me, sometimes I really think I preferred the war abroad to the one at home."

"You were in Kuwait?" Jungkook says, recalling the furious Wikipedia reading he had done the day prior, and Taehyung inclines his head just slightly.

"And now I'm here," he says, his voice brisk and businesslike. "And now you're here too. Now, we should talk about my expectations. Normally I'd have Andre train you, but since he has decided to leave us without notice, it looks like it's just you and me. You're all right with this?"

"It's okay," Jungkook says. "Yeah, uh, I don't have a problem with this. It makes sense, right, to just train with you? Since I'm supposed to be your gal Friday and all?"

He cringes as soon as it leaves his mouth, recalling Burr's warning against playfulness. He waits for Taehyung to rebuke him with bated breath.

But Taehyung only chuckles, exhaling a breathy huff as he gives Jungkook what could almost be a warm smile. "You could say that," he says. "I prefer the title 'bodyman' to 'personal aide,' myself. It's a little less dry. But if you want to be my, ah, Gal Friday, who am I to stop you?"

Jungkook laughs, a little of the tension stored in his shoulders leaving his body with it. "Fair enough," he says. "Let's table it. Game-time decision on the title."

"Consider it tabled," Taehyung says. "I think what we really need to establish here is your role in the office. It's not a policy position, exactly, although your policy background will certainly strengthen your performance here. Rather, I need you at my side almost constantly. You're my right hand. You need to remember names, faces, policies, histories. I need you to be able to read my mind, essentially - serve as a filter between the outside deluge of information and what I, personally, need to know. You will be privy to a lot of classified information and I need you to be a steel trap about it. Are you following me?"

"Yes, sir," Jungkook says immediately. "I assume there'll be a blanket NDA -"

"Oh, naturally, though it goes further than that," Taehyung says. "Our office has a policy of discretion based on good taste. I don't imagine you'll have a problem with that - you seem like a fairly reserved young man —“

Jungkook swallows. He could be, probably, if he tried. "I am," he says, all false self-assurance. "Steel trap, as you said."

"Good boy." Jungkook blinks at the strange endearment, but Taehyung doesn't even seem to notice that it has slipped out. And maybe it's nothing. Maybe it's just how he talks, Jungkook thinks, as he wipes his dampening palm on his suit pants. "I'll be honest and say that the hours are long, and the stress isn't for everyone. But I..." Here Taehyung trails off, and Jungkook thinks he can see his gaze soften, just a hint, as he looks at Jungkook and leans back a little further in his desk chair.

"Yes, sir?"

"I see something in you," Taehyung says, all business once more. "Now, I think we've got some contracts to sign."

By lunchtime, he feels as though he's already been here for eight hours. But as he clicks around on the computer at his desk - an entire desk of his own, at the corner of the bullpen closest to Taehyung 's office - Jungkook couldn't be more content. He's already put out one small fire, reminding Taehyung of another senator's bias toward Alzheimer's research allocation funding during a conference (by cue card!), and he's in just a little over his head - but in a good way. In the way that kicks in his fight-or-flight, sink-or-swim instincts. He's not sure that he's ever felt this motivated.

He sees Lafayette emerge from Taehyung 's office, followed by Taehyung himself. "We're headed to lunch, Jungkook ," says Taehyung briskly. "If you've got questions about anything while we're gone, you can ask Burr. He tends to eat at his desk."

"Will do, sir," says Jungkook . He can't bite back the slightly put-out feeling that swells up inside him, especially as Lafayette gives him a casual smirk and a little wave of his fingers on his way out, but it doesn't matter, he thinks, as he unwraps his PB&J. There's a list of documents in front of him, callers never to allow access to Taehyung 's private line. He can manage this. All in good time.

"Jungkook ," says Aaron Burr, as he steps out of his office, buttoning his suit jacket with one hand. A move that strikes Jungkook as smooth and practiced. "Did the General go to lunch already?"

"He went with Lafayette," Jungkook nods, clicking away from his personal email. "About an hour ago. Why?"

Burr exhales a huffy little sigh. "Just curious. Any idea when they'll be back?"

"They didn't say," Jungkook says. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Burr says absently. "Not your fault... have you been down to the commissary yet? I'll take you to lunch."

"I, ah—“ He's about to tell the truth, I already ate, but Burr is practically already on his way out the door, and something about his manner, his posture, his air of businesslike straightforwardness, tell Jungkook to follow. So he grabs his phone and wallet and follows Burr out the door, practically chasing him down the hallway at his heels. Burr doesn't slow for him. It's fine. He's not afraid of a challenge.

The RSOB cafeteria isn't much to look at, all fluorescent lighting and buffet stations, but Jungkook doesn't question it, just joins Burr at the salad bar, taking notice of what he eats: dark leafy greens, grape tomatoes and chickpeas, a drizzle of vinaigrette. "Do you eat meat?" Burr asks him absently.

"Totally," Jungkook says. "Love it. All about it."

"Ah," says Burr, sounding the slightest bit disappointed. "Well, I don't, but I've heard the short rib sliders on Wednesdays are excellent."

"Right," says Jungkook . "Well, I guess I'll let you know. You're not one of those vegans or anything, are you? The ones who never shut up about their veganism and how eating chicken nuggets makes you the literal devil? Because if you are, this isn’t gonna work.”

Burr cocks an eyebrow. "Not a vegan. High cholesterol runs in my family. I try to keep it light for the sake of my longevity."

"Well, you're like, twenty-six," Jungkook shrugs. "You've got a ways to go before you have to start worrying."

"My parents both died in their forties," says Burr shortly. "I don't have kids yet, but I'd like to stick around for them. Are you finished with that?" He gestures to the pepper grinder, which Jungkook hands him readily.

"Sorry, man," Jungkook mutters. "I didn't - I mean - my parents are, y'know. Gone. Too."

Burr regards him warily as he twists pepper onto his salad with short strokes of his wrist. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Yeah. I'm just saying, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable with all the stuff about vegans, sometimes I just—“

Burr shakes his head. "Not an issue. Forget it happened." He gestures to the basket of plastic-wrapped peanut butter cookies near the register. "For the record, those are also excellent."

Taehyung and Lafayette come back to the office nearly three hours later, talking quietly and earnestly in low voices as they walk back into the office. "If Madison won't move on it—“ he hears Lafayette say, before they approach his desk.

"I've got some good news," Taehyung says. "My evening meeting was canceled, which means that you don't have to sit through a budget sit-down with the majority leader."

"Ah," Jungkook says uncertainly. "Okay. Do you want me to do anything else during that time?"

Taehyung shakes his head. "I think we've covered quite a bit for today," he says. "Why don't you head home? You look a little fatigued."

"I'm fine," Jungkook protests, but Taehyung shakes his head. Behind him, Lafayette is removing his slickly tailored jacket, revealing a slim-cut purple dress shirt and tie in contrasting shades of grey and goldenrod. He has no idea how this man manages to dress like a fucking fashion plate in one of the most drab cities Jungkook has ever seen. It's a gift he covets, one Jungkook reminds himself is probably inborn, not learned, as Lafayette smooths both hands over his curly ponytail and then straightens his glasses.

"We're both working late," Taehyung says assuringly. "There's really no reason for you to stay late tonight. Go get a good night's sleep, Jungkook , we'll see you tomorrow."

There's that stab of jealousy again, as they both disappear into Taehyung 's office, Lafayette's arms laden with folders he'd scooped off another desk in the bullpen. But Jungkook swallows it back, collects his things and swings his messenger bag (now lighter one commuter laptop) over his shoulder, making certain his ID badge is tucked carefully inside.

The sun has just begun to set as he leaves the building and starts off down the street, setting the late-winter sky ablaze red and purple. He shivers as the wind knocks through the branches of a bare tree on the sidewalk and turns back to stare down the street, the dome of the Capitol lit up and imposing behind him.

I see something in you, Taehyung had said. Jungkook turns the words over in his mind as he walks against the wind. His wool jacket is no match for the chill that permeates it, settling in his blood and his bones.

It’s the kind of cold that sticks with him. It’s the kind of cold that makes him feel as if he’ll never get warm.
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The next few days continue apace. He spends much of the day at his desk, furiously reading and memorizing as much information as he can take in. With Congress in session, Taehyung spends much of his time on the Senate floor, where Jungkook 's presence is not required. So instead, he makes use of himself in the office. Lee drafts him to proofread Taehyung 's floor remarks, though he disregards all of Jungkook 's edits except to correct the typographical errors scattered throughout. He occasionally pops his head into Lafayette's office in search of something more to do, but after the third instance upon which he is waved away from a phone call, he stops bothering to try. His first week is spent, by and large, furiously clicking around and refreshing pages, trying his best to look busy as he catches up on more than fifteen years of Taehyung 's public service.

Friday is a reckoning. On Friday, Jungkook is almost prepared to leave early, sneak out around 5:45 as soon as Lafayette and Taehyung disappear behind a shut door to talk strategy, but it's Lafayette, this time, who saunters out before Jungkook gets the chance. "Enjoy your weekend," he tells Jungkook haughtily. "Adrienne and I certainly will. Don't let Kim keep you too late."

"See you Monday," Jungkook says, hurriedly closing the tab displaying movie times near Capitol Hill. He twists around in his desk chair to see Taehyung emerging from his office. Jacket shed, down to his shirtsleeves, he looks rumpled and day-worn with his tie loosened beneath his collar. Jungkook 's jaw clicks as he shifts it. He's probably staring. Stop it, Jungkook .

"Are you busy?" Taehyung asks him. He walks toward Jungkook 's desk lazily, unhurried. "I hope I'm not interrupting you."

"No, no, not at all," Jungkook assures him. "I was just finishing up some edits on your amendment proposition for the higher-ed bill. I'm gonna give Lee a copy of Strunk and White so he doesn't have to keep relying on me to explain how apostrophes work every day."

"Riveting as that sounds…” Taehyung pauses. "Every day?"

Jungkook shrugs. "You haven't exactly had much need of me yet. I'm trying to make myself useful."

Taehyung gives him a funny little half-smile, leaning on his desk with arms folded under his biceps. "I can certainly think of a few ways to put you to work," he says. "Actually, I was about to say, I could use your assistance tonight. I've been drafting a bill with Von Steuben and I was hoping I could bounce a few ideas off you in the meantime. Just helps to have another set of ears, right?”

"I — sure,” Jungkook says. "That's totally fine. Yeah."

Taehyung 's brows furrow as he looks Jungkook over. "You didn't have plans tonight, did you?" he asks. "I certainly wouldn't want to keep your significant other waiting up—“

"No, nothing like that," Jungkook says quickly, the words coming out in a landslide of a rush. "No — significant other. Boyfriend, girlfriend, whatever. Very much single. So no, that's not a problem, keep me as late as you like."

He cringes, again, as soon as he's said it. After years of honing his rhetorical skill, his polemic style, in friendly Socratic debates and morning-shower rants against whatever might provoke his daily outrage, he knows how to argue, how to hit where it hurts. But his personal confessions and admissions are so ungainly in comparison, no grace to be found in the way he rushes to overshare about the specifics of his personal life. He can't help it. And, he thinks, perhaps somewhat selfishly, he's an interesting guy. He'd be interested in listening to himself. He would be his own sounding board. (He already is, much of the time.)

Taehyung , again, doesn't seem bothered by this clumsy spill of words. He simply stands up straight and claps a hand on Jungkook 's shoulder, resting it there, warm and heavy. "Great!" he says. "I'll try not to keep you too late anyway. I'll order us dinner, of course. On me. Do you eat meat?"

"I - yes," Jungkook says cautiously, recalling his exchange with Burr. Taehyung simply smiles again and squeezes down on his shoulder a little, before whisking his hand away.

"Fantastic," Taehyung says. "I figured you did, but I had to ask. Lafayette says he's only ever seen you bring peanut butter."

Jungkook shrugs as he follows Taehyung into his office, letting him shut the heavy door behind him. "I mean, that's not a lifestyle choice or anything," he says as he takes the seat opposite Taehyung 's desk. "I just bought a bulk jar of peanut butter a month ago, so that's what I'm eating."

He expects Taehyung to take a seat at his desk, but instead the senator collapses lengthwise on the long couch near the window, stretching out and folding both arms behind his head as he kicks off his shoes. "Make yourself at home," he nods at Jungkook , who slowly unbuttons his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. He doesn't loosen his tie. It seems prudent to maintain some air of professionalism across from his boss. His very tall, broad, handsome boss, whose long legs are sprawled out along the grey couch, thighs looking particularly powerful and muscled from Jungkook 's vantage point.

Jesus. This is not what he needs to be focusing on. Not right now. Not during the first fucking week, for Christ's sake. Get it together, he thinks furiously to himself, casually pinching the inside of his wrist with the hand opposite, in hopes that the sharp pain will wake him the fuck up.

"So," Jungkook says around a throat that suddenly feels very dry. "This Von Steuben bill. What's the deal?"

Taehyung sighs. "That's where we differ. It's pretty dry on the surface, but we both agree that the party has been splitting between the more moderate half and the progressives, and we're looking to work together to bolster party solidarity before the upcoming election. Too much infighting."

"Of course," Jungkook says slowly. "You read that New York Times piece, then."

"'Von Steuben Progressives Versus Taehyung Democrats'?!" Taehyung snaps, sounding more affronted than Jungkook has ever heard him. "I apologize for my absence this first week, I'm sure it's been tiresome for you, but that's the kind of piece that kills a career. Do they not understand the game?"

"Okay, but you can't listen to Thomas Paine," Jungkook tosses back. "Nobody even reads his editorials. Nobody liked him when he started out as a film critic and nobody in the base really likes him now. Most normal people think he's an ivory-tower liberal."

"He's got considerable sway when it comes to influencing the rhetoric within the party," Taehyung says. "I'm a black Democrat from Virginia who got elected on the strength of my war record, not my education. I can't be a radical if I want to stay in office, that's what they're not addressing. Von Steuben and I are playing the same game, but I've got double the rules to follow." He takes a deep breath. "I don't need anyone's pity for that, mind you. But I do need the party to remember what I've done for them."

"So... hence the Von Steuben bill," Jungkook says slowly. "I get it. It's a symbolic gesture to make the base understand that you're on the same team."

"Exactly," says Taehyung decisively. "On a practical level, it accomplishes very little, which is by design. It wouldn't make it through the House if we were trying to enact any sort of tangible change. It's really just a show of solidarity. Remember who the real enemy is."

Taehyung sighs, stretching again as he shifts in position on the couch. Jungkook 's tie feels a little tighter around his throat. He moves his hand to adjust it, careful not to move too quickly, to disturb the air around him.

"So no, it doesn't accomplish much on the ground," he says. "But it sends a message. And at this point, the message is more important."

Jungkook laughs. "Isn't that most of politics, though?" he says. "The message is always more important. The medium is the message, or whatever. That whole McLuhan thing. Do you even like Von Steuben, by the way?"

"I don't dislike him," Taehyung shrugs. "It doesn't particularly matter what I think of him personally, though I don't dislike him at all."

There's a long, quiet pause, and Jungkook 's glance flickers back over to Taehyung , who is looking at him intently. He doesn't know how long he's been staring at him. It makes him feel - strange. Like he's being seen in a way most people don't see him. He feels, for the first time in a long time, completely visible. Opaque.

They order dinner. Cheeseburgers, on Taehyung 's recommendation, from a gastropub near the Hill. "I try not to be pretentious when I'm eating in the office," Taehyung explains, handing Jungkook a thick stack of napkins. He's moved to the floor beside the couch, sitting cross-legged on the ground. The space between them has vanished by the minute, not just physically, but verbally as well. Somehow, Jungkook feels more comfortable with Taehyung than with anyone else in the office. "I eat with a lot of lobbyists with bottomless expense accounts. It gets exhausting," Taehyung adds.

"Sounds kind of ideal, from where I'm standing," Jungkook shrugs as he unwraps his burger. "Then again, I'm speaking from three straight weeks of PB&J for lunch, so..."

Taehyung shakes his head. "We'll have to change that. I've got a week straight of working lunches coming up, now that Congress is out of session. Also, forgive me for asking, but is that the only suit you own?"

Jungkook glances down at his navy pants. "I, uh, yeah," he says. "I haven't really needed more than the one so far." This has been his job-interview suit since college. It's not a terrible one — thrifted during his last year of undergrad, but from a nice Goodwill on the Upper East Side, like most of his clothes back then. So it's a little outdated. So he has nothing on Lafayette's GQ-editorial wardrobe. So what? Burr wears the same thing every day, owns five copies of the same exact suit and dress shirt, and nobody's said a thing to him.

"We should change that too," Taehyung says. "Just for the optics. The office can reimburse you for it. It would present a comm problem to have my bodyman walking behind me looking like he can't afford a dry cleaning bill when my image has been fussed over for hours."

"So we're going with 'bodyman', huh?" Jungkook teases, and Taehyung laughs.

"Did you really want to be my girl Friday that badly?" he asks, and takes a bite of his burger.

Jungkook cocks a brow up at Taehyung , seated on the couch with his burger in one hand, napkins in the other. "Get me some cat-eye glasses and a typewriter, you'll see how well I do."

"I can imagine," Taehyung says. "I'm sticking with bodyman for now. Maybe in a few months, put some pin curls in, convince me otherwise."

He laughs openly at this, leaning back on his hands. "Burr strongly dissuaded me from, uh, 'engaging in humor' with you. He said you were a literal man who didn't appreciate it."

Taehyung shakes his head dryly. "I appreciate humor. Burr just isn't funny."

They both laugh this time, and Jungkook feels something change in the air — a spark of static electricity, a bolt of heat lightning. He's felt this before. He knows he can't be the only one feeling it. His laugh peters out as he looks up at Taehyung , who has a look of dawning comprehension on his face as he sets down his burger, half-eaten.

"We should probably call it a night," Taehyung says. "It's Friday, I don't want to keep you from your social life."

Jungkook crams the rest of his burger in his mouth and stands up slowly, stretching out his lower back where it's cramped and sore from sitting so long on the ground. He can feel Taehyung 's eyes on him as he puts his arms down self-consciously. "Not a problem," Jungkook says. "Again, thanks for dinner. Hopefully the metro's not gonna give me trouble getting home."

"You don't drive?" Taehyung asks, frowning.

Jungkook shrugs. "I have a license, just don't have a car. You don't really need one in the city."

"Well, it's late," Taehyung says. "I'd be happy to drive you home, if you'd like."

"God, I — I mean, you don't have to do that, but — thank you," Jungkook says, his cheeks warming. He feels clumsy, his skin tight and tingly, that off-kilter feeling returning to knock him off his equilibrium. "If you want, I mean. You really don't need to."

"Don't mention it," says Taehyung as he stands, toeing back into his loafers. "Really. I've kept you long enough."

Taehyung 's car is dark and nondescript, expensive but not flashy. It's the vehicle of someone who has had money for so long that they've forgotten they have it. Jungkook slides into the passenger seat, shivering in the damp, cold parking garage.

"Where do you live?" Taehyung asks as he slides the key into the ignition. The radio comes on as soon as the car starts, and Taehyung is quick to flip it off, but Jungkook thinks he catches a snippet of NPR as he does.

"Um, U Street near Florida Avenue," Jungkook says. "Thank you, again. You really didn't have to go out of your way for me. I promise not to make this a regular thing."

Taehyung chuckles as he turns on the heater. "It's fine, son," he says warmly. "My pleasure. You don't need to apologize. I promise you aren't being an imposition in any way."

Traffic is suspiciously light on the way back to Jungkook 's neighborhood, and he stares out the window as Taehyung 's car zips down the streets. The car is strikingly empty, barren of personal effects or further hints as to the inner workings of Kim Taehyung 's private life. Dark, clean, fresh-smelling, but empty, not a receipt in the cup-holder or dry cleaning bag to be found in the backseat. It frustrates Jungkook as much as it strikes him with further intrigue.

"This is me," he says, as Taehyung slows to a stop in front of the rowhome that houses Jungkook 's apartment. The lights are all off on the third floor. John and Hercules must both be out. Jungkook faintly remembers a mention of a second date with the guy from the VP's office.

He slides his hand along to the door handle, but doesn't get out. "I'll see you Monday," he says, after a short pause. He doesn't know what to say. He's afraid of saying too much.

Taehyung nods, smiles faintly. "Don't bother packing a lunch next week," he says. "I have a Monday lunch meeting with Gouverneur Morris. I'll need you to attend it."

"Will do. Thanks again." Jungkook climbs out of the car and takes the front steps two at a time. When he glances back, just before closing the door, he notices that Taehyung is still there.

He doesn't hear him drive off.
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He can’t stop having this dream. The same one, over and over. The dark office, lights out, the beeping of an unplugged surge protector. The low hum of an electrical generator. Outside, a storm. Always a storm. Wind and rain battering the windows and walls.

He always wishes he’ll be alone in the office, but isn’t. He holds out hope until the last possible second, when Taehyung walks through the door and out into the bullpen, silent and serious.

Sir, Jungkook tries to say, but he’s struck dumb by the dreamstate, can’t make the words come out of his mouth, and Taehyung walks closer and closer until Jungkook is trapped between his body and the edge of the desk. The heat between them sizzles, crackling with static electricity. There’s a hand on the small of his back, pulling him forward, pressing them closer together —

Fuck. Jungkook ’s eyes fly open for the third time, and he glances at the clock. Five-thirty on a Saturday morning seems like as reasonable a time as any to wake up, if it means escaping a fourth rendition of the same goddamn dream. On instinct, he reaches for his phone on the bedside table, opening up his email and scrolling through it. He doesn’t know what he’s hoping to find there.

Five-thirty turns into six, which is when he’d normally get up anyway, so with a groan, he drags himself out of bed and into the kitchen, dumping some coffee grounds into a filter and sitting down at the table as the coffeemaker gurgles. He’s made about twenty pages’ worth of headway through his current book, something on police violence John had left sitting around, when — speak of the devil, he thinks, as the door clicks open and John trudges over the threshold, looking a little worse for wear but not unhappy.

“Well, well, well,” Jungkook says, dog-earing the page as he sets the book aside and goes back to the beeping coffeemaker. “A John Laurens walk of shame. Or, should I say, ‘stride of pride’? ‘Got laid parade’?”

John rubs the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes tight, collapsing in a seat at the table. “Don’t… just do me a favor and say fewer words, okay?”

“Gotcha.” Jungkook smirks and fills up John’s favorite mug from the pot, handing it over. John’s tangled curls are a mess and Jungkook is pretty sure he sees the beginnings of a couple hickeys on his neck. “Herc’s not back yet, either. Y’all are making me feel like a fucking spinster.”

“That’s your own fault for staying in on a Friday,” John shrugs, before he takes a sip. “When was the last time you had a second date? Like, a year ago?”

“I haven’t really been trying,” Jungkook says, his hackles rising, just a little bit defensive. “I’ve done fine. I’ve gotten laid at least… six times since we moved in together.”

“I’m just saying, man,” John says, his coffee cup poised at his lips. “You should try actually dating the same person for a while. You forget how awesome it is.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “So I guess things are going well with the VP’s guy.”

“Is it really weird that I’m kind of seeing a Republican?” John asks as Jungkook recoils. “Actually — no, whatever you’re thinking, don’t you dare say it, question redacted —”

“Does he know you work for the HRC?” Jungkook asks incredulously. “And that you’re, y’know, a giant flaming socialist who wants to ban all guns and replace cops with therapists? How are you living with yourself right now?” He’s teasing, sort of. Kind of. It’s not that he’s never heard of relationships that transcend party lines. It’s more that he can’t ever imagine John Laurens being in one of those relationships.

John shrugs again, smiling crookedly. “Didn’t seem to matter when he was begging for my dick inside him,” he says impishly, and Jungkook rolls his eyes as John pushes himself up from his chair and picks up his coffee mug, wandering back out of the kitchen and in the direction of his bedroom, still talking over his shoulder. “I’m pretty sure I’m still in that sweet spot between drunk and hungover, so, like, don’t wait around for me — oh, actually, hang on.” He spins back around. “Are you busy tonight?”

“No?” Jungkook says. “Unless you could reading fifty pages of some bill Taehyung ’s drafting—”

“That’s the definition of a Sunday morning chore.” John shakes his head. “Uh, so SecDef Schuyler’s daughter is moving to London for work and she’s having some sort of farewell house party, and I told her sister I’d stop by. You should come.”

Jungkook cocks a brow. “Which sister?”

“Does it matter?” John teases.

“Point taken.” Jungkook pulls his book back toward him and reopens it to the page he dog-eared. “Yeah, sure. I’ll go.” Because maybe this is a good idea. Maybe it’ll at least get his subconscious away from dreaming about his boss. He can only hope.

Nobody looks twice at him and John as they walk into the party that night. Well, actually, that’s half true. People notice John — he gets a round of hellos and one-armed hugs and handshakes as he walks from room to room — but again, it’s as if Jungkook ’s default status is ‘wallpaper.’ So he does as he always does, naturally, and overcompensates. A more bombastic introduction, a firmer handshake, doing his damnedest to subtly outperform his best friend in the art of simply being there.

“Jungkook Jeon ,” he introduces himself from person to person, adjusting the navy knit tie he’d stolen from John’s dresser and tied hastily, in the only knot he knows, before they’d headed out. “I work for Kim Taehyung .” And reliably, an impressed eyebrow would raise just a bit, a smile of acknowledgment would flit across the lips to which he was speaking, and the power of having power is further reaffirmed to him with every hand he shakes.

John gets them both a drink, and Jungkook leans on a counter, surveying the condo they’re in. It’s almost aggressively clean and well-kept, full of mid-century modern furniture that all looks as though it’s there on purpose, rather than the casual Ikea mish-mash that denotes most of the post-grad-school apartments he frequents. The source, he soon realizes, is the lady of the house: Angelica Schuyler, who sweeps back into the living room in a winter-white shift dress that makes her dark skin glow, a glass of red wine in one hand and a practiced smile plastered on her face. It’s the same look John gets when he’s in the middle of a crowd he knows is here to see him. It’s the look of someone who grew up being paraded around by a politician parent, someone hyperaware of the public gaze.

She spots John first, naturally, and beelines toward them, her smile becoming just a little less forced and formal. “John, sweetheart,” she says sweetly, kissing him on both cheeks, holding her wine elegantly away from their bodies. “I had no idea you were coming! I wish someone had told me, I would’ve sprung for that tequila you like—”

“Probably better that you didn’t,” John grins. “I had a rough night yesterday, I’m not shooting for two in a row here.”

“Fair enough,” Angelica says amiably, and holds out her hand to Jungkook . “Who’s your friend? I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Jungkook Jeon ,” he says, shaking it briskly — and her handshake is firm, her grip almost intimidating, the handshake Jungkook has come to recognize in eldest daughters of men who wanted sons — and he begins to add, “I—”

“Work for Kim Taehyung ,” John finishes quickly, and Jungkook shoots him an annoyed look, but Angelica doesn’t seem to notice.

“Really,” she says conversationally. “I guess Taehyung sent a whole delegation tonight, huh? That man is obsessed with my father.”

“Oh, is Lafayette here?” John asks. “Sweet. I didn’t know he was coming.”

Angelica rolls her eyes theatrically. “Oh, he’s here, he’s such a sweetie,” she says. “But — you know who else rolled in about ten minutes ago —”

“Ugh. Seriously?” John shakes his head. “Burr’s such a creep.”

Jungkook frowns, sipping his rum and coke as he takes in their mutually disgusted expressions. “Aaron Burr?” he clarifies. “You guys don’t like him, or something?”

“Oh, God, I keep forgetting you work with him,” John says. “I mean, to be fair, everyone does, he jumps around from job to job like he’s playing hopscotch—”

“We dated for a week,” Angelica adds. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so convinced that everyone should be fascinated by how boring they are.”

“I actually met him in undergrad,” John says. “We were both White House interns at the same time and he spent the entire time ignoring anyone who wasn’t above him, except to tell us what we were doing wrong. Also, he corrects your grammar, like, in real life. Not even in emails.”

“He’s so mediocre,” Angelica says, shaking her head. “So of course he’s here, shaking everyone’s hand, acting like it’s his own party. He’d network at his own funeral if it were possible.”

Jungkook chokes on his drink, spluttering with laughter as he tries to cough it out. “Point taken,” he says once his breathing returns to normal. “Man. I did not know he was so…”

“Universally disliked?” Angelica finishes. “Sorry, you know, I hate to speak ill of a friend, but…”

“He’s your friend?” Jungkook says.

“He’s everyone’s friend. That’s what makes him so tiresome.” Angelica sips her wine, pursing her ruby-painted lips together as she swallows, then shakes her head. “Sorry, I should really go circulate, but it was nice to catch up, John. And nice to meet you, Jungkook —”

“Just Jungkook ,” he says, but she’s already striding away. John turns to Jungkook , a know-it-all smirk spreading across his face.

“What?” Jungkook feels his cheeks warm over. “Why are you looking at me like I have something in my teeth or whatever?”

“You didn’t know Aaron Burr was obnoxious as fuck and universally disliked?” John says, cocking a brow. “What, did he win you over with his smile and his weirdly condescending little pieces of advice?”

“Shut up,” Jungkook says, shaking his head. “I don’t like him or anything, I just thought he was kind of weird.”

“Lafayette hates him,” John laughs.

“Yeah, well, Lafayette doesn’t really seem to like me that much, either,” Jungkook sighs. “Whatever. Go circulate. You’ve got an adoring crowd.”

“Tell your new best friend Burr I said hello,” John says. “Give him this for me.” He flips Jungkook off playfully, and Jungkook returns the gesture as John disappears into the chatting crowd.

Left to his own devices, Jungkook decides it’s probably in his favor to avoid both coworkers present in the crowd tonight. He downs what remains of the drink John made him, then returns to the bar in the kitchen, poring over the selection with an expert eye. He’s not in the mood for anything sweet, he thinks, which is unusual given his normal predilection for sweeter drinks — any other given day, he’d take a Cape Codder or a tequila sunrise over just about anything else.

“You should try the sangria,” a woman says to him, brushing her dark, glossy hair back over her shoulder. “I made it with peach lambic and rye. It’s kind of a fun twist.”

Jungkook turns to face her more fully. “You’re just hanging here all night trying to sell people on it, huh?”

“Hey, look, it’s working,” she says with a smile. “C’mon. Try a little bit. It’s kind of a fall recipe, but the peach really sets off the spiciness of the rye.”

“I can never say no to something sweet and spicy,” Jungkook says, letting a flirtatious teasing color the edge of his voice, his body language as he reaches out and offers her the glass he was about to fill with straight bourbon. She ladles a little into it, and watches him intently as he takes a sip.

“Damn.” It’s good, and just as she described, sweet and heavy but contrasted with a hint of spice. He hands her the glass back to fill up the rest of the way. “So do you just bring this to every party you go to, or…?”

She shakes her head. “Special recipe. Your sister only moves to London once. Or, you know, maybe a bunch of times. I guess that figure of speech doesn’t really work here.” The woman hands him back the cup and laughs lightly. “Live and learn, I guess.”

“Sister…” Jungkook frowns, looking her up and down, taking note of her pale skin and round face. “Pardon my, uh, candor, but you don’t really look like a Schuyler sister.”

She rolls her eyes. “I’m the adopted one, remember?” She counts them off on one hand. “There’s the smart one — that’s Angelica — the adopted one — guilty — and Peggy.”

“And does the adopted one have a name?” asks Jungkook .

“Elizabeth Schuyler. Eliza.” He waits for her to offer a handshake, but she doesn’t, just takes another sip of her own drink and smiles sweetly. “And yourself?”

“Jungkook Jeon ,” he says. “Jungkook .” He’s about to follow it up with his boss’s name, but it occurs to him suddenly that he doesn’t feel as if he needs to. She’s already making eye contact with him. He doesn’t need to earn it.

Eliza Schuyler takes another sip of her drink and nods. “So how do you know my sister?”

“I don’t, really,” he admits. “My roommate does, but we hadn’t met until tonight.”

“Who’s your roommate?”

“John Laurens.” Jungkook swirls the ice and peach slices in his glass.

“Oh, we love John!” Her voice is genuine, and Jungkook looks back up to meet her excited eyes. “I didn’t know he was living with someone. He’s such a sweetheart.”

“Oh, we’re not — it’s not that kind of living together,” Jungkook stumbles over himself to explain. “I mean, it’s — we’re really close, we’re best friends, but like, he sees other people, we’re not a couple.” Shit. He’s really not making the situation any clearer. “We’re not together.” (Not anymore, he nearly adds, but a total stranger — a cute stranger, the cute daughter of the Secretary of Defense — doesn’t need the extended history of Jungkook Jeon and John Laurens and their several ill-fated attempts at a sexual and/or occasionally romantic relationship. So he manages to hold that back. Just barely, but he does.)

Eliza doesn’t seem fazed. “John’s a great guy,” she muses. “So what do you do?”

“I work for Kim Taehyung ,” Jungkook says. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like as much of a boast here. “You?”

“I work for my sister's NGO. It’s super boring.” She rolls her eyes. “Not really worth getting into. So, you’re with Taehyung ? What’s that like?”

Jungkook pauses, uncertain of what to say. “It’s… it’s not boring,” he says, although so far, it has been, a little bit. The sitting out in the bullpen trying to look busy, that part’s been boring, true. But —

The night prior —

“He’s a powerful guy,” Jungkook says, trying to choose his words carefully. “You always kind of feel like you’re right on the verge of being in trouble when he’s talking to you, but it makes you want to do better and work harder. As a boss, he’s…” He trails off. He doesn’t know what else to say that won’t detour into a description of Taehyung ’s hands or the way his quads look in his tailored gray pants. So he punctuates the end of the sentence with a shrug. “I dunno, ask me when I’ve been there longer.”

“Will do,” Eliza shrugs, and then pulls her phone from the pocket of her blue dress. Jungkook can see it vibrating in her hands. She looks up at him apologetically. “I’m sorry, I really have to take this, but it was nice to meet you — Jungkook ?”

“Eliza,” he nods in response, and she smiles warmly before lifting the phone to her ear and backing away.

Some ninety-something minutes later, Jungkook is on his third glass of sangria, seated on the couch with Lafayette and three people he’d never met before. Loosened by the alcohol, the socialization feels easier than normal. He feels less like he’s got to throw all his cards on the table at once to earn a place in the conversation. He feels almost normal. Which, in itself, is new and exciting.

He feels his phone buzz against his leg in his pocket, and is greeted by a message from Taehyung ’s personal number as he takes it out.

Hello, Jungkook . Sorry to text so late, but my weekend plans have shifted. Are you free to come in to work tomorrow?

Jungkook blinks at his phone screen, thumb hovering over the keyboard as he considers his response. On the one hand — this is probably a test of some kind. He has no idea what’s liable to happen if he doesn’t say yes.

On the other — he hasn’t read the bill yet. Fuck, the bill. He knew he should have done it tonight — fuck, how does John manage to maintain a wildly active social life and a career at the same time? Jungkook goes out once and fucks himself over like this —

On the other hand — if he says yes, but shows up not having read it, he might as well kiss all the goodwill he built the other night goodbye.

So there’s basically one option. Jungkook opens his wallet, glances inside at the contents — not much, but enough for a cab home on this one, unusually desperate occasion. There’s a reason he budgets for these things. He grits his teeth, shoves his wallet back into his pocket, and looks back down at his phone.

I’ll be there, he taps out, before amending it, Not a problem.

Lafayette is looking at him curiously as he shoves his phone back in his pocket. “Sorry,” he says. “I think I actually have to call it a night. I, um — forgot about an obligation tomorrow.”

“Very well,” Lafayette says. “Monday, then.”

“Right. Monday.” Jungkook nods and sets his glass aside. “It was nice to meet the rest of you.”

He doesn’t bother looking around the room to say goodnight to John, who had tapped out halfway through the night, citing a ‘Come over?’ text from the Republican. Instead, he pulls on his coat at the door, his mind still on the fifty pages of dense legislation he has to get through before sunrise. He’s nearly out the door when he feels someone tap him on the arm.

He turns. It’s Eliza Schuyler.

“Hey, you’re leaving already?” She looks a little disappointed, and Jungkook feels a brief pang of regret strike him somewhere in his lower abdomen.

“I — yeah,” he admits. “I just forgot, I have this thing, I need to get some work done before tomorrow morning.”

“Ah,” she says. “Well. Have a good night.”

Jungkook puts on his best approximation of a winning smile. “Will do,” he says. “Listen, I’m sorry that I have to go, I just—”

“No, no, we’ve all been there,” she says. “Your boss is a powerful guy. Understood. Go for it.”

Jungkook pauses. “I’ll see you around,” he finally says.

He gets into the cab waiting out front and hollowly recites his address. He tries, really gives it all he’s got, to think about Eliza Schuyler. He tries to think about her in a second-date capacity. Because John is probably right. He probably does need to try actually dating someone, having a serious thing for once. Jungkook doesn’t date so much as he stumbles into one-night-stands and then stumbles away, mostly unscathed. And she’s the SecDef’s daughter, for Christ’s sake. This could be good for him. This could be another step up the ladder.

He tries thinking about Eliza Schuyler, but the peach lambic and the rye keep getting in the way, and then his phone lights up with another message from the hands he can’t stop thinking about.

Good. See you tomorrow, then.

He chews the inside of his cheek and shakes his head blearily, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

This isn’t a thing for him. This is stupid. He needs to think about something else.

He’s got a bill to read.
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But Taehyung is waiting for him, counting on him, so he doesn’t. Instead, he puts the coffeemaker on while he showers, pulls his hair into a ponytail while it dries — he needs a proper government-job haircut, that’s the other thing he keeps forgetting, maybe he’ll spring for that next weekend — and stands in front of his dresser with a cup of black coffee, frowning at his clothes before finally grabbing khakis and an old button-down, proper enough attire for working on Sunday. He really needs some new fucking clothes.

He expects to come in to a full house, or at least Lafayette and Burr and Lee, if Taehyung needed him so badly. So when he walks into the office to find it empty with half the lights shut off, he immediately wonders if he’s being pranked. If Lee is punishing him for daring to suggest that he look up the definition of a dangling modifier or something.

“Hello?” he calls cautiously, and Taehyung ’s door swings open, revealing Taehyung in a white polo and salmon-colored shorts.

“Jungkook , my boy!” He’s got a cup of coffee in one hand and his phone in the other. “I was just about to give you a call — but don’t worry, you’re not late —”

“Where’s the meeting?” Jungkook says, frowning as he takes in Taehyung ’s attire. “I thought we were —”

Taehyung chuckles, sliding his phone into his back pocket. “Oh, the meeting got moved around. My weekend agenda is always in flux, I try not to allow work to impede too much into my free time. It’s the only thing that keeps me sane.” He claps Jungkook on the shoulder with one broad hand as he passes him, and Jungkook tries not to flinch or shiver. “Let’s head out. I’ll drive, of course.”

Jungkook follows Taehyung to the parking garage, trying not to ask too many questions but harboring a certain, specific suspicion, one that is confirmed when Taehyung drives out of D.C. proper.

“This might be an obvious question,” Jungkook says quietly, “but this isn’t a traditional meeting, is it?”

Taehyung glances over as he merges lanes and laughs a little. “In a sense. I said yes to a round of golf with Knox and Greene weeks ago, and this is the first day the weather has agreed with those plans.”

“Oh,” Jungkook says, a little crestfallen. “I see. And you needed a caddy.”

“What? No,” Taehyung says. “I needed a fourth.”

A slash of panic strikes through Jungkook , and he struggles to conceal it from his face and body language, even as he shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “Oh,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. “I see.” He’s not sure what to make of this — a week ago, hearing that he’d be playing golf with three United States senators would have blown his mind, but in the moment, he feels completely in over his head, and not in a way he can fake with agreeably empty rhetoric. You can’t bullshit a complete absence of experience, he thinks. Not when it comes to a sport. He’s never been more than serviceable at any form of athletics, even during high school. This — this is a joke.

They’re well into Arlington now, and as Taehyung stops at a light, he glances over at Jungkook , hands resting lightly on the wheel. “You’ve played before, right?” he asks. “I’ll understand if you haven’t — New York isn’t particularly known for its golf culture —”

“Of course I’ve played,” Jungkook says quickly. “My freshman year roommate’s main form of socialization was going to the driving range at Chelsea Piers.” This is half true. Jungkook was never actually invited. “I might be a bit rusty,” he adds, “but—”

Taehyung smiles. “But you’re game.”

“I’m always game,” Jungkook says, his voice fixed and fierce. It can’t be that difficult.

The mild morning has broken into an aggressively temperate day, one that feels more like spring than late winter, when Taehyung parks at the Arlington Golf and Country Club and hauls his own bag of clubs out of the trunk. Jungkook follows him into the clubhouse, feeling even more out of place than he had the night before at Angelica’s. Surrounded by men in pressed, coordinated chinos and sweaters, he feels like sinking through the floor. It occurs to him that he has felt like more of an outsider this past week than the last several years of his life combined. The guest attendant gives them both a skeptical look as Taehyung requests a pass for Jungkook , but says nothing, which somehow stings a little sharper. He’d rather just be insulted to his face.

Knox and Greene are waiting in the clubhouse when Jungkook and Taehyung arrive, looking exactly the way they normally do on C-SPAN: Greene handsome and chiseled, his hair carefully styled; Knox red-cheeked and corpulent, his clothing in slight disarray.

“Kim , pleasure as always,” Greene says smoothly, offering a firm, polite handshake, which Taehyung accepts before Knox pulls him into a hearty half-hug. “Glad the weather finally worked out in our favor — how long have we been putting this off?”

“Too long,” Taehyung says, withdrawing himself from Knox’s grasp. “Henry, Nat, I’d like you two to meet my new aide, Jungkook Jeon —”

“Just Jungkook is fine,” he says quickly, offering his hand to both men in turn. “Sorry about my — I didn’t know we were playing golf today.” (He says it with confidence. Like he has a pair of pink chinos and an Izod sitting in his closet for the frequent occasions on which he does play golf. They don’t need to know.)

Knox chuckles. “I hardly think it matters,” he says. “You’re not here to show off, are you? You’re here to caddy.”

Taehyung gives him a sharp look. “Jungkook is our fourth today, Henry,” he says coolly. “As Philip was unable to join us.”

Knox coughs a little, but Greene steps in smoothly. “Glad to have you, Jungkook ,” he says magnanimously. “You’ve played a fair bit, then?”

“I — enough,” Jungkook lies. He shifts his weight from foot to foot as Taehyung claps him on the shoulder heartily. God, he wishes Taehyung would stop that. Every touch makes it a little harder to conceal the want that buzzes in his veins. He tries, in desperation, to spit out what little golf terminology he knows. “Are we playing a full eighteen?”

“Just the back nine today, I think,” Greene says. “Everyone in D.C. seems to have had the same idea. It’s a bit busy.”

“Right, then,” says Taehyung , shouldering his bag. “Let’s get on it, then.”

He thought, or perhaps he hoped, that it wouldn’t be that hard. That perhaps a latent talent for golf would present itself as soon as he picked up a rented club. But as they drive out to the tenth hole on the links, he starts to panic again. Just a little bit. He swallows hard, concealing it, watching the green disappear behind him from the backseat of the cart.

Beside him, Taehyung leans over to mutter in his ear. “You’ll be fine, my boy,” he says reassuringly. “These men aren’t particularly serious golfers either. Knox hasn’t played a full eighteen holes since 1998.”

Jungkook laughs, in a manner he hopes is convincing. As they walk out onto the green, he hoists his clubs over his shoulder, following Taehyung ’s lead. Taehyung tees off first, and Jungkook stands back and simply watches, taking in the length of his arms, his swing, his stance. He swallows. He’d be more than happy to just watch. He’d much rather caddy than play.

Taehyung turns to him with a smile. “Is it coming back to you yet?”

“I — we’ll see,” Jungkook says. Taehyung adjusts the brim of his plain white visor and plays the rest of the hole in what strikes Jungkook as a respectable four strokes. Greene goes next, and plays it in three, and then Knox, who takes six to finish, swearing under his breath as the ball finally rolls into the hole.

Jungkook hoists a club at random from his bag and walks nervously toward the tee, only to have Taehyung stop him as Knox and Greene exchange a look. “That’s your putter,” he says gently. “Here, you need a driver — this is a better choice.” He hands Jungkook another club from the bag, taking back the putter as Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“Duh,” he says, self-deprecating. “I knew that. Sorry, told you I’m a little rusty.”

“Quite all right,” Greene says. “We’re all just doing our best, kid.”

He tees up and takes a practice swing, desperately trying to recall Taehyung ’s stance and angle. He remembers only the way his shoulders looked under his white polo and the muscled curve of his calves. Shit. Head in the game, Jeon . He takes a deep breath, focuses on the ball, and swings.

He misses.

“Ha,” he mutters nervously, not daring to make eye contact with any of the other men. “Totally meant to do that.” His second attempt finally makes contact, and sends the ball sailing in the proper direction. Without waiting for acknowledgement, he trudges off in pursuit, only to quickly double back, having forgotten his bag.

Taehyung hands him another club, and Jungkook takes it without much care. He really just wants to get this over with, feels his cheeks burning with embarrassment as he lines up the shot. Three shots later, he’s not much nearer the hole, but now it feels almost personal, like the whole goddamn course was set up to mock him. Fuck golf. He’s suddenly flooded with a newfound determination to kick this entire course’s ass. He seizes the putter Taehyung helpfully holds out to him, and widens his stance, ready to hit the damn thing straight into the cup.

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Taehyung chuckles as Jungkook draws back the club. “Your position is all wrong, give it a second.”

Jungkook shifts as Taehyung jogs up behind him and places both hands on his shoulders. “Relax,” Taehyung says quietly. “You need to relax your body and your mind. All that tension is what’s making the ball go haywire. Now, here—” and he moves his hands down to Jungkook ’s torso, adjusting his angle just slightly. An involuntary shiver hits Jungkook at the contact, one he tries desperately to keep contained as Taehyung ’s large hands drift down to his hips. “Position yourself at a forty-five degree angle to the hole,” Taehyung says, his voice warm but authoritative as Jungkook allows him to shift his position. “And then draw back just a little — not all the way, you don’t need to hit it so hard at all—”

“Oh,” Jungkook murmurs as Taehyung lets go of his hips and moves back, just half a step.

“Just like that,” Taehyung says encouragingly, demonstrating with his own stance. “Carefully, now.”

Jungkook draws back the club, mirroring Taehyung ’s body language. Eyes fixed on the ball, he swings.

The ball sails smoothly into the cup.

“Five strokes,” Taehyung says with a smile, then raises his voice. “Better watch out, Knox, my boy’s already beating you.”

Jungkook ’s face warms as he crouches to grab the ball from the cup. That phrase again. My boy. He just wishes he knew what Taehyung means by it — is it paternal or possessive? He can’t tell. He thinks, perhaps, that he’d like to be a possession.

If Jungkook can pride himself on anything, it’s that he is, at least, a fast learner. Or maybe just stubborn. Or maybe — probably — both.

They finish the nine holes in a reasonable two and a half hours, and by the end of it, Jungkook is in last place, but not as egregiously as he initially feared he might. His strokes and stance have improved considerably under Taehyung ’s critical eye and hands, and as they retire to the clubhouse for a late lunch, Jungkook feels Taehyung sidle up next to him.

“Don’t worry,” Taehyung mutters dryly. “I don’t think they noticed a thing.”

Jungkook has to bite back a peal of laughter. It comes out as an ungainly little snort, which Taehyung seems to notice with amusement. A waiter ushers them to a corner table in the informal dining room, and hands all four of them menus, which Jungkook looks over, nearly choking on the price list. He didn’t realize it was even legal to charge $20 for chicken fingers.

“So, Kim ,” Greene says, closing his menu and setting it aside. “This business with Von Steuben. What’s the point?”

“We’re compromising to compromise,” Taehyung says smoothly. “It’s symbolic. The medium is the message, as Jungkook put it.”

Knox gives Jungkook a sideways look. “You’re making policy decisions now, are you?”

“Not really,” Jungkook says. “It’s more of a sounding-board situation.” He falls silent, fingering the edge of the menu as the waiter returns for their drink order, but as he’s about to ask for a sparkling water, Taehyung shakes his head.

“A round of gin martinis for the table,” he says, and Jungkook takes a breath and nods. Fine. He’s not going to turn down free alcohol. As the waiter retreats, Knox turns back to Jungkook .

“So, kid,” he says conversationally. “What’s your story? Where did Kim find you?”

“Well, I have a master’s in public policy from Columbia,” he recites automatically. “I’ve interned in labor rights and policy, and I was working for the press when I met Senator Taehyung a couple weeks ago. It just — happened…” He trails off lamely, and Taehyung picks up the thread.

“Jungkook and I have a great deal in common,” Taehyung says. “Both veterans, both with a tremendous interest in working people’s rights. But that’s neither here nor there, Henry, how’s the family?”

Knox chuckles. “Lucy’s on my case about the house again. Says we should downsize, that nobody needs all that space. I told her, bullshit. This house has been in my family for generations, we’re not selling it off.”

Greene cocks a brow. “If you want my advice—”

“I don’t,” Knox says as a tray of martini glasses and shakers arrive. Jungkook pulls his chilled glass toward him, waiting for Taehyung to make a toast, but instead, he simply raises his glass and inclines his head wordlessly.

“Well said, as ever,” Greene chuckles, and all four of them clink. Jungkook takes a sip of his martini. He’s never liked them with gin, but then again, he’s used to the house gin, which, in the bars he frequents, often tastes like lighter fluid. This one is excellent, goes down easy.

“Are you gentlemen ready to order?” the waiter asks, and Jungkook glances back down at the menu, prepared to order the least expensive dish. But Taehyung cocks a brow and takes his menu from him with a knowing smile.

“I recommend the hanger steak,” he says assuredly. “It’s up to you, of course, but —”

Jungkook swallows. “I guess I’ll have that,” he says, looking back up to the waiter. “Medium rare.”

“Of course.” The waiter turns back to Taehyung . “The same for you, Senator?”

“Indeed.” Taehyung hands him both menus and sips his drink, glancing at Jungkook over the rim. “The seasonal vegetables are excellent. We’re at the tail end of brussels sprout season, you know. Get it in while you can. Gather ye rosebuds while you may.”

“Thanks for the recommendation,” Jungkook says lightly. “I was about to go for the chicken fingers and fries.”

“My boy, let me make you a promise,” Taehyung says, a smile playing at the edges of his mouth even though his voice is grave. “As long as you work for me, you need never order chicken fingers at a place like this again.”

The conversation is light, flowing easily from topic to topic: Taehyung ’s renovations at Mount Vernon, Greene’s eldest daughter’s admission to Smith and Mount Holyoke. They steer away from politics altogether, with the exception of the Von Steuben ordeal, and Jungkook can’t help wondering what has been the point of this entire exercise. The steak is tender and delicious, the martini well made (though he stops at just the one), but by the end of the meal, nothing meaningful has been accomplished. It hasn’t felt much like a meeting at all.

As he follows Taehyung back to the car, he can’t hold back the question that has been on his mind since halfway through the golf game. “Sir,” he asks, “forgive me for saying this, but was that it?”

Taehyung opens the trunk with a shrug, setting his clubs down carefully. “Was what it?”

“The whole… that was the meeting that had been postponed so many times,” Jungkook says. “It was just golf and lunch.”

Taehyung chuckles. “Did you assume we’d be talking strategy over steaks?”

“Kind of.” Jungkook waits for Taehyung to click the passenger door unlocked, then gets into the car. “I guess I just didn’t expect it to be so… I don’t know.”

“You weren’t bored, were you?” asks Taehyung critically, and Jungkook shakes his head.

“Not at all,” he says.

“Good,” nods Taehyung . “Because as a matter of fact, I learned quite a bit. Henry Knox is still in an excruciating amount of debt, and his wife is badgering him to liquidate what remains of their assets while the market is still amenable to it. Nathanael Greene’s daughter only applied to historic women’s colleges with a sizable lesbian population, and I don’t like to make assumptions, but I’m sure you follow. And you —” He slides the key into the ignition, but doesn’t start the car, instead looking at Jungkook for a lengthy beat. “You’re a much quicker study at golf than I expected.”

“Right,” Jungkook says, midway through a rush of dawning comprehension. “It was really obvious I’d never played.”

“Don’t worry,” Taehyung says. “I hope you don’t mind repeating this venture in the future. I had a hunch you would make a good fourth, and…” He turns the key and the car rumbles to life. He doesn’t finish his sentence.

“Okay,” Jungkook says, trying not to follow up with So I read the entire bill for nothing.

Taehyung chuckles as he turns back out onto the road. “Now you know. This job is often dull, but, like, I said, the networking can’t be beat.”

“I wasn’t bored,” says Jungkook . Truthfully. He means it. Embarrassed and slightly green around the gills for much of the golf game, perhaps, but never bored. “Thanks. I’ll try to look like less of an embarrassment in the future, too.”

“Don’t worry,” Taehyung says. “We’ll get you the proper outfit for that, too.”
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