#bak yerim probably gonna be their first child?

[morteisshipping]

Haven't titled this yet (if anyone has a good idea, pls let me know)

Hi. This is the S-Class Spy X Family AU idea that has been brewing in my head being turned into a something of a first chapter. Not a whole chapter ofc, I'm still confused whether I should use Yerim or Gyeol as their child (them being Hyunjae and Yoojin ofc).

So anyways, enjoy this snippet of the first chapter. I want to know if it's good before I post them to AO3.

Enjoy!

It’s been a bad day for Han Yoojin.

First, last night, his “clients” didn’t want to stay dead so Yoojin needs to make sure they did. Unfortunately, that makes the crime scene too bloody that Yoojin needs to spent some extra time to be meticulous on his “cleaning”. After all, cleaning up blood splatters on carpets and ceiling is a full-on laborious job. Because of that, Yoojin had to come home at early hours in the morning and only gotten three hours of sleep before he had to get up and get to his “real” job.

Second, his alarm’s battery was dead so he got up late. He works in the City Hall as an admin staff and he wasn’t supposed to be late, but luckily, his supervisor, Song Taewon, just sighed and let it go on the grounds that Yoojin had only been late this once. Third, his coworkers kept messing up their works and piled them on Yoojin.

And the final straw on the camel’s back, just before he can clock out, his boss, Woo Dongwon, asked Yoojin specifically to send a package to Foreign Ministry’s secretary, Suk Shimyoung—who is also working for his younger brother, Han Yoohyun.

“But sir,” Yoojin grits out desperately. “My brother and I don’t get along. Please get somebody else to do it.”

Woo Dongwon sighs, “I would if there’s anyone else to do it, Han Yoojin-ssi. As you can see, everyone else has already clocked out.” He says. “Besides, you don’t have to directly give it to your brother. Just give it to his secretary—what’s his name, Suk Shimyoung?”

“But Song Taewon-ssi is still here,” Yoojin points out. “And I don’t want to get involved Suk Shimyoung—he can be a real asshole if he wants to be.”

“I will need Song Taewon to run a different errand later,” Woo Dongwon says. “Anyways, you can just clock out now, deliver the package on your way home, and then went home afterwards. Just leave the package to the receptionist or something if you don’t want to see anyone. Besides, even though you and your brother don’t get along, surely, he wouldn’t be so unprofessional as to not accepting an important package from the City Hall.”

You don’t know him like I do, Han Yoojin thought bitterly as Woo Dongwon dismisses him. Yoojin stares at the innocent brown package that had been shoved into his arms by his boos. There is really no way out of this, isn’t it? After everything that had happened today, he is not sure he has the energy to explain to Kim Sunghan and Suk Shimyoung again that he is not here to see Han Yoohyun.

But then again, if they refuse to accept the package, Yoojin could’ve thrown them into their gate and run before they can accuse him of being a terrorist or something. It’s not his fault if the Foreign Ministry refuses an important package from the City Hall.

The way to the Foreign Ministry was uneventful, but it filled Yoojin with anxiety nonetheless.

Yoojin stares at the window on his way to the ministry on the cable car. He knew this road by heart. When Han Yoohyun had insisted he moved out of their childhood home three years ago, he drafted himself into the military against Yoojin’s wishes, and then he was recruited into the Foreign Ministry.

Yoojin supposed, he should be glad that his brother had become independent and found a good job that pays well. But the fact remains that they both had fallen out when Yoohyun drafted himself into the military against his wishes.

Han Yoohyun spent six months in the military without a single letter coming Yoojin’s way. If Yoojin hadn’t been friends with Yoo Myeongwoo—a talented informant and inventor—he wouldn’t have known that Yoohyun had finished his military obligation and was recruited into the Foreign Ministry.

Han Yoojin used to walk through this road, going to the Foreign Ministry building, day after day, week after week, month after month, just trying to meet with Yoohyun. And day after day, week after week, month after month, he was rejected.

Han Yoohyun doesn’t want to see him. He doesn’t even have the gall to say it to his face but always had Suk Shimyoung or Kim Sunghan deliver the message to him. But Yoojin was nothing if not persistent.

Day after day, week after week, month after month—he keeps coming and he keeps getting kicked out. Until finally Suk Shimyoung and Kim Sunghan got tired of him and let him in, just for the sake of not having Yoojin keep coming back like a persistent blight in their eyes.

“You’re in the way, hyung,” Han Yoohyun had said when Yoojin finally got permission to meet him to ask for explanation. “You should know your place and just stay at home.”

Han Yoojin understood. That’s why they both had went their separate ways. He hadn’t thrown a tantrum. He hadn’t gotten angry. He hadn’t cried. All he felt that day was just a bone-crushing exhaustion.

“I understand,” Han Yoojin had said that day. “Then let’s annul our family register, Yoohyun-ah.”

He had hoped—a teeny-tiny spark of damned hope—that Han Yoohyun would take it all back, to beg Yoojin to stay with him, to let them both stay a family. After all, after the early death of their parents, they were all what they have of each other. They had been brothers like no other.

But that didn’t happen.

Yoojin had raised Yoohyun like his own son. Yoojin dropped out of the school to work to support Yoohyun’s studies. Yoojin took up the mantle as both mother and father. Yoojin had recruited himself into an underground group of assassins, risking his life every night, just to make sure Yoohyun has everything he needed—all of it was for Yoohyun.

And what did he get in return? Yoohyun willingly abandoned him.

As per his request, Yoohyun wordlessly annulled their family register, separating them both as two separate entities and no longer one family. He made a copy for each of them and wordlessly handed Yoojin his own separate family register. Yoojin had stared at the lone name on the Han family register—his own name—and wordlessly left.

If Han Yoohyun had cried after his departure, Yoojin hadn’t hear it.

After that, Han Yoojin had sold their childhood home. Using that money, he rented a dingy apartment in the centre of the city, near the City Hall where he works, and invited Yoo Myeongwoo to stay with him to split the bill (and maybe to make sure he’s not alone in a large space—it would’ve driven him crazy).

That had been two years since then. Life has treated him fine. It was lonely without his brother, but with Yoo Myeongwoo and his night job, Yoojin kept busy. He hasn’t had much time to dwell on the silence of his apartment. Besides, Yoo Myeongwoo is a good friend. When Yoojin came home all bloody and injured from a particularly bad “client”, Yoojin had no choice but to reveal his true “job” to Myeongwoo.

Yoo Myeongwoo is not only accepting—he’s also very accommodating. Ever since he knew of Yoojin’s secret job, Myeongwoo had been inventing new gadgets, new tools, brewing new batches of poisons, and repairing his weapons—all for free—to help Yoojin on his night job. Yoojin is forever grateful that he has a friend like Yoo Myeongwoo, who not only help him, but also keep his sanity at bay.

Yoojin has never have any reason to come back to the Foreign Ministry again.

At least until now.

Yoojin’s reveries is broken when the cable car slows to a stop. From where he sits, Yoojin can already see the top roof of the Foreign Ministry building peeking out from the windows directly opposite him. His view is soon obstructed by some crowds getting up from their seats to get off.

Yoojin sighs and stretches—trying to stall. But if he stalls longer than this, the cable car might run again and he had to take the longer route and he’ll be home late again. All he wants to do now is go home and have dinner with Myeongwoo, so…

“Let’s get this over with.”

-

Yoojin hasn’t even stepped foot at the front of the gate of the Foreign Ministry building when his dark eyes meet with Kim Sunghan’s. They both make a face when they recognize each other from afar.

“Han Yoojin-ssi,” Kim Sunghan greets—not amicably, mind you. His face is still folded in the mix of disgust, dismay, and exasperation.

“Kim Sunghan-ssi,” Yoojin returns the greetings back to the guard—his face a mixed of dismay and irritation as it wordlessly screams ‘I don’t want to be here’. He’s been hoping that it won’t be Sunghan’s guarding shift when he arrived, but it seems he’s just hoping for too much.

“Long time no see,” Kim Sunghan says dryly—making sure that Han Yoojin knows that he is not missed during the long while that he didn’t visit the Foreign Ministry. “What is it that you want this time?” He asks warily. “Your brother is out on an errand and won’t be back until nightfall.”

Hearing that, Yoojin lets out a relieved sigh. At least, if Yoohyun is out for an errand until nightfall, there is no chance of Yoojin running into him. Honestly, Yoojin doesn’t know what he’ll say or do if he were to run into Yoohyun at this time. He is not sure he could keep it together then.

Yoojin clears his throat, making sure that his disdain also shows. “It’s a business visit this time,” he says.

Kim Sunghan raises a sceptical eyebrow. “Oh?”

Yoojin pulls out the brown package from his bag. “My boss wanted me to drop this off here,” he says as he walks closer to give the package to Sunghan. “Don’t ask what it is or why I’m the one being sent—I have no idea.”

Kim Sunghan received the package with a hum as he carefully inspects it. He might be Yoojin’s source of irritation, since he’s the one who usually booted him out of the building, but he is also a competent guard for Foreign Ministry. “Does he say who it’s addressed to?”

Yoojin shrugs. “No. He just says generally that it’s addressed for Suk Shimyoung or Yoohyun-ah. But he also says I can just leave it at the receptionist so it mustn’t have been too important.”

“I see,” Sunghan hums as he keeps his eyes on the brown package. “Well, thank you for dropping this off. I’ll send a word to Suk Shimyoung when he arrives—”

He is cut off by the arrival of a black government car. They both froze when the car pulls over at the front of the gate. It’s like a slow-motion video for Yoojin. All car doors open simultaneously and everyone comes out at the same time. The two people that Yoojin recognize reveal themselves. Suk Shimyoung—who frowns in disdain seeing Yoojin’s presence—and Han Yoohyun.

The boy whom Yoojin had raised looks up at him—his face betraying nothing but dismay at his presence.

What are the chances? Yoojin trembles. What are the chances that Han Yoohyun finishing his errand early and arrives exactly at the same time that Yoojin dropped by to leave a package that has nothing to do with them both?

“Hyung,” Yoojin gulps at the familiar calling. “What are you doing here?”

Yoojin opens his mouth but nothing comes out.

Suk Shimyoung sighs and Yoojin reflexively flinches. “I thought you made it clear that you both are no longer family, Han Yoojin-ssi? Why is it that you have to burden your brother with your presence all over again?” Suk Shimyoung says with no small amount of disdain on his face, like usual. “I thought we have clearly established this boundary that you are not to visit the Foreign Ministry again.”

It’s not that, Yoojin wants to explain; he is just here to run an errand, it has nothing to do with both of them. Yoojin opens and closes his mouth like a fish but the words he wants to say are stuck in his throat.

“Hyung,” Yoohyun calls and Yoojin fights his own instinct to prevent himself to do something stupid, like hugging him or crying openly in public. “I thought I told you not to come here again.”

Their dark eyes met. Han Yoohyun’s cold eyes stared down at him. Yoojin’s breath caught in his throat and he feels like he couldn’t breathe. They hadn’t met in two years that Yoojin had forgotten what it was like to be hated by someone whom he’s loved so deeply.

“You’re not wanted here.” Han Yoohyun’s last words is the last straw that breaks the camel’s back.

Han Yoojin turns and runs. He doesn’t know to where—all he knows is that he needs to go away. Far away from there. Anywhere but there.

He keeps running until his lungs demand oxygen again and at that point Han Yoojin can’t help but inhale with a sob. He doesn’t know what his face look like—he just knows that he is a mess. Tears already running down his face as he sobs openly, running to who knows where. He turns into a corner and into the open road—he hopes that a cable car would run into him.

Instead, his tearful eyes meet a pool of gold.

-

“It’s been three weeks!”

“And I’ll have them by the end of this week. Be patient.”

“You can’t just say ‘be patient’! Do you think the higher ups will be happy with this?!”

Sung Hyeonje pulls the handheld phone away from his ears as Evelyn yells through the gadget. “I don’t know what else you want me to say, Evelyn. You know I can’t just pick up any strangers from the streets to be the mother of my child—”

“Well, at least you can pretend to look for candidates!” Evelyn nags. “At this point, the higher ups are questioning your loyalty to the cause!”

“If it’s too much for you, you can direct them to me,” Hyeonje sighs. “Like I said, if they want this to work well, I can’t just pick up any stragglers from the streets—” He cuts off as someone bumps him from the corner of a building. The other person who bumps into him loses their balance and gasps in surprise as they started to fall. Out of reflex, Hyeonje puts an arm out to rebalance the person back to their feet.

Hyeonje blinks. Where did this person come from? He hadn’t sense him at all. The fact that someone is able to bump into him is amazing in itself. He has an amazing sense of presence—he should’ve been able to pick up their presence before this person can bump into him.

The shorter person with dark hair whom he had caught looks up with an apologetic look. His breath is ragged, his face and neck flushes with rosy hue, his youthful face wet with tears running down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, trying to pull away and rubbing at his face in an attempt to gather himself together. It was obvious he has just cried. “I was in a hurry.”

The man has a soft figure, rounded face, soft jawline, wide black eyes (like a doe), rosy cheeks (probably due to his crying earlier), pink supple lips, and a slender body. All in all, the man in his arms is definitely alluring enough even without the traces of tears on his face that makes him looks especially vulnerable that it makes Hyeonje wants to do nothing but devour him.

However, Hyeonje can’t be fooled. Though his overall figure is slender and soft, the skin underneath his jacket hides firm muscles; the hand he holds has calluses—specifically from knives—more specifically, from daggers. The way people hold kitchen knives and daggers are different, after all. This person in his arms is an assassin in disguise.

Hyeonje smiles. He has found his spouse.

“Not at all, it was my fault,” he says lightly. Evelyn is still shouting in his phone, but Hyeonje ignores her and clicks his phone off before putting them away in his pocket and instead pulling out a handkerchief. Carefully, he offered the handkerchief to the shorter man before him.

“Are you okay?” He asked instead. “Let me help you.”

The shorter man blinks before stepping back and shaking his head to gather himself together. “No, no, really. It’s really nothing you should worry yourself with—” He hurriedly rubbed his red-rimmed eyes with his cuff-sleeve before Hyeonje cuts him off by taking one of his hands and puts his handkerchief in them.

“Please,” he says with as much charm as he can, caressing the calluses on his finger. The hand of an assassin. “I insist.”

The shorter man sniffles and looks away as he timidly accepts his handkerchief and uses them to pat his red face and eyes dry.  

Hyeonje’s smile sharpens dangerously. There is no doubt about it now. This man in front of him right now is secretly an assassin. He remembers what Evelyn had said to him during briefing the last time they met to talk about Operation Strix:

“Listen to me, Hyeonje,” Evelyn had said. “There is a group of underground assassins that operates in Ostania called The Immorals.”

Hyeonje’s amused smile hadn’t fade, “What a cliché name.”

“It is an unofficial paramilitary organization and its purpose is to purge all the traitors of the country under orders from shadow government.” Evelyn had said to him. “Be careful, Hyeonje. They are known to be powerful. There are numerous assassins working under the Immorals, but they usually work alone. There are rumours that one of their soldiers can wipe out an entire troop of military.”

“I only believe what my eyes has seen,” Hyeonje said with a carefree smile. “But thank you, Evelyn. I’ll keep that in mind.” Evelyn just rolled her eyes.

After that, Evelyn had given him some information that she could gather about the assassins under The Immorals. To his dismay, the group is so tightly controlled that Evelyn couldn’t get any mugshots—only codenames, their status, their modus operandi, and their specialty weapons. However, that is already plenty for Hyeonje.

According to the list Evelyn had given him, there are only a few of the assassins under The Immorals are still currently active nowadays.

“Let me take you to dinner, at least.” Hyeonje says, taking the man’s hand that is still clutching his handkerchief and lifting it to his lips. The only active assassin in Ostania who is known to only wield knives as their favourite weapon would be only one person:

“Dear Honey.”

As Hyeonje enunciates that infamous codename, he watches as the man’s expression turns from embarrassment to horrified understanding. The man’s red face quickly pales in fear and Hyeonje can feel his breath sharpens and his body trembles.

The infamous assassin, Honey; no one in the underworld who doesn’t tremble upon the name. Honey is infamous in the underworld as a professional assassin who takes care of corrupt politicians and any illegal trafficking. He is famous for his favourite weapon—poison-laced daggers. The name maybe sweet, but it was in total 180 degrees with his choice of weapon. Despite his job, Honey is very efficient and effective in cleaning up bodies—he never leaves a speck of blood on the crime scene. It was as if it never happens.

This is the kind of person Sung Hyeonje wants. Someone competent and experienced. Able to protect himself and support him if needed. But also…

“What do you want?” the smaller man finally grits out after a pregnant pause.

Hyeonje hums slowly, deliberately messing with him, “Nothing much.” He says. “Just your small cooperation.” This man has a family.

According to the documents he’d been reading, Honey first enters the shady assassin business when he was as young as 13 years old—and he did it to raise and support his only family. His brother. Sung Hyeonje doesn’t know who his brother is yet—if Honey can give him his own name, he can look it up later. It’ll be easier to manipulate him if Hyeonje has a leverage against him.

Plus, if he has experience in raising someone, surely, he’d be a useful resource to help him raise his own family later.

Hyeonje watches as his adam’s apple bobs in nervousness and the way his expression turns from fear to a cautious apprehension. “And if I say no?” He asks with no small amount of trepidation.

Hyeonje’s smile sharpens. “Then I will have no choice but to find you myself,” he says. “But I make no promises that you will be intact when I do find you in different circumstances.”

The man grits his teeth. His hand in Hyeonje’s tightens. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a warning,” Hyeonje says, smile still in place. “Unless you give me what I ask.”

“And what is that?”

“A name,” Hyeonje answers easily. “And dinner.”

The man frowns sharply at him—obviously considering his options. “You know, I could always rat you off myself,” he says. “If I give you what you want, what’s in it for me?”

“Well, first off, you get to keep your life,” Hyeonje says, leaning further into the man’s personal space. They are so close now that Hyeonje can smell the man’s shampoo as he teases the shell of his ear with his breath. “But if you want more incentive, I can always spare your family’s.”

The man bares his teeth—in contrast to his soft features. “Do not touch my family.”

“I won’t,” Hyeonje says. “If you would give me your name and promise me dinner.”

The man stares at him with hatred—Hyeonje bets he wishes he has his knives right now. But even if he had, this man is no match with him. And Hyeonje knew this smaller man had considered it an option before knowing that it doesn’t worth the fight.

Knowing the man needs to push than that, Hyeonje slowly releases his hand and, with deliberate slowness as to not spook him, he unclasps the WISE brooch from the lapel of his red coat. Still with deliberate slowness, he pulls a handkerchief from his inner pocket of his coat and neatly folded the brooch before giving it towards the smaller man.

With confusion, the man accepts it, knowing he had no choice. Hyeonje smiles at the confusion in the man’s dark eyes. “Consider this a token of trust,” he says. “I will be waiting for you at Royal Hotel restaurant tonight 7 P.M. sharp.” Then as fast as lightning, he takes the man’s waist and whispers at his ears, “If you fail to show up, I’ll come find you myself. I’ll give you a day head start.”

It’s as good as a threat as it is a warning. Hyeonje felt the man shudder in his arms but the man grins, welcoming it with challenge in his eyes. “You’re welcome to try,” he grits out between his teeth, clutching his brooch in his hand.

With that, Hyeonje steps back and takes his unoccupied hand to his lips. “Then I will see you again tonight, dear…?”

The man clearly considering his options, whether or not to give out his name, but finally with a click of his tongue and an expression of annoyance, he says, “Yoojin.”

Hyeonje smiles, more friendly. “Then, my dear Yoojin, I will see you tonight.” He says before giving another kiss to his knuckles.

It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t give him his family name. A personal name and a short background history check is all he needed to know.

[]

That's all for now. If you're curious about this, you can check me out later in AO3, my username is morte_is_writing and I wrote other fandoms other than S-Classes too.

Thanks for reading and if you have ideas on title, plot, settings, or anything, drop them in the notes. Thank you so much!

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