“Tommy,” he answers, so somber and stern, “if I’m doing something that makes you want to kill me, I’ll kill myself first, and save you the trouble.”
************
Young-gi
Tommy’s mouth drops open, and I can tell he’s shocked. Well, now we’re even. He’s always pushing me off-center, off-balance, until I can’t even begin to guess what he’ll say or do next. I never would have guessed he’d ask me that. He’s so… I don’t even have the words for him.
“Oh,” he says weakly, relaxing back into the seat.
“Yes, oh.” It’s not quite a vow of eternal devotion, but it might as fucking well be. Asking if he’s going to need to kill me? Fuck me, he’s so breathtakingly insane. And while he doesn’t comprehend all of the implications of what I said, of what itmeansto me, that’s alright. He’ll find out.
Because I’m not letting him go. He’s too bright, too brilliant. Too broken. Too perfect.
Sometimes he’s a bonfire, sometimes a candleflame. Dangerous then delicate. Ravenous for blood, then peaceful once he’s been contained. He’s locked in a car with me and threatening my life, like I’m the one that should be worried. And I don’t doubt him. He’s a wild thing, untamed. If he wanted my life, I’d bet my entire fortune that he’d get very close to taking it. He might even succeed.
It’s disarming, charming. I … I think it might be adorable.
He doesn’t have anything else to say after that. He just stares sullenly out the window, but he knows I’m watching him. Sometimes, my phone chirps and I need to take my eyes off him, but once I look back up, he’s always quickly turning away. Trying not to get caught waiting for me to look back at him again.
Don’t worry, Tommy. I’m not going anywhere.I have no clue what I’m feeling for him right now, but it has teeth. It feels permanent, locked-on. Like a beartrap snapping shut. Whatever I’m feeling for him, it’s like that. So, no, I’m not going anywhere.
Neither is he.
When we get to our destination, Tommy’s brow furrows and he gives me a look I can’t interpret. He hops out, and I follow him, watching as he looks around the mundane parking lot like he’s looking for hidden secrets. He won’t find any, that’s the whole point.
“Are you fucking with me?” he asks, looking up at the old, three story brick building in front of us. It’s from the late-stage eighties boom, and it shows. Not in bad shape, not really, but certainly… worn. Almost faded into the background of this older area of town. Forgettable, missable, professional but boring.
“No.” I lead him toward the door.
“This is an accountant’s office,” he says, looking at the no-nonsense black and white sign posted on the curb.
“Yes.”
Yosef goes in first, and I hold the door for Tommy, who ducks inside suspiciously, only to draw up short and give me a disgruntled look.
“This is so… boring.”
I almost laugh. Me! Laugh? I don’t even remember the last time I really laughed more than just a single puff of air. But he brings out the urge in me. My grin is irrepressible, and I’m pleased when it seems to dazzle him as it usually does.
“That’s the point.” We walk through the bland office lobby, with beige walls and hotel artwork, an old oak desk manned by an aging woman in a pastel pink blazer. She gives us a kind smile and reaches under the desk. With the press of a hidden button, a buzzer sounds, and the door marked ‘storage closet’ pops open.
Tommy’s eyebrows fly up, and he bounds after Yosef like a hound after a scent. “I knew it,” he mutters as we go into a dark, narrow hallway. “I fucking knew it. Accountant’s office, my ass.”
The hall spits us out in the war room, and with a faint buzz, the wall slides shut behind us, so the hallway that led here becomes nothing but a storage closet in truth. Tommy jumps, spins, then whirls back around, his mouth agape. I try to look at it through his eyes, but to me, it’s nothing extraordinary. I have two men stationed on the far left wall, monitors dominating their space. Off to the other side, there’s a drafting table covered with coded maps being adjusted and poured over by a team of three, while another team member is talking rapidly on his phone in a mix of Chinese and Russian, likely interpreting for a deal happening on the other side of the world.
“Shit,” Tommy breathes, sliding a half-step closer to me. And that unintentional action warms me, and I have to resist the urge to slide my arm around him and pull him even closer. I settle for moving a half-step in his direction, too, so we’re almost shoulder-to-shoulder.
“What is all this?” He elbows me like there’s a chance in hell I’m not paying attention to him. “Young-gi, dude, what the fuck is this super-spy, behind the accounting office wall bullshit? Holy shit.”
“The war room. Silly name, really, but–” I shrug. The name just kind of stuck around and I don’t care enough to change it. I lead him to a meeting room behind a frosted pane of glass, giving us some privacy from the rest of the room.
“The war room?” he repeats emphatically. “You have a place called thewar room? What the fuck do you talk about in here?”
“Business. News. Just keeping connected. Usually, I have some decisions to make. It’s been a while since I got updated reports from my seconds in command, the team leaders, so that’s what’s happening today. It’s going to be boring, I promise. Numbers, mostly, and maybe some transport lines that need approval. That kind of thing.”
“Transport lines?” He eyes the table like it might bite him, like he is considering not sitting there at all.
“Yes.” I pull out a chair for him, the one beside mine. “Sit.”
