Chapter Text
Jaemin was just about to snort his first line of cocaine when there was a harsh knock on the door. His clients, an Indian model and her sometime-best friend, sometime-worst enemy and an heir to an oil company, were still wiping the white dust off their noses. Usually, Jaemin wouldn't be doing drugs with his clients, less chance of them recognizing him that way, but this one time he had decided to make an exception, thinking he deserved it after the day he had had and maybe he could even convince one or both of them to move the party into a bed.
Instead, he had to leap over the loveseat as the police kicked the door open.
The model stood up, voice demanding, and Jaemin crouched behind the loveseat, heart pounding. The police were yelling orders, the model was arguing back, but the words were drowned out by the ecstatic guitar solo ripping through the speakers. The voices rose in volume. Jaemin stared at the open balcony door. A shot was fired. Jaemin ran towards the door and threw himself over the banister.
The water of the canal was cold, especially compared to the sweltering heat of the day that had barely eased after sunset. Jaemin kicked until his head broke the surface, but promptly dove again when he heard gunfire.
He swam, eyes squeezed shut, lungs burning, and ears pounding with the sound of waves and his own erratic heartbeats.
“You aren’t supposed to be wearing clothes when you go swimming”, Renjun observed after opening his door. Jaemin glared at his friend, standing in a puddle of his own making in the shabby hallway. Renjun, completely unperturbed by this, rolled his half-empty bottle of cognac in his hand, leisurely leaning against the door frame.
“I’ll remember that next time”, Jaemin muttered. “Now let me in.”
“Just don’t drip on the cat. It doesn’t like water.” Renjun returned to his desk, and Jaemin pulled the door shut behind him.
Renjun’s apartment looked like it had been built specifically with a starving writer in mind. Located in the attic of a building that had been glorious a century ago, the ceiling was high above the door and tilted down so sharply Jaemin had to crouch if he wanted to approach Renjun’s bed. The balcony doors were open, letting in the salty breeze and the sounds of the bars on the street below.
The cat, a shabby street creature that had followed Renjun home one day, was lounging on Renjun’s bed. Renjun’s desk was pushed against the wall, his typewriter fed with paper half-covered in black letters. There were books in piles on the floor, but no kitchen, and barely any clothes in the drawer.
“There’s a towel in the bathroom if you want to dry up.”
“You don’t have a bathroom”, Jaemin argued out of habit and headed towards the only door in the room. “It’s a water closet.” He ripped the door open and reached blindly for the towel. It hung next to the mirror, above the toilet, across from the showerhead. There was no shower curtain.
“If you were going to complain about my apartment, you could have gone to Donghyuck’s or Chenle’s. Or anyone of the hundreds of rich people you know.”
Jaemin dried his hair angrily. He could have, except he didn’t trust any of them to keep a secret about anything. And he didn’t know what the cops were after, who they were after, and he didn’t need any of the drama that he had barely managed to escape.
Also, Renjun was the smartest person he knew. And he needed smarts.
“What are you doing?”
Renjun poured a glass of cognac for Jaemin. “Finishing up chapter four. I’ve just laid out the oppressive police state that troubles the protagonist. Something a private detective I met tonight down at Boot ’s said really inspired me to-”,
“Great. Sounds great. So I’ve got a small problem I could use some help with.”
Jaemin could practically hear Renjun’s eye roll but ignored it in favor of making space for himself on the table next to Renjun’s typewriter. Renjun watched him drink his first sip of the cognac.
“Why do you look like you swam in the canal?”
Jaemin dried his hair with the towel until water wasn’t dripping down his neck longer, then began unbuttoning his shirt. “Because I did.” Jaemin’s heart was still running high with adrenaline. It was warm in Renjun’s apartment, but his skin prickled nonetheless.
“Trouble?”
“I hope not.” Jaemin kicked his shoes off and threw his soaking socks towards the balcony. “Cops showed up at a party. Don’t know what happened, I ran out, but… Fuck, I’m still shaking.”
Renjun took a deep pull of the cognac and put the bottle down. “Want me to help you calm down?” Jaemin unbuttoned his pants, eyes fixed on Renjun’s tongue licking the cognac off his lips.
“Sure.” Jaemin pushed his pants and boxers down to the floor. Renjun was smooth despite his inebriation as he got down on his knees and grabbed a hold of Jaemin’s hips. When his mouth closed around Jaemin’s dick, Jaemin breathed out and closed his eyes. Renjun’s mouth was wet and warm and skilled, and Jaemin’s body relaxed. His thoughts calmed down with each swipe of Renjun’s tongue, and when he came, it wasn’t with a shout but with a low groan.
Renjun swallowed and got back in his chair, reached for the bottle again to wash away the taste.
“Thanks”, Jaemin sighed with his first smile and stepped out of his wet pants. “I’ll borrow something of yours.”
There was a satin robe with dragon embroidery, a memento from Renjun’s home country, lying by the pillow, and Jaemin put it on and tied the belt around his waist to give himself a modicum of modesty.
Renjun had turned back to his typewriter, unbothered by Jaemin taking a seat on the balcony and lighting a cigarette. The street below was a party, patrons of the bars spilling out to form one boisterous crowd.
Jaemin breathed out the smoke and glanced at Renjun, whose fingers were swiftly pressing down on the letter keys as he got back to writing.
“Do you want me to return the favor?”
“Maybe later.” Jaemin tipped his head against the door frame and observed the street below. Renjun’s balcony wasn’t big enough for furniture, so he sat on the floor, one foot on the outside, one on the inside.
Music was spilling out from the bar right below them, a bass drum and a guitar and a saxophone. In another bar, the patrons had begun singing. For once, Jaemin was content sitting above it all rather than standing in the middle of it.
“What was it you needed my help with? Other than hiding you from the police.”
“I was in the middle of a deal when they showed up.” Jaemin filled his lungs with cigarette smoke. “And I’d just picked up coke from my supplier. All of it is now at the bottom of the canals though. Every last gram.”
Renjun stopped typing and turned his head to look at Jaemin. “How much?”
“Fifteen.”
“Fifteen grams?”
“No.” Jaemin stared at his finished cigarette and flicked it between the bars. He lit another before clarifying, “Coke worth fifteen thousand.”
Renjun joined Jaemin, bottle in hand, and slid down the frame to sit facing Jaemin. “You are an idiot. Why would you carry that much on you?”
“I told you”, Jaemin took the bottle from him, “I had just gotten it. I thought I’d just do a quick sell before going back home.” The cognac burned pleasantly in his throat. Renjun shook his head and pried the cigarette from Jaemin’s fingers. “So that’s why I need your help. I need to find that money somewhere before Sanchez learns I lost the merch.”
Renjun hummed along to the saxophone. “Shouldn’t be too hard. This place is full of people so rich they wouldn’t notice such small change missing.”
“I can’t steal it. If I get caught my career is done.”
Donghyuck would have been mean and said something like “what career?”, but Renjun was kind and didn’t point out that it had been two years since Jaemin’s band last released an album, and that if he released another he wouldn’t have to sell drugs to get by, and maybe he shouldn’t have spent all the money on flashy cars and parties anyway.
“Then you need to find someone that will give the money to you.”
“Easier said than done”, Jaemin replied with a sigh. “I don’t want to owe anyone anything.” Renjun glanced at him but didn’t speak. “I need to find someone gullible with enough money that they’ll give it to me if I act nice enough.”
“You don’t want to steal or borrow the money but you are willing to trick someone for it.”
“Is that bad?”
“Probably.” Renjun smiled and pressed his toes against Jaemin’s bare ones. “But it’s great material for my book.”
“Too bad you are giving me no inspiration for new songs. We could be each other’s muses.”
“I’d rather create than be the object of creation.”
Jaemin huffed a laugh and kicked Renjun’s foot. “Pretentious.”
Renjun put out the cigarette in the only flower pot on the balcony. The flower had wilted long ago. “I might actually know of someone for you.”
“A muse?”
“A victim.”
Jaemin leaned forward. There was a tight feeling in his chest, but a swig of the cognac took care of it. “Who?”
“I visited Chenle earlier today, and he told me there’s a new face in town. Royalty, Chenle said, here for the summer to lay low while a scandal blows over in his home country. He should be rich enough.”
Jaemin frowned. “I’ll never get close to him if he is royalty. Sounds impossible.”
“Not necessarily.” Renjun tipped the bottle back for the last swig of the cognac. “That scandal he’s hiding from… Let’s just say, you are very pretty. That should work in your favor.” Before Jaemin could tease him about the compliment, Renjun continued, “And Chenle swears he is the nicest person on the planet.”
“I guess I could give it a shot. Since I’m pretty and all.”
Renjun ignored him. “Stop by Chenle’s someday. But don’t tell him about your plan to break the poor boy’s heart.”
“Of course not. Besides, I’ll just befriend him. I’m not breaking any hearts.”
“Hard to say if that’s any better.”
Jaemin craned his neck to glance down at the street below. The parties were still in full swing. His own clothes were still wet, still lying where he had dropped them, but he could borrow something of Renjun’s and go down for another drink.
“I don’t need your judging”, he said and stood up. “Give me a shirt and pants and I’ll leave.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“What about your writing?”
“I’m too sober to write.” Renjun stepped over the empty cognac bottle. “Or something.”
Jaemin had donned a striped shirt and shorts when Renjun asked, “Do you want his name?”
Jaemin studied himself in the mirror and pulled a comb through his hair. It was barely damp anymore. “I’ll forget it, but sure.”
“Lee Jeno.”
“Okay. I’ll ask again tomorrow.” Satisfied with the way a few strands escaped the back comb to fall across his forehead, Jaemin turned to Renjun with a wide grin. “Let’s go. I could use something with tequila.”