In a city that never sleeps and always rains, The Flaming Four are the reason for locked doors and untrusting eyes. They're a group of hitmen, infamous for deaths all around the city. It's the fear they stir up that starts a long war between them an...
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F I V E 🎧▷ your face - wisp "and then i see your face. i see your face."
The dim parlor left little to be seen in a clear, coherent sight. Jungkook's vision was far from bad, but even he found it difficult to make out the faces across the bar or even the face of the bartender who sold him his drink.
It was making him nervous. What if he let her slip away without fully knowing what she looked like and it ruined this entire operation? What if she made him guess which woman was her in the sea of other pretentious looking assholes? He couldn't see faces. How was he supposed to do this?
Jungkook glanced at his wrist watch. It was just past 9:15 now. The Temptress was still not here. Or at least, she hadn't made herself known. How was he supposed to find her anyway?
The Griffin Bar was busy tonight. There were groups of friends catching up behind him, all of them surrounding a little table as they sat in big, brown cushioned chairs. Their voices were quiet, but their laughter rose levels every so often. The people at the bar were smiling, chatting up with lovers and friends and coworkers. Jungkook was the only one who was alone up there.
He glanced around the dim bar, eyes passing the floor to ceiling window behind the bartenders moving and serving drinks, the mesmerizing view of tall and bright buildings stealing his attention for a split second. His eyes then moved past the pianist, who was playing something devastatingly beautiful and soft, the perfect kind of melody for a place so warm.
There was a woman sitting on one of the brown cushioned chairs, alone and nursing a glass of wine as she read a book in her lap. What if that was her? There was another woman taking her coat off at the entrance, but she was arriving with another man. Well, that couldn't have been her.
Jungkook made it a point not to look at Dane, Yeonjun, and Haru who were blending into the crowd and pretending they were mere customers. He didn't want to draw attention to the fact that he knew them, just in case The Temptress had been watching him the entire time.
He turned back to his drink in front of him, feeling the disappointment start to creep in. He shouldn't feel disappointed. If anything, he should feel antsy. Maybe even frustrated. A part of him did. A part of him was. But he couldn't show it. Couldn't even so much as sigh to show his disdain. The Temptress was late. She responded to messages six days later, she left him on delivered, she purposely ignored him, she changed topics as if it was nothing, and now she was—Jungkook checks his watch again—twenty minutes late.
For a serial hitman, she was extremely unorganized.
"Anyone else getting really impatient?" Dane grumbled through the in-ear monitors they shared. Jungkook ignored him.
"A cosmopolitan, shaken, please." A soft and silky voice drifted beyond and through the air past his shoulder, and he felt the need to tamper down a shiver that was emerging. It was as if the cords had been dipped and soaked in a fresh batch of warmed honey, the vibration of every tone and breath spreading down to his spine as if it spent years dampening in sunlight.
