The Impossible Order | Ch. 8

The Impossible Order | Ch. 8

Summary line: Mr. Min is a stoic boss who will never outwardly show appreciation for you. Not until you’re gone does he recognize how much you do. And what you do matters to him.

ceo!Yoongi | best.friend!Hoseok | romance, fluff, angst, and stuff

Loosely inspired by Secretary Kim and this third bullet point of the prompt list

Start from the beginning | Last Chapter

Keep reading

The Impossible Order | Ch. 8

Summary line: Mr. Min is a stoic boss who will never outwardly show appreciation for you. Not until you’re gone does he recognize how much you do. And what you do matters to him.

ceo!Yoongi | best.friend!Hoseok | romance, fluff, angst, and stuff

Loosely inspired by Secretary Kim and this third bullet point of the prompt list

Start from the beginning | Last Chapter

Keep reading

Peppermint Bark | Mafia!Namjoon

Summary line: Candy cane sequel - The damned candy cane is moving and she’s causing a ruckus. On purpose.

(BTW: I had a big fan of the first story, wang-banana, but she’s deactivated now. If anyone who comes across this knows her, please let her know, there’s a sequel!)

Keep reading

The Impossible Order | Ch. 8

Summary line: Mr. Min is a stoic boss who will never outwardly show appreciation for you. Not until you’re gone does he recognize how much you do. And what you do matters to him.

ceo!Yoongi | best.friend!Hoseok | romance, fluff, angst, and stuff

Loosely inspired by Secretary Kim and this third bullet point of the prompt list

Start from the beginning | Last Chapter

Keep reading

Candy Cane | Mafia!Namjoon

Summary line: Christmas Prompt #19: Character A doesn’t feel the Christmas spirit but Character B, who lives above them, keeps playing Christmas carols really loud.

(edit: Because I have a very clear idea of his home in my head, I decided to create it. The links you see as you read (just 3) will give you the perspective. Click it if you want, but if you choose to see his home with your own imagination, just don’t click on the link. The people you see in the room are supposed to be y/n and Namjoon, but it’s just a stand in so you know where the person is looking at.)

Namjoon sighs as he finally returns home after countless nights in the administration office. He’s pretty sure that a bit of cocaine powder is still on the underside of his black leather shoes and dried blood underneath his fingertips. He’s dead tired, but he’s still a clean man, so God forbid he walks into his home with cocaine powder.

He wipes his shoes down on his white welcome mat that contrasts against the black tiles of his entryway. It’s not really used to welcome people as much as it’s to disguise cocaine powder. The white mat is perfect disguise to hide the powder. But he’ll still have to wash it tomorrow.

He walks over to his fridge to check for any food. He has expired raw meat and old vegetables. He can still eat the vegetables, but he never had, and never will have, a meal without meat. He’ll go to the store and cook tomorrow on his day off; he’s too damn tired to cook now and there are no microwavables. Food delivery should be good enough tonight.

He loosens his tie and gets ready for a bath. He strips away all his clothing and relaxes himself into the tub. He looks at his own finger nails and starts to dig out the dried blood of his enemies as he meditates on his actions today in silence.

You know, maybe the screwdriver was a bit much. A bullet next time? Nah. The guy deserved it. A bullet is too fast, too simple. In light of Christmas, I should give it a little more oomph. Namjoon chuckles at himself at his twisted way to “celebrate” Christmas. There’s no Christmas. Never was, never will.

In these days, people come home to Christmas lights, trees, presents, and milk and cookies.

He’s a minimalist who doesn’t celebrate Christmas. Other than the lights already installed into his walls, there’s no other lighting in his home, if he can even truly call this a home.

Christmas trees are dirty and difficult to manage.

And that decorating crap? Forget that.

He doesn’t need gifts. He just takes what he wants. Those aren’t gifts; although, his victims offer to him what he wants on a silver platter because they don’t want to die. So, does that count?

He doesn’t give gifts to anyone. The closest people in his life are his boys, and his gift to them every night is not shooting them. He’s been more than merciful, benevolent, and generous by that alone; he doesn’t need Christmas to prove that.

He doesn’t believe in God or Jesus, so what’s the point for him to celebrate Christmas. He’s not the feeling type to spend “quality time” with anyone so why celebrate with or for anyone? There’s nothing to celebrate. It’s just another day.

All these list off in his head as reason why he shouldn’t celebrate Christmas, as if reminding himself he doesn’t want to.

But irony decides to greet him tonight, accompanied with obnoxious persistence.

By his fourth finger he cleans, music begins to play. But not in his home. And even if he were to play music, it’s definitely not this damn noise.

Christmas music? Christmas carols? You’ve got to be fucking kidding. He rolls his eyes as he looks above to the ceiling.

And in the bathroom too? I hope you slip and fall when you try to dance in your shower.

The phone rings and he calls out to his technologically-advanced home to answer the call. He tries to yell over the music, “Turn that fucking noise down!”

“Boss?” He hears Hoseok clear his throat.

“What?” He growls, glaring at the ceiling when the music does not desist.

“I’m coming by to hand you the package. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.” Namjoon looks at himself soaking in the tub.

“You make that an hour.” He commands.

“Okay? I’ll be there in an hour.” Hoseok is about to hang up, “Oh, and doesn’t your neighbor know your rules?”

“Apparently he forgot.” He rolls his eyes. He thinks the music just got louder as it changed from one song to the next.

“God damn it. I can’t take this anymore. I’m going to remind him.”

“Killing him isn’t reminding him. That’s just ending the poor bastard’s life. Come on, in the spirit of Christmas, let him live.” Hoseok laughs. Namjoon rolls his eyes. If any of his boys could be close to holiday person, it would be Hoseok.

“Poor bastard? He should have seen this coming. I’m the poor bastard who has to deal with shit people who don’t listen. Christmas, or any holiday for that matter, is never a reason for leniency.” Namjoon hangs up with a growl. He clenches his teeth when he looks at his tub that’s filled to the brim. Damn water is wasted on this idiot.

He gets up and drains the water. He dries himself out and quickly puts on some clothing. He stomps around his house to his drawer and roughly pulls it out. There’s a mass of choice weapons. Bronze knuckles, guns of all types, knives, daggers. Namjoon looks at all of them and then at his hands.

He’s angry enough. He can probably finish the “discussion” with his bare hands.

Every step is heavy as he makes his way one floor above him. He memorized the residence number above his place. And if that isn’t enough, the music is louder up here.

He clenches his teeth and groans. When the man opens that door, the music is going to amplify by ten-fold. He pounds on the door and steps back, wishing that the space would become a sound barrier, but he knows it won’t.

When the door opens, it’s not the scrawny man he’s expecting, it’s you. And you is dressed in a short silky red robe and he can see a bit of a silky white night slip underneath. Your hair is slightly tussled, half-dried, and pushed to one side to reveal your neck. Why, the closest he’ll get to Christmas spirit is to compare you to a candy cane. What a delicious candy cane. But also here at the wrong place and wrong time.

“Where’s Yeonseok?” He asks you with gritted teeth. You’re not the one he’s looking for, but damn, he wished he was.

“Sorry? Um, I’m new. Are you looking for the previous owner?” You ask politely. You’re a new resident? And he wasn’t notified by the property manager or you? He thought he had an understanding with the property manager. Anyone who moves above, below, left, right, front or back of his home, he is to be notified so he can make discuss his rules with them. Looks like he’s going to have many tedious conversations tonight.

“I live below you. Didn’t the property manager tell you that if you move in within my area, you need to answer to me first?” He asks. You sense something tense about him, but you don’t recognize it as intimidation. Just a grumpy man who has a really rigid structure.

“Yes, I am aware. But I’ve been here for three weeks now, and I try to come down every hour I’m home. I haven’t been able to catch you. I am aware that you have strict rules, and I’m willing to discuss them with you. It’s just always been bad timing.” You explain yourself. With a rigid structure, you’re pretty sure he’s not an excuse kind of guy. But you also hope he’s reasonable enough to recognize the difference between excuses and reason.

He sighs and steps in. He leans in close to you, “Turn off that music and come with me. We have a few things to discuss.” You shiver and he smirks at his effect on you. But he’s mistaken; it’s just the draft he’s creating in the entrance of your home. You go and turn off your music.

“Let me change first, and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“No. Come now.” Besides, he doesn’t mind you dressed like this. Not at all.

“I can’t go into another man’s home dressed like this.”

“You open the door to your own home dressed like that. Now, you can wear whatever you like in your own home, but you’re lucky someone with more restraint and respect knocked on your door. Now come along. No one’s going to eat you tonight. Unless you want me to.” You wrinkle your nose in disgust but he’s already out of sight, expecting you to follow him. You sigh and slip on the easiest shoe you’ve got.

You follow him down with your arms crossed over your chest the whole time.

You enter into his home and see that everything is just black and white with minimalist furniture. He sits at the center of his couch. He crosses his leg halfway over his other one and spreads his arm to the back of his couch. You’re not about to sit next to him when his arm is spread like that, but you really don’t want to stand in front him like this. You opt to his kitchen counter and lean against it with your arms still crossed.

“You’re not allowed to have parties, music, or loud animals into your home. Wear socks at all times so I don’t hear you walking around. Your media volumes are never to go above 40%. Don’t sing. Don’t dance. I don’t think I have to tell you this, since it’s basic home care, but if there’s anything wrong with your home, fix it automatically. A floor creek, a wall crack, plumbing issues, all of that. I don’t need those noisy issues disturbing me. You better not have a squeaky bed. Oh, and don’t you dare have sex. Find a guy who’ll take you back to his place. Your standards must be high enough to find someone who’s not living in his mother’s basement, right?” You uncross your arms in disbelief and your jaw drops.

“Are you going to pay my rent? Are you my boss? Are you going to pay for any of my losses or things I would have to fix if any of these issues cost money? If not, I don’t see why I would have to comply with any part of this deal based on your preferences. I can tell you’re a guy who likes his silence, and that’s fine, but these are unreasonable.”

“Did I ever say this was a deal? No. This are simply rules. If you don’t like it, move.”

“No, I like it here. It’s been just fine for the past three weeks. And besides, evident through the fact that I couldn’t even find you for three weeks, you’re rarely home. I’m not going to tiptoe around my home for someone else’s unreasonable demands, especially for that someone who isn’t even home.”

“How’s this offer? If you comply, I will not kill you.”

You raise an eyebrow and roll your eyes, “You don’t scare me. I’ve been through a lot. Even dressed like this, you won’t even get to touch me.”

“Is that a challenge?” He smirks. You glare him down, “No. It’s not. Don’t even try.”

He shrugs but his obnoxious smirk won’t wipe off his face.

“If we can’t agree, then you’re going to have to move.”

“I’m not moving because we can’t agree!” You throw your hands in the air.

“Then you’re going to have to agree if you stay.”

“I’m not going to agree to anything with you.” He sighs and throws his head back in frustration. There’s really only A or B with him. Why can’t you see that? Does he really need to go to C?

“Look. I’ll agree to reasonable home care, and that is it. I’m going to sing, I’m going to dance. I’m going to play all my damn music however I want. Here’s how I can meet you halfway. I can tell you early on if I’m going to have company. My family is visiting for the holidays, so for at least a week, I’m going to have company. I’m planning to get a cat, so at least it’s not a loud animal. I already don’t have a squeaky bed. I’m not going to wear socks at all times based on your request because I walk lightly enough. Besides, didn’t you just say I’m allowed to wear whatever I want at home? A-and that sex thing? It’s not going to happen, so don’t worry. At least not for a while.”

Namjoon studies you for a bit and then turns presses his lips downward, “Nah. No. Not good enough. Don’t sing, don’t dance, and no music. Get your family to stay somewhere else. Wear your socks because safe than sorry. I’m allergic to cats, so no.”

“You’re ridiculous! Did the previous guy leave because he couldn’t keep up with your demands either? Are there anyone who lives around you anymore, you lonely and rigid soul?!” He glares at you for so long and so hard you look down and apologize quietly.

“You are never allowed to speak to me like that again, you understand?” He threatens lowly. It’s the first time that you agree with him as you slowly nod.

You two don’t speak for a while.

“Now.” He begins again, just as low and threateningly, “Are you going to listen to what I have to say?” you clench your teeth but make no other move.

He takes that as affirmative so he begins to speak, “Get. Your family. Elsewhere. Carpet your floor so you can avoid wearing socks if it’s really that much of an inconvenience.”

Your eye twitches. How is that any less of an inconvenience?

“Don’t sing, dance, play music, or any loud sounds above 40%, or I will swear to fuck, that you will regret it. Do you understand?”

You clench you hand and look at him, “I apologized for my behavior already. Just because that was wrong of me does not mean I’m going to magically cooperate. I want to do what I want to do in the comfort of my own home. We don’t know each other. It’s unreasonable for either of us to meet such demands to accommodate one another. So no.”

He gets up so fast, you jump. He quickly makes his way to you and traps you against the counter between his arms.

“I’ve been very patient and cordial with you longer than I have with anyone for the past 15 years.” You raise an eyebrow and look him up and down. He can’t possibly be past his 20’s, “Yeah, well I wouldn’t have known that. I’m so sorry. That really changes my decision since you’ve shown such manners. Oh, wait. No, it doesn’t.”

He has his hand around your throat before you blink and tightens his hold on you, “I have no qualms killing a woman. Believe me.”

You quickly take your elbow and jam it into the inside of his arm, making him drop his hold on you, and you push him away.

“I said. You. Don’t. Touch. Me.” You glare at him. For the first time tonight, he wears a different expression on his face other than anger, frustration, or lust. It’s amusement.

“You know, you’re about as threatening as a baby rabbit. Ah, no, no. That’s too much credit. An ant. You’re about as threatening as an ant.”

You glare at him and he shrugs in amusement. The phone rings and he takes out his phone to answer it. He’s not about to have his mafia business be heard over by some candy cane.

“I’m here boss.” Hoseok says.

“Come back tomorrow. I’m taking care of my neighbor.” He watches you cross your arms.

“That’s still not over? Do you need a clean-up crew?”

“No, it’s fine. Just go.” He hangs up.

“It looks like we aren’t going to come to an agreement here.” You purse your lips together.

“Doesn’t look that way.” You two have a stare-down.

“Look,” He starts, “See if there’s another empty space in this building. One that’s not around me and we can avoid the mess. At least you don’t have to move out of the building.”

“You’re no different from a spoiled brat. You need to understand that you can’t have people doing what you want all the time!” You unfold your arms, “Especially strangers. You give me no reason to listen to you.” He sighs and walks away. You hear a drawer opening and slamming closed. He comes back with a gun and he’s twisting on a silencer.

You clench your teeth and fists.

He stands in front of you and points it point blank at your nose.

“Move, agree, or die. There is no door four. Personally, I’d choose door one or two.”

You make no move and he tilts his head. You must have really gone through something bad for you to not show fear, not in your eyes or in the air around you.

“I’ll move to somewhere else in this building. You rude piece of -.” You bite back your last words. You make your decision based on rationale that this is going nowhere. You’re not afraid of his gun, but it’s your self-preservation instincts. So, this is the only time you will ever let it go. You hate letting him think he’s won. You really, really do.

He smiles distortedly and presses his gun at your nose and points it upward so you look like a pig.

He sighs inwardly. You’re still a candy cane.

“It’s okay. Self-preservation is only human. I don’t blame you. I’ve seen a lot of people give in for that reason. But I’ll give you more credit because you’re not nearly as cowardly.” He chuckles. But he’s still mocking you by pushing your nose with his gun.

You dare to push his gun away and shock almost surfaces to his expression.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Grinch.” You cross your arms and walk out of his apartment. He has his eyebrows raised in full amusement.

He realizes a couple things.

One, you two never exchanged names.

Two, he really wants a candy cane right now. And he’s probably going to start liking them as the only sweets he’ll eat in his life. And that sucks because it’s only going to sell seasonally.

And three. Damn. He likes you. He really likes you.

And that is the story of how Kim Namjoon, a mafia boss, gets the closest he’ll ever get to Christmas spirit.

Candy Cane | Mafia!Namjoon

Summary line: Christmas Prompt #19: Character A doesn’t feel the Christmas spirit but Character B, who lives above them, keeps playing Christmas carols really loud.

(edit: Because I have a very clear idea of his home in my head, I decided to create it. The links you see as you read (just 3) will give you the perspective. Click it if you want, but if you choose to see his home with your own imagination, just don’t click on the link. The people you see in the room are supposed to be y/n and Namjoon, but it’s just a stand in so you know where the person is looking at.)

Namjoon sighs as he finally returns home after countless nights in the administration office. He’s pretty sure that a bit of cocaine powder is still on the underside of his black leather shoes and dried blood underneath his fingertips. He’s dead tired, but he’s still a clean man, so God forbid he walks into his home with cocaine powder.

He wipes his shoes down on his white welcome mat that contrasts against the black tiles of his entryway. It’s not really used to welcome people as much as it’s to disguise cocaine powder. The white mat is perfect disguise to hide the powder. But he’ll still have to wash it tomorrow.

He walks over to his fridge to check for any food. He has expired raw meat and old vegetables. He can still eat the vegetables, but he never had, and never will have, a meal without meat. He’ll go to the store and cook tomorrow on his day off; he’s too damn tired to cook now and there are no microwavables. Food delivery should be good enough tonight.

He loosens his tie and gets ready for a bath. He strips away all his clothing and relaxes himself into the tub. He looks at his own finger nails and starts to dig out the dried blood of his enemies as he meditates on his actions today in silence.

You know, maybe the screwdriver was a bit much. A bullet next time? Nah. The guy deserved it. A bullet is too fast, too simple. In light of Christmas, I should give it a little more oomph. Namjoon chuckles at himself at his twisted way to “celebrate” Christmas. There’s no Christmas. Never was, never will.

In these days, people come home to Christmas lights, trees, presents, and milk and cookies.

He’s a minimalist who doesn’t celebrate Christmas. Other than the lights already installed into his walls, there’s no other lighting in his home, if he can even truly call this a home.

Christmas trees are dirty and difficult to manage.

And that decorating crap? Forget that.

He doesn’t need gifts. He just takes what he wants. Those aren’t gifts; although, his victims offer to him what he wants on a silver platter because they don’t want to die. So, does that count?

He doesn’t give gifts to anyone. The closest people in his life are his boys, and his gift to them every night is not shooting them. He’s been more than merciful, benevolent, and generous by that alone; he doesn’t need Christmas to prove that.

He doesn’t believe in God or Jesus, so what’s the point for him to celebrate Christmas. He’s not the feeling type to spend “quality time” with anyone so why celebrate with or for anyone? There’s nothing to celebrate. It’s just another day.

All these list off in his head as reason why he shouldn’t celebrate Christmas, as if reminding himself he doesn’t want to.

But irony decides to greet him tonight, accompanied with obnoxious persistence.

By his fourth finger he cleans, music begins to play. But not in his home. And even if he were to play music, it’s definitely not this damn noise.

Christmas music? Christmas carols? You’ve got to be fucking kidding. He rolls his eyes as he looks above to the ceiling.

And in the bathroom too? I hope you slip and fall when you try to dance in your shower.

The phone rings and he calls out to his technologically-advanced home to answer the call. He tries to yell over the music, “Turn that fucking noise down!”

“Boss?” He hears Hoseok clear his throat.

“What?” He growls, glaring at the ceiling when the music does not desist.

“I’m coming by to hand you the package. I’ll be there in 10 minutes.” Namjoon looks at himself soaking in the tub.

“You make that an hour.” He commands.

“Okay? I’ll be there in an hour.” Hoseok is about to hang up, “Oh, and doesn’t your neighbor know your rules?”

“Apparently he forgot.” He rolls his eyes. He thinks the music just got louder as it changed from one song to the next.

“God damn it. I can’t take this anymore. I’m going to remind him.”

“Killing him isn’t reminding him. That’s just ending the poor bastard’s life. Come on, in the spirit of Christmas, let him live.” Hoseok laughs. Namjoon rolls his eyes. If any of his boys could be close to holiday person, it would be Hoseok.

“Poor bastard? He should have seen this coming. I’m the poor bastard who has to deal with shit people who don’t listen. Christmas, or any holiday for that matter, is never a reason for leniency.” Namjoon hangs up with a growl. He clenches his teeth when he looks at his tub that’s filled to the brim. Damn water is wasted on this idiot.

He gets up and drains the water. He dries himself out and quickly puts on some clothing. He stomps around his house to his drawer and roughly pulls it out. There’s a mass of choice weapons. Bronze knuckles, guns of all types, knives, daggers. Namjoon looks at all of them and then at his hands.

He’s angry enough. He can probably finish the “discussion” with his bare hands.

Every step is heavy as he makes his way one floor above him. He memorized the residence number above his place. And if that isn’t enough, the music is louder up here.

He clenches his teeth and groans. When the man opens that door, the music is going to amplify by ten-fold. He pounds on the door and steps back, wishing that the space would become a sound barrier, but he knows it won’t.

When the door opens, it’s not the scrawny man he’s expecting, it’s you. And you is dressed in a short silky red robe and he can see a bit of a silky white night slip underneath. Your hair is slightly tussled, half-dried, and pushed to one side to reveal your neck. Why, the closest he’ll get to Christmas spirit is to compare you to a candy cane. What a delicious candy cane. But also here at the wrong place and wrong time.

“Where’s Yeonseok?” He asks you with gritted teeth. You’re not the one he’s looking for, but damn, he wished he was.

“Sorry? Um, I’m new. Are you looking for the previous owner?” You ask politely. You’re a new resident? And he wasn’t notified by the property manager or you? He thought he had an understanding with the property manager. Anyone who moves above, below, left, right, front or back of his home, he is to be notified so he can make discuss his rules with them. Looks like he’s going to have many tedious conversations tonight.

“I live below you. Didn’t the property manager tell you that if you move in within my area, you need to answer to me first?” He asks. You sense something tense about him, but you don’t recognize it as intimidation. Just a grumpy man who has a really rigid structure.

“Yes, I am aware. But I’ve been here for three weeks now, and I try to come down every hour I’m home. I haven’t been able to catch you. I am aware that you have strict rules, and I’m willing to discuss them with you. It’s just always been bad timing.” You explain yourself. With a rigid structure, you’re pretty sure he’s not an excuse kind of guy. But you also hope he’s reasonable enough to recognize the difference between excuses and reason.

He sighs and steps in. He leans in close to you, “Turn off that music and come with me. We have a few things to discuss.” You shiver and he smirks at his effect on you. But he’s mistaken; it’s just the draft he’s creating in the entrance of your home. You go and turn off your music.

“Let me change first, and I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“No. Come now.” Besides, he doesn’t mind you dressed like this. Not at all.

“I can’t go into another man’s home dressed like this.”

“You open the door to your own home dressed like that. Now, you can wear whatever you like in your own home, but you’re lucky someone with more restraint and respect knocked on your door. Now come along. No one’s going to eat you tonight. Unless you want me to.” You wrinkle your nose in disgust but he’s already out of sight, expecting you to follow him. You sigh and slip on the easiest shoe you’ve got.

You follow him down with your arms crossed over your chest the whole time.

You enter into his home and see that everything is just black and white with minimalist furniture. He sits at the center of his couch. He crosses his leg halfway over his other one and spreads his arm to the back of his couch. You’re not about to sit next to him when his arm is spread like that, but you really don’t want to stand in front him like this. You opt to his kitchen counter and lean against it with your arms still crossed.

“You’re not allowed to have parties, music, or loud animals into your home. Wear socks at all times so I don’t hear you walking around. Your media volumes are never to go above 40%. Don’t sing. Don’t dance. I don’t think I have to tell you this, since it’s basic home care, but if there’s anything wrong with your home, fix it automatically. A floor creek, a wall crack, plumbing issues, all of that. I don’t need those noisy issues disturbing me. You better not have a squeaky bed. Oh, and don’t you dare have sex. Find a guy who’ll take you back to his place. Your standards must be high enough to find someone who’s not living in his mother’s basement, right?” You uncross your arms in disbelief and your jaw drops.

“Are you going to pay my rent? Are you my boss? Are you going to pay for any of my losses or things I would have to fix if any of these issues cost money? If not, I don’t see why I would have to comply with any part of this deal based on your preferences. I can tell you’re a guy who likes his silence, and that’s fine, but these are unreasonable.”

“Did I ever say this was a deal? No. This are simply rules. If you don’t like it, move.”

“No, I like it here. It’s been just fine for the past three weeks. And besides, evident through the fact that I couldn’t even find you for three weeks, you’re rarely home. I’m not going to tiptoe around my home for someone else’s unreasonable demands, especially for that someone who isn’t even home.”

“How’s this offer? If you comply, I will not kill you.”

You raise an eyebrow and roll your eyes, “You don’t scare me. I’ve been through a lot. Even dressed like this, you won’t even get to touch me.”

“Is that a challenge?” He smirks. You glare him down, “No. It’s not. Don’t even try.”

He shrugs but his obnoxious smirk won’t wipe off his face.

“If we can’t agree, then you’re going to have to move.”

“I’m not moving because we can’t agree!” You throw your hands in the air.

“Then you’re going to have to agree if you stay.”

“I’m not going to agree to anything with you.” He sighs and throws his head back in frustration. There’s really only A or B with him. Why can’t you see that? Does he really need to go to C?

“Look. I’ll agree to reasonable home care, and that is it. I’m going to sing, I’m going to dance. I’m going to play all my damn music however I want. Here’s how I can meet you halfway. I can tell you early on if I’m going to have company. My family is visiting for the holidays, so for at least a week, I’m going to have company. I’m planning to get a cat, so at least it’s not a loud animal. I already don’t have a squeaky bed. I’m not going to wear socks at all times based on your request because I walk lightly enough. Besides, didn’t you just say I’m allowed to wear whatever I want at home? A-and that sex thing? It’s not going to happen, so don’t worry. At least not for a while.”

Namjoon studies you for a bit and then turns presses his lips downward, “Nah. No. Not good enough. Don’t sing, don’t dance, and no music. Get your family to stay somewhere else. Wear your socks because safe than sorry. I’m allergic to cats, so no.”

“You’re ridiculous! Did the previous guy leave because he couldn’t keep up with your demands either? Are there anyone who lives around you anymore, you lonely and rigid soul?!” He glares at you for so long and so hard you look down and apologize quietly.

“You are never allowed to speak to me like that again, you understand?” He threatens lowly. It’s the first time that you agree with him as you slowly nod.

You two don’t speak for a while.

“Now.” He begins again, just as low and threateningly, “Are you going to listen to what I have to say?” you clench your teeth but make no other move.

He takes that as affirmative so he begins to speak, “Get. Your family. Elsewhere. Carpet your floor so you can avoid wearing socks if it’s really that much of an inconvenience.”

Your eye twitches. How is that any less of an inconvenience?

“Don’t sing, dance, play music, or any loud sounds above 40%, or I will swear to fuck, that you will regret it. Do you understand?”

You clench you hand and look at him, “I apologized for my behavior already. Just because that was wrong of me does not mean I’m going to magically cooperate. I want to do what I want to do in the comfort of my own home. We don’t know each other. It’s unreasonable for either of us to meet such demands to accommodate one another. So no.”

He gets up so fast, you jump. He quickly makes his way to you and traps you against the counter between his arms.

“I’ve been very patient and cordial with you longer than I have with anyone for the past 15 years.” You raise an eyebrow and look him up and down. He can’t possibly be past his 20’s, “Yeah, well I wouldn’t have known that. I’m so sorry. That really changes my decision since you’ve shown such manners. Oh, wait. No, it doesn’t.”

He has his hand around your throat before you blink and tightens his hold on you, “I have no qualms killing a woman. Believe me.”

You quickly take your elbow and jam it into the inside of his arm, making him drop his hold on you, and you push him away.

“I said. You. Don’t. Touch. Me.” You glare at him. For the first time tonight, he wears a different expression on his face other than anger, frustration, or lust. It’s amusement.

“You know, you’re about as threatening as a baby rabbit. Ah, no, no. That’s too much credit. An ant. You’re about as threatening as an ant.”

You glare at him and he shrugs in amusement. The phone rings and he takes out his phone to answer it. He’s not about to have his mafia business be heard over by some candy cane.

“I’m here boss.” Hoseok says.

“Come back tomorrow. I’m taking care of my neighbor.” He watches you cross your arms.

“That’s still not over? Do you need a clean-up crew?”

“No, it’s fine. Just go.” He hangs up.

“It looks like we aren’t going to come to an agreement here.” You purse your lips together.

“Doesn’t look that way.” You two have a stare-down.

“Look,” He starts, “See if there’s another empty space in this building. One that’s not around me and we can avoid the mess. At least you don’t have to move out of the building.”

“You’re no different from a spoiled brat. You need to understand that you can’t have people doing what you want all the time!” You unfold your arms, “Especially strangers. You give me no reason to listen to you.” He sighs and walks away. You hear a drawer opening and slamming closed. He comes back with a gun and he’s twisting on a silencer.

You clench your teeth and fists.

He stands in front of you and points it point blank at your nose.

“Move, agree, or die. There is no door four. Personally, I’d choose door one or two.”

You make no move and he tilts his head. You must have really gone through something bad for you to not show fear, not in your eyes or in the air around you.

“I’ll move to somewhere else in this building. You rude piece of -.” You bite back your last words. You make your decision based on rationale that this is going nowhere. You’re not afraid of his gun, but it’s your self-preservation instincts. So, this is the only time you will ever let it go. You hate letting him think he’s won. You really, really do.

He smiles distortedly and presses his gun at your nose and points it upward so you look like a pig.

He sighs inwardly. You’re still a candy cane.

“It’s okay. Self-preservation is only human. I don’t blame you. I’ve seen a lot of people give in for that reason. But I’ll give you more credit because you’re not nearly as cowardly.” He chuckles. But he’s still mocking you by pushing your nose with his gun.

You dare to push his gun away and shock almost surfaces to his expression.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Grinch.” You cross your arms and walk out of his apartment. He has his eyebrows raised in full amusement.

He realizes a couple things.

One, you two never exchanged names.

Two, he really wants a candy cane right now. And he’s probably going to start liking them as the only sweets he’ll eat in his life. And that sucks because it’s only going to sell seasonally.

And three. Damn. He likes you. He really likes you.

And that is the story of how Kim Namjoon, a mafia boss, gets the closest he’ll ever get to Christmas spirit.