Sasha abruptly pulled the car to a stop, his movements quick and decisive as he hopped out. "Get out," he ordered, his voice flat and unreadable.
Beom blinked in confusion, frowning as he unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out into the freezing night air. The cold hit him like a slap. He rubbed his arms, already regretting wearing something so light. "Well, that's out of the blue," Beom muttered under his breath, trailing after Sasha, who had already started walking away.
The temperature seemed to drop with each passing minute, and Beom shivered, his teeth chattering as the chill seeped into his bones. "Sasha," he called out, his voice shaky. "Do you even know where we're going?"
Sasha glanced over his shoulder, a casual smirk on his face. "Uhhh, nope." Then he turned back around and kept walking like it was no big deal.
Beom stopped dead in his tracks, his jaw dropping. "You've got to be kidding me," he hissed in his head. "This idiot dragged me out of the car, into the freezing cold, and doesn't even know where the hell we're going?! Brilliant. Just brilliant."
Huddling into himself, Beom kept moving, muttering curses under his breath. "Fucking lunatic... Always acting like he's on some goddamn mission... I swear if I don't freeze to death, I'll kill him myself." His breaths came out in visible puffs, and the cold was becoming unbearable.
Just when Beom thought he might collapse from hypothermia, he spotted something—a thin trail of smoke rising in the distance. His frozen brain immediately registered one word: warmth. "F-fire... Fiiirrreeee!" Beom stammered, his trembling body suddenly finding the strength to sprint toward the source.
Sasha raised an eyebrow but didn't stop him. Beom charged ahead and finally came upon a small hotel, the smoke coming from its chimney. Without hesitation, he barged inside, slamming the door shut behind him. His entire body shivered as he leaned on the counter, desperate to get a room.
"R-room... Room two... Two!" Beom stammered, holding up two fingers like a drowning man clutching at a lifeboat.
The man at the desk, a stoic figure with a thick Russian accent, looked at him, unimpressed. "Sorry. Only one room available, sir."
Beom froze, the words taking a moment to register. He blinked at the man. "What?! Only one room? Ain't no fucking way I'm sharing a room with that lunatic!" He pointed over his shoulder, where Sasha strolled in, looking perfectly warm and unbothered in his heavy coat.
Sasha glanced between Beom and the clerk, an amused grin spreading across his face. "Looks like we're bunking together tonight."
Beom groaned loudly, dragging a hand down his face. "This day just keeps getting better and better," he muttered sarcastically. "First, I'm dragged out of a perfectly warm car. Then, I almost die of frostbite. And now, I'm stuck sharing a room with Captain Freezing-is-fun over here. Fantastic."
He turned to the clerk, trying one last desperate attempt. "Listen, man. Is there really no other room? A storage closet? A freaking broom cupboard? I'll take anything!"
"No," the clerk replied firmly.
Beom sighed dramatically, muttering to himself as he grabbed the key. "This better not be some tiny bed situation, or I'm sleeping in the bathtub."
Sasha chuckled, patting Beom on the back as they headed toward their room. "Don't worry, darling. I'll keep you warm."
Beom shot him a glare, his cheeks flushing despite the cold. "If you even think about snuggling me, I swear I'll—"
"Relax," Sasha interrupted with a laugh. "I'll let you pick which side of the bed you want. I'm not a monster."
"Bed?!" Beom sputtered. "There's only one bed?!"
"Yup."
Beom groaned again, trudging to the room. "Why am I cursed to deal with this lunatic?" he grumbled.
Beom sat slouched in the chair, wrapped tightly in the bedsheet like a burrito. His breath came out in visible puffs as he rubbed his hands together under the thin fabric. He let out a shaky sigh. "Damn, it's freezing in here. I swear, if this room gets any colder, I'm gonna wake up as a popsicle."
Sasha wandered over, plopping down on the chair beside Beom without a care in the world. As usual, the guy looked completely unbothered, his jacket unzipped and not a single shiver to be seen. Beom side-eyed him, thinking, Of course, the guy who dragged me through a glacier doesn't feel the cold. What is he, part polar bear?
The room fell into silence, the only sounds being the faint whistling of the wind outside and Beom's occasional muttered complaints about the temperature. Then Sasha, in his typical fashion, broke the quiet with a random statement.
"You know," he began, leaning back in his chair, "mafias—those big crime families—usually have tattoos. Like their family insignias or something. You'd think they were in a secret club or a biker gang with all the designs they slap on themselves."
Beom turned his head, raising an eyebrow. "Tattoos? What is this, a mafia documentary special? Are you auditioning to narrate for one of those true-crime shows?"
Ignoring Beom's sarcasm, Sasha continued. "For instance, the Bogdanov mafia—those guys have an eagle or something as their symbol. Can't remember exactly, but it's some kind of bird. And the Vyshnevsky family? They've got two dragons, one on the left and one on the right, with the letter V in the middle. Very dramatic."
Beom stared at him, blinking. "Wait. So you're telling me these guys walk around with permanent gang logos stamped on them? Like… a membership card but on their skin?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "That's dumb. What's the point of being in a secret organization if you're gonna wear the badge like a billboard? 'Hi, I'm a mafia member, ask me about my illegal activities.' Genius."
Sasha smirked, clearly entertained. "It's about pride, Beom. Loyalty. Heritage."
Beom snorted. "Pride, my ass. That's just asking to get caught. Imagine the police walking into a room like, 'Hey, does anyone here belong to the Bogdanov family? Oh wait, you've got an eagle on your neck—never mind, case closed.'" He shook his head, mumbling, "Amateurs."
Sasha chuckled, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "You're underestimating them, Beom. It's not that obvious. These tattoos are hidden most of the time, and only certain members get them."
Beom rolled his eyes. "Oh, great. So now it's an exclusive club. Like, 'Congratulations on committing your first felony, here's your free tattoo.'" He crossed his arms under the sheet, grumbling, "If I ever joined a mafia, the only tattoo I'd get is 'Regret' written across my forehead."
Sasha chuckled louder, shaking his head. "You're impossible, Beom."
"Tell me something I don't know," Beom quipped, shifting to pull the sheet tighter around himself. But despite his sharp tongue, his curiosity started to stir. Wait a minute… does this mean Namjoon has one of those tattoos? If he's tied to any of these families, he'd have a mark somewhere, wouldn't he?
The thought sent a jolt through him, and he turned to Sasha. "Hold up. Do you think Namjoon has one of these mafia stamps? Like, does he walk around with a secret dragon or a sneaky eagle somewhere on his body?"
Sasha shrugged casually, a playful glint in his eye. "Maybe. Why don't you ask him the next time you see him? 'Hey, Namjoon, mind showing me your tattoos?' I'm sure he'd love that."
Beom groaned, slumping further into his chair. "Great idea, Sasha. Maybe I'll also ask if he wants to swap tattoo stories over tea while we're at it."
The room fell into silence again, but Beom's mind wouldn't stop whirling. He couldn't help but think about what kind of connections Namjoon might have—or if Sasha knew more than he was letting on. Either way, he made a mental note to keep an eye out for suspicious tattoos in the future. Because nothing says 'trustworthy' like a guy with a dragon on his chest, he thought dryly.
Beom sat frozen in his chair, his face twitching as unwanted memories of the train came rushing back like an uninvited guest banging on the door. His thoughts spiraled—from the chaos of being attacked to the other kinds of chaos, the kind that made his ears burn just thinking about it. His mind flickered to Sasha's smug face, then to the blur of heated moments: the shameless laughter, the noises, the mess. Specifically, the mess. His face twisted into a mix of embarrassment and disbelief.
"Ugh," Beom muttered under his breath, burying his face in his hands. Why am I even thinking about this now? he scolded himself internally. There are more important things to worry about—like surviving the freezing cold or figuring out who's after us—not… that. He groaned louder, trying to shake the memories from his head, but they lingered stubbornly.
His face must've been doing something strange because, before he could compose himself, Sasha snapped his fingers right in front of him, startling him back to reality.
"Hello, Earth to Beom," Sasha said, his smirk practically dripping with mischief. His tone was teasing, and Beom immediately felt his defenses shoot up. "I can practically hear your thoughts from here," Sasha continued, leaning in with a sly grin. "And judging by your face, they're very... vivid."
Beom's eyes widened, his cheeks flushing instantly. "W-what? Shut up, you don't know what I'm thinking!" he snapped, his voice slightly higher-pitched than usual. He tried to glare at Sasha, but it came out more like a panicked deer caught in headlights. God, does he know? He can't know… right?
Sasha chuckled, clearly enjoying himself. "Sure, sure," he said with a wink. "Keep telling yourself that."
Beom groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. "Why do you have to be like this? Can't you just leave me in peace to freeze quietly?"
But Sasha wasn't done. His grin widened, and he tilted his head toward the door. "There's a sauna nearby," he said casually. "You should come join me. It'll be fun." His voice carried an unmistakable tone of suggestion, and before Beom could respond, Sasha was already heading out the door.
Beom stared after him, his jaw slightly slack. "Fun?!" he exclaimed, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "What, so you can make more inappropriate jokes while I'm trying not to die of hypothermia?" He shook his head and muttered under his breath, "Unbelievable. The man is incorrigible."
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his thoughts still betraying him. A sauna, he thought bitterly, imagining Sasha lounging in the steam with that smug, shirtless confidence. Beom's face twisted again, half-annoyed and half… something else. "Nope. Not going there," he told himself firmly.