When Jonghyun tracks down the traitorous bastard who ran away with a sizeable chunk of the group’s funds, he finds the man sitting outside a Starbucks coffee shop with a phone to his ear. The distance is too great for him to hear what the other man is saying, but Jonghyun has a perfect view of his moving lips. The name ‘Niel’ is mentioned several times, and whatever meet-up he’s having with this ‘Niel’ is going down 10 PM at Infinite, one of rival group S&M’s high-end bars. Makes sense, he supposes, if the man plans to sell confidential information about Shinhwa in exchange for protection.

Jonghyun slips inside the doors of Infinite a good thirty minutes before the transaction. The place is still empty, save the staff, all rank-and-file from Woollim before S&M’s ruthless takeover of the smaller, newer gang. One at the door acting as bouncer, muscles bunching underneath his tight white dress shirt and black slacks. Two are doing vocal warm-ups by the stage, presumably to prepare for the night’s performance. Two are behind the counter, one at the cash register and the other practicing tricks with the shaker. Two more emerge from the restroom in traditional Chinese qipao, in full makeup and artfully styled hair; one of the more unique services S&M provides its wealthy clientele. 

Of the seven, only the bouncer will pose any real threat. The bartender is classically handsome, a flower boy more suited to be an actor or K-pop idol than as a common lackey, and the two singers are completely defenceless. The crossdressers might have some skills hidden away, but their skinny frames put them at a disadvantage. As for the cashier, his absorption with his phone is plenty enough distraction.

He casually takes a seat on the bar. “One club soda.” As an afterthought, he adds, “with ice please.”

“A new face,” the bartender murmurs. “And not half-bad looking at that. Not ordering alcohol means you’re meeting someone, am I right?” He says with a sly grin. 

Jonghyun adopts a sheepish expression. “I was actually hoping to meet Niel,” he lies through his teeth easily, “I heard he frequents this bar.” The bartender (his name tag reads ‘L’) calls one of the crossdressing men over.

“If I’d known Niel would steal potential customers I wouldn’t have introduced him,” the taller one gripes, running a hand through golden brown hair. “He’s booked today, though. Some bigwig requested him, and we can’t say no to that, can we?”

He tries not to let the confusion show on his face. Customers? Booked? Wasn’t Niel one of S&M’s representatives?

“Speak of the devil,” the long-haired man continues, “here he comes.” Right on cue the door opens, revealing a foreigner with the most pouty lips Jonghyun has ever seen in his life. “He’s 100% Korean, in case you were wondering.” He is equal parts repulsed and fascinated by the sight of those pink, glossy lips, swollen as if newly-injected with a dose of collagen. Even Shinhwa’s women don’t have lips like those. Suddenly thirsty, he takes a gulp of the club soda.

Jonghyun’s mark arrives not too long after Niel does, a greying, nondescript man in his forties with a stomach that’s gone to fat. He scans the room suspiciously, but overlooks Jonghyun’s presence in favour of Niel, who is lounging against one of the sofas with a bored look on his face.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Niel!” The man sounds like a lovesick fool, but the way he cups Niel’s face in his chubby hands makes Jonghyun uncomfortable. “I already booked a hotel room for us, why don’t we move there?”

The colour in Niel’s face seems to disappear at the mention of ‘hotel room’. “You didn’t have to,” he protests weakly, “and since we’re here, why don’t we enjoy a few drinks first?” His suggestion is quickly overruled, and a few minutes later he gets dragged away.  For the briefest of seconds, he locks eyes with Jonghyun, a silent plea for help. 

He wants to laugh. Hunted by the Shinhwa group for embezzlement, and he has the gall to arrange a session with a e naive enough to think he would escape unscathed?

He orders a scotch on the rocks, and after drinking it in one shot, much to the panic of the bartender, leaves the bar. His throat and stomach burn with liquid heat.

By the time he sweet-talks the concierge of The Purple Line into giving him an extra keycard, Niel’s lips are bloodied and bruised. His limbs are tied to the bedpost with rope, not scarves, and both his pants and underwear lie crumpled in a heap next to the bed. The traitor doesn’t even hear him enter the room, preoccupied as he is with groping the younger man’s thighs and . He does hear, however, Niel’s tiny gasp when he spots Jonghyun, and whirls around. A knife is in his hand.

“You come any closer, Infinite boy,” the man thinks he is one of the staff from Infinite come to check on their asset, he realises, “and I’ll slit this one’s throat.” The blade presses threateningly against the side of Niel’s neck, hard enough that a trickle of blood oozes out. 

Jonghyun doesn’t even think when he reaches for his gun and pulls the trigger.