A/N: This fic is primarily ChangNiel, but also has some established C.A.PJi. If that isn't your cup of tea, you have been warned (not sure why you wouldn't ship them, though...they're so dumb and adorable together!). There is some mature content here, implicit , and some gore towards the end. If any of these make you uncomfortable, please click the back button. Otherwise, please enjoy the C.A.PJi-heavy chapter!

Minsoo is a heavy sleeper.

Most times Chanhee would be thankful, as it saves him from engaging in long and unnecessary pillow talk with the man, but today is not most times. The tattooed man said he would lend his arm as a pillow for the night, but he’s also managed to trap Chanhee between his arms, effectively preventing him from getting up.

“You know,” he murmurs directly into the sleeping man’s ear, “rumor has it that Shinhwa’s heir is getting transferred to our block.” No reply. “I don’t know about you, but I think it would be a good idea to get to him first before the others do.”

Minsoo’s eyes flutter open, and he stares at Chanhee with an amused half-smile playing at his lips. “Playing strategist again?” 

“Just being practical.” Meeting Minsoo in prison was Chanhee’s saving grace; no one dared approach him carelessly once his name was linked with notorious hitman-for-hire, Mr. Bang. At the age of 24, he was already one of the Korean underworld’s urban legends, at least until his last client had him, delivering him straight into the hands of police after the contract had been fulfilled. Chanhee was a runner, using his beauty and charm to attract buyers for the newest batch of designer drugs, but he’d been unlucky enough to be present during a raid. He knew the rules for survival, and he hadn’t hesitated to trade his body for protection from the lanky, squinty-eyed man who padded around the cell shirtless and in bare feet, the man whose eyes everyone else avoided meeting.  At the time, he hadn’t known that the goofy smile hid a ruthless killer, but that secret had been revealed soon enough.

“So you’re Mr. Bang? The Mr. Bang?” He had heard the other inmates talk when they thought he wasn’t listening; they gossiped like housewives that Chanhee was playing with fire, allying himself with a loose cannon. 

Minsoo flopped face first into the unyielding mattress, sighing. “Does it matter?” He lifted his head to fix Chanhee with an unreadable gaze. “Want to call off the trade?” His face had burned in humiliation. There was no way he could stop now, not when he had already played his last bargaining chip. He would not suffer the same fate again in hopes of finding a different protector; he would kill himself first.  

“Don’t be ridiculous!” His voice was an octave higher than normal. Breathe, he told himself, breathe. “Only an idiot would refuse protection from Mr. Bang.” He lifted Minsoo’s chin with two fingers and put on his most seductive smile. “And I’m certainly not one of those.”

“At any rate,” Chanhee continues doggedly, unsuccessfully trying to pry himself away from the other man, “It certainly wouldn’t do us any harm to try.” 

Minsoo lets out a groan and retracts his arm, but makes no move to get up himself. All too soon the morning bell signalling the start of another day rings, and a pair of guards stand in front of their cell.

To ensure complete surveillance, there are no walls between shower stalls. He used to hate the lack of privacy and the sets of leering eyes, but it is now just another part of his routine. He and Minsoo take turns scrubbing each other’s backs. For a moment the intensity in the hitman’s eyes has him shivering in fear and the forbidden thrill of the guards watching while his gaze roves appreciatively up and down Chanhee's exposed flesh. 

And then of course he has to ruin it by taking the shower head and spraying him right in the face with it. Chanhee screams loudly enough that even inmates who were finished showering run back in to investigate the root cause. 

Several minutes, a wounded ego and one bruised eye later, the two of them finally enter the canteen. Minsoo touches the darkening skin gingerly, quietly laughing to himself. “That was funny,” he tells Chanhee, the white of his teeth gleaming in the dull fluorescent lights. “I didn’t think you’d react like that.”

Chanhee’s about to make a retort, something that should hopefully shut the taller man up for a while, but then the doors slam open and two men step inside. The whole room goes deathly still, making the echo of two pairs of footsteps that much louder.

“They’re perfectly in sync,” Minsoo mutters. Chanhee nods his agreement wordlessly. The click of their shoes isn’t even milliseconds apart; they’d both known when the other was going to step without even looking. Up close, the two new inmates are approximately the same height, but that is the only thing remotely similar about them. The one in front is skinny, almost bony, with soft features and lips prettier than a girl’s. With his chin-length hair and slender frame, he could easily pass for a woman. Chanhee can already pick out a few who are marking him down as easy prey, even as the other young man marches past them. Taller than Minsoo, with broad shoulders evident even underneath the prisoner’s uniform he’s wearing, he stares ahead, eyes empty. He’s always prided himself at being a good reader of people, but reading this boy is beyond him. Is this the man they call Changjo?     

His demeanour changes completely when a flash of silver enters their vision, a projectile headed straight for his companion’s right eye. A steel chopstick, Chanhee realises, most likely pocketed from kitchen duty that the guards had failed to confiscate. Changjo pulls the other man down by the back of his collar. There is the barely audible hiss of a name—Niel?—before they both duck to avoid it.

The tinny sound of the chopstick hitting the floor and rolling around uselessly snaps the stunned guards out of their trances, and they circle the room warily. Changjo snatches the eating utensil with one hand, the other still wrapped protectively around Niel. He looks at it the same way a child might look at their new toy, dark eyes wide and inquisitive.

And then with a flick of the wrist he sends it flying back to its owner, who had manoeuvred himself to the front for better accuracy. The steel hits his eye with a sickening noise, and through the flow of blood and tears, Changjo laughs as if at a funny joke. The guards flank him on all sides, ready to restrain him. His smile is mirthless as he bows down in a mockery of a greeting. 

“Good afternoon, everyone. As several of you might have already guessed, I’m Changjo from Shinhwa. Two things I should let you know: 1) Please don’t try fighting with this guy because he’s really weak and you’ll get bored really fast, and 2) I don’t like sharing. That’s all.”

It’s interesting to note that Changjo only lets go of his companion when they’re forcibly escorted out (no meal, he bets, not after that scene they just caused). Announcing himself in a room full of criminals is hardly a smart move, but it had effectively redirected any lingering attention on the other boy back to him again. Chanhee smirks to himself.

Those eyes aren’t so empty, after all.