Odd Eye

Onew woke up in the morning to a bucket of ice cold water over his head. “What was that for?” he gasped, body half off the bed and half on it. He shook his head, water flying everywhere from his wet hair and making his irate housekeeper shriek. Of course it was her. If he didn’t know better, he’d suspect she was out to kill him. “Eugene, it’s so early.”  

Eugene gave him a disapproving look, holding the metal bucket under one arm. Perhaps he ought to reconsider that deduction. “It’s past nine, Mr. Onew. And I need to wash those horrid sheets of yours.”

“Couldn’t you have shaken me awake?” Onew mumbled, trying to pick himself up and nearly tripping from the bed sheets tangled around his legs. With one finger, he teased the curtains open, wincing at the bright sunlight. He felt like an old man, oversleeping and forgetting the time. But he was only thirty! It was only a matter of years before little children started calling him uncle.

“I did. You were sleeping like the dead after being up all night working,” Eugene continued, ignoring Onew’s growing crisis. He winced at her tone; retirement had left him with a little bit too much time on his hands for her liking. She didn’t approve of his experiments. It wasn’t as though the Canary Incident was his fault, how was he supposed to know that would happen? Circumstantial evidence, that was all she had. “And I had to clean up afterwards, not that you see me complaining, oh, no –

“I’m really terribly sorry –”

“Scraping egg off the ceiling like no respectable housekeeper ought to, have to put up with so much, heaven knows –”

“I might have overestimated the power of my automatic egg cooker –”

“And we’re all out of bread thanks to you, helped myself to some of your savings to buy more, don’t mind if I do –”

“Wait a –”

“So it’d be good if you could get out of bed and eat your breakfast,” Eugene finished, looking very pleased about her tirade. There was something about her that brought back memories of being a schoolboy. Maybe it was the fact that she’d once threatened to hit his knuckles with a ruler.  

“Five more minutes?” Onew tried, lying back down on the bed and yawning. Eugene hefted the bucket. “Two more minutes?” She tipped it warningly. “One minute and a pay raise?”

“Out!”

Onew ducked the torrent of water and bolted for the door, nearly knocking his housekeeper off her feet in the process. She cursed violently at him. “Why do I let you work for me?”

“Because nobody else would want to!”

Shaking his head, Onew ambled over to the sitting room where she’d left his breakfast, thinking that retirement wasn’t quite as peaceful as he’d expected it to be.

Onew flipped through the paper, skimming through the countless articles while he munched on Eugene’s immensely well-made breakfast – highly sarcastic breakfast note about him aside. There was the usual nonsense about socialites and marriage that he absorbed just because it was always good to know local gossip to make old ladies like him, bland notices about Parliament, and then… Onew’s eyes widened and he sat forward in his chair.  

Famous Industrialist’s Relation Commits Suicide, the article blared, filled with pictures of angry and dour looking people clearly not interested in being photographed. Scanning the article, Onew sighed to himself as he read about how the man had gone out. Everyone in the country wanted to be rich, without realising the wealthy had problems of their own. The private funeral would be this morning, according to the paper. It was terrifying, how short and fragile life could be, how easy it was to snuff it out. “What a waste,” he murmured.

Putting down the paper, he looked out the window. Then he rubbed his palms over his eyes and told himself to get a grip. There must have been a draft in the room, because his skin felt cold all over. Sometimes he could go for months and not even remember it, and other times it was only yesterday, and he was too late, too slow, too naive –

The loud bang of his doorknocker nearly sent him crashing face first into his breakfast. Rather than leaping to his feet, he tilted his head back, to look into the mirror cunningly mounted to reflect the view from the window. People were always willing to go ‘ooh’ when he knew who was at his door. Feigning omniscience had made many a suspect confess when he was still working. It was almost insulting how blind people were. Staring into the mirror, he saw, standing at his doorstep four men, three of which he recognized easily. Onew’s mouth fell open.

After Odd Eye’s disbandment and closure, the four of them had gone their separate ways, contact growing thinner and thinner until it had disappeared altogether. It'd been a horrible feeling to realise one day that he had absolutely no idea what any of their house numbers or addresses were anymore. And yet, here they were as though nothing had changed at all: Key still clutching his battered sketch book to his chest, Jonghyun with his large black bag of tools and questionable items, and Minho, the ever ready presence by their side. Except now, there was a young man with him, thin and even from this distance, very good-looking. Onew cocked his head, trying to place him in his mind. He drew a blank.

Whoever he was, Onew had a very accurate suspicion why they were here. It did not bode well for his retirement.

“Mr. Onew, you could at least open the door!” Eugene called, marching out of his bedroom and towards the staircase. Whoever was knocking – it was likely Jonghyun – was pounding out a repetitive, irksome beat that would make anyone with working eardrums want to wallop him. Which was precisely what Eugene was after.

“Wait, hold on!” Onew cried, leaping to his feet and chasing after her. “Don’t open the door!”

“And why not?” Eugene responded over her shoulder, striding down the stairs as Onew caught up with her, grabbing her arm and trying to turn her around. Eugene shrugged him off and marching down the hallway towards the front door. One half expected trumpets to blare as she did so, such was the force of her disapproval.   

“Well…Maybe they might stop?” Onew hazarded, wincing as the knocking continued.

As if on cue, Jonghyun yelled through the keyhole, “Would someone open up this door already?”

“No!” Onew cried, and then covered his mouth with his hand, mentally berating himself. Instantly he heard muttering outside – he sincerely hoped they would believe Eugene’s voice had gotten much, much deeper in the passing years. One could hope.

"I knew he was home!"

Or not hope, that seemed much more realistic.

“I’m giving them a piece of my mind, goodness knows what the neighbours think of us, no thanks to you,” Eugene muttered, hand reaching for the doorknob. At the last second, Onew grabbed her, wrestling her away from the front door. “I’ll call the police on you! Why don’t you want that door open?” she demanded, struggling and glaring at him suspiciously.

The hammering was getting even louder. Onew valiantly tried to restrain Eugene, who was aiming for all his tender parts with her boots. “Nobody’s home!” he yelled, trying to make his voice as high-pitched as was physically possible. His housekeeper appeared disgusted, mutteri