The Funeral 

Perhaps there was some truth in warning people never to meet their idols.

In the little under two hours Taemin had spent in the company of Odd Eye, they had done absolutely none of what he had expected of them. He was not so foolish as to believe they would all be the best of friends at once, but he had certainly thought they would act rather more…professional.

It had begun with his job interview right this morning: he had been greeted by the sight, as he approached the designated park bench, of two men, one dressed impeccably and holding a sketchbook, the other scruffier and with a large black bag, arguing in furious, heated terms, over the immensely important matter of who was meant to be paying for the sandwich.

“Don’t you argue with me – I have it in writing!” the well-dressed man insisted, waving about his sketchbook.

“Who’s to say you didn’t write that just now?” the other responded, shoving the remains of the sandwich into his mouth and eliciting a sound of complete anger from the other man.

Taemin stared at them for several confused seconds, before venturing, “Mr. Kim?”

“Yes?” both turned their heads at the exact same moment, wearing identical expressions of frustration. Taemin slowly looked from one to the other. He could recognize both of them immediately; having kept the clippings of many of their old cases for years now, but he did not know which one had asked him to be here.

“Um, I’m Lee Taemin,” he said, by way of introduction. Recognition dawned on Jonghyun’s face, and he patted the bench seat, nudging Key to make room.

“I’ll let you know right now – Odd Eye is no amateur’s league. We accept only the most qualified – I can hear you Kibum – so let’s see if you have what it takes,” Jonghyun told him, as Taemin nervously took a seat. The older man pulled a notebook from the deep recesses of his bag, as well as a slightly chewed-on pen. “As I understand it, you used to be a constable, and before that, you were a ballet dancer.”

Taemin nodded, distracted by the fact that Key was making a sketch in his book. It took him a moment to realise that it was of him. “Not a very common combination.”

“What – ah, familial expectations.”

Jonghyun chewed hard on the edge of the pen, nodding to himself. Taemin wondered if he was actually writing down what he was saying, or constructing a sandwich list. “Right. Have you ever committed a crime?”

“No.”

“Helped commit a crime?”

“No.”

“Considered committing a crime?”

“No.”

“Not even a little bit?”

“Not particularly.”

“Didn’t even nick some chalk as a schoolboy?”

“No?”

“He’s more moral than you are,” Key commented with a faint smirk. Taemin, was, to put it mildly, confused. He was beginning to feel that he might exist in a perpetual state of it. Jonghyun glared at his colleague, lifted his chin in an attempt to reclaim what remained of his dignity, and made a note.

“Good. Now, nod if you believe any of these might describe you.” He took a breath, and then began to rattle off, “Kleptomania, compulsive lying, anger management difficulties, alcoholism, addiction, skeletons in the closet, tendencies towards violence, or an inclination to match contrasting colours in your clothing?”

Very slowly, Taemin shook his head, and then added, “If I were a compulsive liar, why would I admit that I was such?”

Jonghyun only grinned at the comment, scrawling something else down. “Good, good. Finally – why would you, a healthy young man earning a stable income, quit your very much respectable job, and try to join Odd Eye?”

Now, he’d prepared a long speech for this moment. Written it down carefully, memorized and cancelled out portions, to tell his heroes all that he thought of them, but all Taemin could manage, sitting there while feeling at the same time that he’d been rather been run over by a bus, was, “Because you help people and bring a little justice.”

Both Jonghyun and Key looked up when he said this. Key looked surprised, pencil slipping slightly and giving Taemin a moustache. His interviewer gave him a crooked smile. “People like you are a dying breed in this world.” He did not elaborate on that, only looked over at Key. “What do you think?”

“It’s him or no one,” Key said decisively, “And we could do worse.”

Smiling at him, Jonghyun held out a hand to shake. “Welcome onboard. Do you have anything to say?”

He did – including, what sort of interview had that been, who was even in charge of hiring him, had he been wrong to say that, they couldn’t truly be the Odd Eye, and who really needed to pay for the sandwich – but what came out of his mouth was, “You look taller in newspaper clippings.”

Jonghyun was being incredibly unfair making him carry his heavy bag all the way to Onew’s house.

Lee Taemin was confused. He had been confused enough when informed by the people who behaved nothing like how his mystery-solving heroes ought to, that they were recruiting him and needed to convince their final member. He’d become more confused when he’d found himself swept along into an uncomfortable reunion with Minho and Onew, who’d certainly not been the leader he expected. Now he was most confused of all by the fact that instead of heading directly to the funeral, to investigate the terrible crime, they were dawdling outside a florist’s to find the perfect bouquet to present to the grieving family.

“Jonghyun? Minho? Is Mr. Onew…?” Taemin trailed off, glancing through the glass behind him. Minho and Jonghyun were standing with him, Jonghyun lost in thought, while Minho was picking at his coat. Inside the shop, Onew and Key were now in the midst of debating the merits of lilies over hyacinths, Onew waving his hands vigorously in the air.

“Is he what?” Jonghyun asked, snapping out of his reverie to look at Taemin. Now Onew appeared to be making a flower crown of the lilies, ‘superior’ he was insisting to Key’s ‘hideous hyacinths’.

“Is he truly a genius?” Taemin asked, allowing a measure of doubt to creep into his tone. Jonghyun looked at him, nonplussed. Key and Onew had, by this point, roped in the hapless shopkeeper into fraught, tension-filled judgment of whose flower crown looked better.

“Of course. Onew’s the greatest man I know, and don’t let anyone tell you different,” Jonghyun said resolutely. Taemin looked over his shoulder again. Onew was now sulking that Key had won, and had stolen his wallet to boot to pay for the purchase. Taemin raised a sceptical brow. The two men exited the shop. “At last! We would’ve missed the funeral on account of you two!”

“Choosing flowers takes time,” Key lectured, as Jonghyun only snorted dismissively.

“The man’s dead, it won’t make a difference what the flowers look like.”

“For god’s sake Jonghyun, at least attempt to conceal the fact that you were raised by wolves. We are in polite company.”

“Why you –”

“Now, if anyone asks at the funeral, I am Yifan’s third cousin, twice removed, Key is Yifan’s sister’s friend’s brother-in-law, Taemin is an old enemy there to see Yifan buried, and Jonghyun is Yifan’s long-lost son," Onew informed them, cutting off the argument.

Jonghyun stared at him. “They would believe us?”

“No,” Onew admitted, “But it would give us time to start running.”

“I’m a close friend of Mr. Kim’s son,” Taemin volunteered.

Onew gave him a curious glance, before breaking into another smile. “Well, then it’ll just be the three of us running! Let's go!”

“Junmyeon will forgive me for ruining the funeral,” Minho muttered gloomily under his breath as they began walking. “Junmyeon will forgive me, Junmyeon will forgive me…”

Taemin was beginning to wonder if it really had been the best of ideas to accept this job.

The funeral was held at half-past eleven, under a rain-soaked sky. Odd Eye approached from the hill overlooking of the graveyard, the overhang marked by a bare, skeletal tree growing out of the cracked earth. Definitely atmospheric, Onew decided, perhaps he ought to ask Eugene to plant some in their garden. Then everyone would tell stories about how he drank blood and kept small children locked in his basement – and that meant no more visitors to displease his put-upon housekeeper. Below them, Onew surveyed the gathering, the crowd of people dressed in black and satin and pe