Thank you to everyone who has been with my story. Whether you were here from the beginning or just subed, thank you for giving an overwhelming amount of support for my first story. I love all you guys! (no this is not the last chapter I just wanted to tell you guys that <3)

           A piece of fabric fell over your face. You whisked it away and stretched your arms in the morning light.  You turned over in bed. Woozi’s back was too you as he buckled his pants. His exposed back revealed the tainted tattooed skin surrounded by clumps of scars.

           You had forgotten. Woozi had asked you to accompany him to church Sunday morning. The last confession he took was at the hospital. You had thought the hospital to be Woozi’s church and the old man in bed to be his priest. So, you agreed.

            “Good morning,” you said lowly, eyes trailing over the tattooed wings that cupped his shoulder blades. “How symbolic.”

            “What?”

            “Your tattoo. The angel imagery, and here we are going to church.” The long shirt cascaded down your front as you sat up and flung your legs over the side of the bed. A blanket was wrapped over your exposed bottom half before he could turn around.

             A dirty look was given at the comment. “More like devil imagery.” He turned his back to the mirror, cranking his neck to see it.  The gothic style word, ‘Loyalty’ sprouted wings on his upper back.  “Now that I have money, I was thinking of getting it removed.”

            “I hear the removal process is more painful than actually getting the tattoo,” The bush on your head fought against the hairbrush.

            He looked in the mirror once more and frowned before pulling on a white button up shirt. “I don’t care what it takes. I just want the ing thing off of me.” His eyebrows raised as his thin fingers buttoned up the shirt. “Do you have a mark?”

            Gangs marked their members as a sign of ownership. Woozi’s large scale tattoo signified his high rank. You were lucky to not have one.

            “I wasn’t ever officially in the gang, merely sponsored by one.” You said, grunting as a strand finally cooperated. “What is with the fancy getup?”

            He slipped a thin black tie over blonde head. “We are going to church.”

            You halted for a second. “You mean like church church? Or hospital church?”

            “Church church.” Woozi pulled on a red jacket. His hands settled in the pockets and fixed a thick watch on his wrist. He maneuvered on his heels, inspecting himself from side to side in the mirror. He grimaced and loosed the tie. “I like the grey one better.”

            “I don’t have anything to wear for church church,” You said dully, looking at Woozi’s high profile attire.

            Woozi tied the grey fabric around his neck and nodded towards you. You frowned and nodded back in confusion. Woozi sighed and pointed, “The bed, gosh sakes.”

            A crumble of navy fabric hung off the edge of your bed. It was the fabric that woke you up. You picked it up.

            “Is this the dress that I saw in Detroit?” After Woozi was shot, both of you had bloodstained clothes. Before coming back to the apartment, you and Woozi stopped at a mall to get clothes that wouldn’t suggest attempted murder. You looked at a dress for a second too long and Woozi was quick to question you about it.

            The silky fabric slid through your fingers easily. “Why?”

            “You never had shown an interest in any other dress before.” He tightened his tie, and his ears turned a hue matching his jacket.

            “This was expensive,” You muttered. “I have to pay you back.”

            “Consider it a gift from Tick. The duffle bag might be a hundred dollars short or so.”

 “Thanks, I guess” you slightly felt better that he didn’t use his own money. “Lunch is on me now.”

            The church service was like every other one you ever went to. The urge to make sharp comments was stifled by Woozi’s serious aura. He obediently bowed his head in prayer when the priest said to and he absorbed every word in the service.

            The priest ended the service by sending everyone out with a prayer. You shot up from your seat and twisted your way through the wrinkled figures struggling to get to their feet. Woozi held on to the back of your jacket, “You don’t need to rush. They aren’t going to exorcise you.”

            Church number two was next. As Woozi walked into the hospital, the nurses greeted him by name. The old man was lying down in the bed, same as before. Nothing had moved, since you were last here. The only suggestion of time were the dead flowers on the bedside. Woozi emptied the vase of the wilting flowers and replaced them with the fresh ones before pulling up a chair next to the man. You settled in a chair near the door and opened a book on your knee. You wanted to give Woozi the illusion of privacy.

           With astounding memory, Woozi retold every detail of the sermon to the old man. “He included the parable of the prodigal son,” he said. “You have probably heard of that one a hundred times. It seems the pastors always bring that one up when they can’t think of anything else to add.” Woozi laughed dispiritedly. “You used to love that church, but I’m sure even you got sick of hearing the same message.”

            “I saw your wife there,” Woozi said. “I laid new flowers next to her grave. I put lilies this time. For some reason I get the feeling she wasn’t a sunflower kind of girl. I did sunflowers for two weeks, and they died after a few days. Hopefully, the lilies will last.”

            Woozi looked down, lips tensing. He was manufacturing an awkward silence, as if the man was waiting for Woozi to continue

            “About your son,” Woozi cleared his throat. “The oldest-I keep looking but I still haven’t been able to find him. I swear, he completely disappeared into the foster care system, I think by this time It means he was adopted. But the other one-,”

            Woozi looked down. “He is getting help. My friend saw him the other day. He had a little…incident. For a while, he was just down the hall from you. He only stayed here for a few days before he was transferred.”

            Your face stilled. Dino?

            “I am sending him a package soon.” Woozi said. “I would bring him over, but he doesn’t even know I visit you. He doesn’t even know I-,” Woozi’s mourning eyes met yours and you diverted your gaze back down to the book.

            “The friend is here too.” Woozi announced with an uneasy cheery voice, trying to cover it up.

            Woozi was looking at you expectantly.

            “No,” You said shortly, crossing your legs in the chair. You weren’t playing into this façade. This man was non-responsive and you refused to pretend otherwise.

            “She is my roommate. The art major- the one I have told you about.” Woozi was waving you forward, and you shook your head. “Come on,” He said.

            You shook your head again

            “She’ll say hi next time,” Woozi told him. He leaned in, “You can’t see it but she is waving her arms in the air really energetically. She is agreeing with me. I think that she thinks that you are one handsome fella.”

            You choked a laugh.

            “What does she look like? Strange question if I say so myself,” Woozi looked at you, eyes twinkling and he spoke to the man. “Tan chocolate skin. Her hair that is completely mangled. She has broken at least five hairbrushes at home. She’s not necessarily skinny….”
            “Watch it.”

            “She has my short temper,” Woozi stuck his tongue out at you. “You would like her.”

            You looked at your watch. “If we want to get to the tattoo parlor on time we need to go soon.”

            “I’ll visit you next week okay?” Woozi stood up and patted the man on the shoulder. He adjusted the man’s bed sheets to perfection before walking over to you.

            “If I may ask,” you said, closing your book. “What did this to him? Medically speaking.”

            “A brain hemorrhage.” Woozi said stiffly.

            “What was the weapon?”

            Woozi shot you a look- it was a question too far. “What is your name?”

            “W-what does that have to do with anything?”

            “I’ll answer your personal question if you answer mine.” He said. “Your gang name was A. But you said A was also the first letter of your real name.”
            “Not now.”

            “Anabell?”

            “No.”

            “Annie? Andy?”

            “No and no. What do you think, I am a guy?”
            “Anne? Did I ask that one before?”

            “You don’t have to answer my question because I am not answering yours.”

           He sighed and slid his arm through his coat sleeve.  “My hands and a steel pipe.” He answered bitterly.

            Last stop of the day was the tattoo parlor. This tattoo place was not an ordinary shop. It was a non-profit tattoo removal specializing in gang recovery. The services were paid by donation. Woozi never went previously because he was aware his huge tattoo was an expensive job. He felt he would advantage of their services by not donating a respectable amount.

           Woozi  entered the shop, and first things first, dropped a grand in cash at the receptionist’s desk. In exchange, he was given sheets to fill out.

            “Some of these questions are too far,” Woozi hissed, tilting the sheet to you. His finger went along a checkmark list. “Was the tattoo done in jail? Was it done by a non-professional? Is the link made from lead? Was-” Woozi’s eyes widened. “Was the ink a mixture of blood and characol?”

            “If it was blood and ink they wouldn’t be able to remove it.” You said simply, turning a page of your book. “The blood makes the tattoo too organic to sensed by the sensors in the laser. The newer ones lasers only remove detectable link.”

            Woozi looked at you, “No reaction to the blood and ink part?”

            “Tick’s men did blood and ink.”

            “Monster didn’t do that. I have never even heard of that.”

            “They know places like these can’t remove them. Plus, it’s kind of a sentimentally thing. Why not celebrate your first kill with the tattoo of the blood you spilled?”

            Woozi shuttered and dropped his pen. “Even back then, I think I would draw the line at blood.”

            Woozi bent down to pick up the pen. You caught a whiff of him and you frowned. “Bastard.” You muttered.

            “Excuse me?”

            “And here I thought you were getting an affinity for cologne.” You shot him a look. “But really you were just trying to cover something up.”

            His fingers curled into cringey balls and his eyes squinted in a fake smile as he said sheepishly. “I like cologne.”

            You snarled and hit him over the head with your book. “No matter how much cologne you put on, I can smell cigarettes a mile away.” Woozi opened his mouth. “Don’t bother arguing with me.”

            Woozi sunk down in his seat. “You didn’t seriously expect me to break an addiction just because a bet we made?”

            You sighed. No, you didn’t. And addiction was an addiction. But some part of you had hoped that a bet would be enough.

            “We are stopping by the store later and getting nicotine gum and patches.”

            “I’ve tried those.” He grumbled.

            “You are trying them again.” You said sternly. “You are a musician!” You hit him again. “Your voice is your instrument. Are you in your right mind? What are you doing smoking?”

            “I’ve been smoking for most of my life!” Woozi growled. He whisked the book from you and whacked you back. “And stop hitting me!”

            The receptionist cleared and pointed at a ‘Please remain quiet and seated until called on’ sign. Woozi waved apologetically, you crossed your arms.

            “At least, try.” You muttered.

            “I will try.” He mocked you, checking off another box on the sheet.

           After a half an hour of waiting, Woozi’s name was called. He stood up and you waved him away hopefully. “I’ll be waiting.”

           Woozi’s brows met.  “Aren’t you coming?”

            You shrugged. “Why would I need to?”

            “I want to you be,” He said.

            You closed the book and followed him back into one of the rooms.

            Woozi took off his shirt and laid face down on a padded inspection table in one of the rooms. A man came in and inspected the tattoo.

            “This laser removal will take more than one session,” the man said, getting out a science fiction like device that had three spikes coming out of a cylinder. “You have a big one. Which section do you want removed first?”

            “The words if possible,” Woozi said.

            The man looked at the words, “Ah. ‘Loyalty’.”

            Woozi sneered. “Like they know anything of the word.”

             “Everyone that comes in here says the same thing. Now, hold on, this is going to hurt.”

            A light flashed and a loud sound cracked as if someone was snapping pencils in half. Woozi jolted and hissed sharply. His eyes squeezed shut and one hand squeezed the end of the table. His nose crinkled as he yelped curses. A minute into the treatment and he was biting his lips together in a muffled scream. His other hand sprung out of the inspection table and extended out you to with fingers spread.

            He squinted an eye open to you,  sweat glimmering on his forehead. He wiggled his fingers.

            You reached for his hand. His slender fingers locked around yours. He squeezed tight

            The session took an hour. Woozi refused take breaks and he didn’t let go of your hand.

            Woozi didn’t let go when the man told him he was done. He didn’t let go on the ride back or when you got off the bus and into the parking lot.

            He dropped your hand when they reached apartment number seventeen.

            You walked into the apartment and you saw a canvas in the corner. The canvas sparked a memory that dropped in your stomach like a sack of potatoes.

            You dropped your bag, and screamed.

            DK, who stood in the kitchen jumped and his scream melded with yours.

            Woozi’s eyes widened in worry and he put his arms on your shoulder, “What is wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” His eyes scanned over you, searching for some aspect of pain.

            “I’m fine!” You growled. “No!” You said. “I AM NOT FINE.”
            “WHY IS SHE YELLING?” Hoshi matched your screaming tone. “WHY IS SHE WEARING A DRESS?”

            “My show,” you pulled at your hair. “My show! My show goddamnit!”
            “What show?” DK stepped to you cautiously with a gentle tone.

            “Junior review,” You said. “At the end of Junior year all art students put up their artwork in a section of the gallery.”

            “And you’ve done nothing?”

            “OF COURSE I’VE DONE NOTHING! I’VE BEEN DEALING WITH-!” You stopped yourself, eyes set on Woozi. Everything with Joshua and Woozi was so encompassing, school had become second thought.

            “How many pieces do you need to have done?” Woozi said.

            “Five to six,” you huffed.

            “How many do you have?” DK asked.

            “A half of one,” You groaned.

            A sound escaped Woozi as if someone kicked in him the stomach, “When does the gallery open?”

            “Wednesday,” you sighed. “But I have to get my work installed and approved by Tuesday. Fourty eight hours!” You hollered, seeing your art career become more transparent with every passing second. “I have FOURTY-EIGHT HOURS TO MAKE FOUR PIECES!”

            “Oh my gosh-!”
            You didn’t let DK finish. You were grabbing your bag, “No time to talk. Gotta go.”

            “I made dinner-!” DK exclaimed.

            “Save me some and I’ll get to it in three days!” You exclaimed slamming the door.

            Thirty hours into the all-nighter and you had watched the sun set and rise again only to set again. You skipped all your classes on Monday to work on the installations. The gallery was a slave shop.

            Expired Chinese food sat in the opposite corner of your scattered paints. You considered taking an hour nap but at this rate you couldn’t afford the luxury. The more you looked at the paintings, the more you saw wrong with them.

            Your phone buzzed. You handled it with blue hands. You brushed away your greasy hair, painting a stripe of blue on your forehead

            “Is your brush away from your canvas?” It was Hoshi.

            “Why?” You immediately snapped your brush away.

            “Are you holding anything precious?”

            “I’m not but-!”

            Click.

            You pulled the phone away from your face. He hung up on you….

            Hoshi rounded the corner, eyes squinted in a smile.

            “Hoshi,” You said. “What are you doing here?”

            The yells pounding on concrete announced he wasn’t alone. A  pack of people rounded the corner, screaming wildly. A gummy smile immerged with a giant crockpot raised above his head, cocking his arms and legs like a chicken.

           Two monstrously tall boys followed them. You recognized them from the road trip. They walked in a squat, looking around frantically with their hands to their sides pointed down in finger guns. The one named Wonwoo looked at you and widened his eyes. He pointed his finger-gun at you, “Put your hands up!” He ordered in a deep voice. “You have the right to romaine silent.” He pulled out a bag of romaine lettuce.

            Coups and Woozi followed. “Future Roommate.” Coups hollered. “We brought pizza.”

            You stood up. All eyes on you. The group gave you no time to react. They began sitting down on the floor and opening the pizzas boxes.  Hoshi set down plates and handed then out. Woozi recovered napkins and distributed them. Mingyu began cutting into the pizza and put one slice on a napkin and gave it to a screaming DK.

            “What are you guys doing here?” You said disbelievingly, their greasy hands coming a little too close to your canvas’.

            “Mingyu got fired,” Wonwoo mumbled, looking up from his book. A twinkle in his sharp eyes. “He broke one too many plates. We came here for the weekend to see if there were any jobs in town.”
            “Not that.” you said as Mingyu cut a particularly big piece and shoved it in your hands. Mingyu took a slice from the pizza too. “Why are you here here- in my studio?”

            You looked down at the pizza in your hands, “I can’t eat-.”

            “Lactose.” Hoshi finished for you in the same bored tone that mimicked your own. “This box has dairy-free cheese.” He said, taking a bite. “Eat up.”

            “Is someone going to tell me why you are here?”

            “To help you finish your project,” DK said kindly. “Woozi said you would be up all night.

            At the mention of his name, Woozi turned away quickly.

            “I will,” you said. “Thanks for the food but I don’t need distractions. I will be up till dawn if I take breaks.”

            “Relax,” Coups said, starting to get fatherly. “We came here to help install the pieces. Eat first and then we will help you.”

            “You’ll be here forever.” You said warningly.

            Hoshi rolled his eyes, “We’ve had our fair share of all-nighters.”

            “Admit it. You’ll need someone to reach those high corners.” Mingyu smiled through a mouthful of fake cheese. He gaged and spit the substance out. “I can’t take this rubber. Give me the real stuff.” DK slid him a different piece, this gooey surface looked less plastic.

            “Also,” Coups started slowly in anticipation. He looked to his sides and everyone shared the mischievous glint.

Hoshi looked about to burst. “WE BOUGHT THE HOUSE!” He yelled.

            The boys roared in unison, DK’s voice reached a pitch to shatter glass. Their smiles melded onto your own. “You bought it?”

            “Paid in full.” Coups winked. “Thanks to someone.”

            Everyone ate for a good and conversed for a good hour. After the meal, they let you order them around. Wonwoo and Mingyu used their monstrous height to install the paintings. Hoshi and DK were on the latters adjusting the overhead lights.

            “A little to the left,” You said, and Hoshi tilted a direct light. “Now the bulb next to it. No, the other one. Yes. Try aiming that one at the bottom of the painting. There is too much of a shadow underneath the frame.”
            “How is this?” Wonwoo yelled from the other side of the gallery. Mingyu and him were both on footstools holding a painting.

            “Good. Mingyu lift your end up a bit. Perfect. Use the shorter screws to attach it,” They scattered as you yelled after them. “Use the TEMPORARY ADHESIVE! IT’S IN THE BLUE BOX.”

            “Do you want me to use a sweeper or a vacuum?” Coups now called your attention. He adorned an apron and set a bottle of cleaner . “These floors are horrific.”

            “Up to you,” You said. “Just get some of that blue stain in the corner out.”

            “Hey-!”

            You turned around, feeling whiplashed. “What?”

            “Where are the extra tacs? I can’t find any more.” Woozi held an empty box.

            “In the janitors closet.” You said, turning away. “DK! Down a little more. No. The one on the left! Down more, more, more. Okay, STOP!”

            “Where is the closet?” Woozi asked.

            “You have eyes,” You said. “I’m stretched way too thin right now. Do me a solid and find it yourself.”

            “I can’t find it.” Woozi said firmly.

            You sighed. “Alright. Hoshi, while I am gone, go to the control panel and play with some switches to see why the right arrangements of lights aren’t working.”

            “Yes, sir!” He saluted you.

            You led Woozi away from the group and down a hallway to the closet. “Here.” You opened the door. Whoever this janitor was, they did not have an organization system.

            “I can find the tacks.” You said determinedly, stepping inside and plunging your hands into jumble of things thrown on the shelves.

            Woozi laughed. “I didn’t call you here for tacks.” He had closed the door.

            You tilted your head to the side.

            “Turn around,” he said.

            You gave him a questioning look.

            “Come on, I’m not going to attack you.”

            “Make this quick,” You turned around. Woozi’s hand covered your eyes, “I can’t waste time playing around. We haven’t even starting installing-.”

            Cold dragged across your neck and you shivered. Woozi removed his hand, “You can open them.”

            You looked down. A silver chain was hanging from your neck with a tiny twisted metal pendant at your collarbone. The little piece fit on the pad of your index finger.

            “It’s metal.” You turned around.

            “It’s the bullet,” Woozi correct you. “The one I was shot with.”

            You dropped the pendant, “Gross.”

            Woozi’s brows furrowed, looking hurt. “You’ve handled worse.” He snapped.

            You considered this, picking the ball back up in your fingertips.

            Woozi rubbed the back of his neck. “I said the first thing I wanted to buy was important, so I wanted to buy you-,” He cut himself off. “If it is too gross you can take it back. I don’t care. I just thought you would appreciate the irony.”

            You felt a tug in your chest. “I do.” You said softly. “I like it.” You smiled a bit. “It’s worn, pretty and a history of violence. Remind you of anyone?”

            “Exactly.” Woozi was bright red now. “Yes…so yes.”

            “This means a lot. I’ve never had anyone get me a necklace.”

            “I’m glad I could be the first.”

            “First the dress, now this. Why?”

            “You don’t like it?” His eyes creased.

            “Absolutely not. I love it. But I just don’t understand your reasoning.”

            “You’ve done a lot, and I have to repay you somehow,” Woozi said,

            “What on earth have I done?”

           “You saved me. You saved me and Josh.”

            “Don’t say cheesy things like that.” You rolled your eyes.

            “It’s true!” Woozi wasn’t laughing, he put his hand on your shoulder and looked at you straight. “You didn’t have to do what you did. You were more willing to go back to your gang. I know how hard that must’ve been.”

            “You would’ve done the same. It was worth it, really.” You mumbled. “Woozi, you and Josh- all of the guys- they mean… more than you could ever imagine to me.”

            “You just had to add Josh and all the other guys in that sentence didn’t you?” Woozi breathed, stepping closer to you. “Next time, say just my name.”

            “You all do mean a lot.” You said.

            “I don’t mean a little bit more?” Woozi picked up the pendant around your neck. There was a click and the two of you were plunged into darkness.

            “Sorry!” The far away voice was Hoshi’s. “I tried to turn on the studio light and I just,” There was a loud sound as Hoshi tripped.

            “The idiot,” You scoffed. “HOSHI! WRONG LIGHTS! I SAID CONTROL BOX NOT ELECTRICAL PANEL!”

            You reached around, hands feeling around a clean surface of a wall in search of a door handle. Your hand bumped into another and you were aware of Woozi’s presence behind you.

           My hero,” His breath steamed your neck. “If there is anything I can do to repay you….” His sultry tone lathered your cloudy mind.       

           Your hands became frantic for the light switch. Shivers ran down your spine as he breathed on your neck. Lights now, please.

           “Woozi,” you breathed, a bit lightheaded.  “I can’t find the switch.”

            “Can I touch you?” He asked.

            The scrapping sound of your hands on the wall stopped. “No.”

            The heat of Woozi disappeared. You continued looking for the lightswitch.

            A pound of flesh against wall startled you. You gasped. Woozi’s hand was on the door, inches from your face and trapping you. You snapped around, pressing a hand to his chest, one hand wrapping around his throat with a thumb pressed firmly to a heart artery in his neck.

           There was a click. The light illumining the space. You looked over. His hand was on the switch inches from your face.

            He analyzed your frenzied look and raised his hands. “I asked you. You said no.” He said slowly, not wanting to anger the predator. “I wasn’t going to touch you. I just was turning on the light.”
            Your hand dropped, “Instinct,” you muttered.

            “From the gang members? Did anyone ever touch you?” A fire lit behind his coal eyes.

            “They tried,” you said honestly. “But thanks to those reflexes, no one ever did.”

            “I will never touch you without your permission.” Woozi said earnestly.

            “Why did you want to?”

            Woozi opened the door and gestured for you to go first. “I think Hoshi needs help.”

            You walked out slowly. Mingyu called to you but you didn’t register the words. As Woozi passed out of the closet, his ears reddened and his mouth parted.

            “I d-didn’t-! W-what happened in there w-wasn’t….” Woozi stuttered, realizing his own actions in the closet.

            You turned away with a hand on the necklace. Behind you, Woozi hit himself on the head, cursing under his heated breath.

            “You look like ,” Hoshi noticed your expression with a lopsided smile. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “Don’t worry, I got those lights fixed. Here, have a drink.”

            You tipped the bottle upside down. The alcohol burned your throat. “Whoa!” Hoshi whistled, “Slow down there!”

            The drink went down in a chug as liquid drizzled down your chin.

            Hoshi’s mouth parted. “Are you a secret binge drinker?”

            “Used to be,” you croaked, whipping your chin on your sleeve. “I need some air.” You snatched Hoshi’s personal bottle before parting.

            You sat on the grass outside of the glass-walled gallery.

           Woozi asked to touch you. He specifically asked to touch you. What would have happened if you said yes? Would he have done something he hadn’t done before?

            The alcohol singed your throat again as the burn from his eyes still heated your face. You were analyzing too much. There was no way Woozi, Woozi: roommate, king of cold, once heir to a powerful gang and musical genius would ever want to touch someone like you.

            Your phone buzzed. It was an unknown caller. You swigged before swiping the screen.

            “What?” You answered.

            “So improper,” A sickly sweet voice answered. “I don’t even get a hello?”

            You rolled your eyes at the gang leader, “Monster, go bother someone else. I don’t have time for your now”

            “You don’t have time for my but you certainly pay attention to Jihoon’s. I’m beginning to think you are biased.”

            “Goodbye, Monster.” You held your finger to the screen.

            “I called so I would help a friend out.” Monster said quickly.

            Your finger hovered over the screen for a second, debating if Monster was bluffing.

           “Or do you not want to know?”

            You put the phone back to your ear. “Want to know what?”

            “If you don’t want to know….” He sang.

            “I’m not playing your games.”

            “Since you did me such a favor by saving your boy, Jihoon. I thought, ‘I can’t just not repay her.’ I am a man of my word.”

             “What did you do?” Your sharp voice loudened.

            “I thought. Since you saved Jihoon and brought him back to his little friends. I should do the same for you. You have missed Detroit, haven’t you?”

            You stood up, breath catching. “Y-you what?”

            “I thought you might want to know. You should clean up that trash apartment for guests.”

            Your throat ran dry. “W-what did you d-do?”

            “You have about, eh…? Twe- no. Ten hours till they will be arriving. That should be enough time to get everything prepared.”

            “WHAT?” you screamed, hands brought up to your face.

            “I told you I knew. Back at the basketball court? I knew you were their runaway drug dealer then.”

            “You told-.“

            “Tick,” He replied easily. “Old friend, actually. He told me a long time ago that his best dealer went awoll. I kept you a secret out of respect of Jihoon’s deal. But the deal is over with.”

            “Why? Why ing now?!”    

            “You stole my best fighter.” Monster’s voice faded into a low growl. “When the old leader died me made me promise to get Jihoon back- he was the best he ever saw. And I FINALLY-!” His voice crackled in a scream over the phone. “-cornered that little Joshua. I knew if I got one of his friends, Jihoon would be too soft to resist a deal.”

            He breathed heavy.

            “I feel pain from losing the best I ever saw,” Monster steadied his voice. “I am a man of empathy. The least I can do is save Tick from feeling the same pain.”

            “You are pathetic,” Your brows caved in. “You think that you can run me out of here?”

            “I know I can.”

            “Think again.”

            “You have ten hours,” Monster said calmly. “I suggest you use them wisely.” He chuckled. “Oh, and by the way. I look forward to seeing the carnage they leave behind.”
            Your heart dropped.

            “I don’t give a about Jihoon anymore. But if the description was correct, he was your sidekick in the heist? I am eager to see how they decorate their interior with his limbs.”

            He hung up.