14040 words

1.

It's cold today, Kyungsoo thinks as he turns up the collar of his dark grey tweed jacket; a feeble attempt at shielding his neck from the chilling wind.

He's walking down one of the busy streets characteristic of Seoul, weaving his way between passing pedestrians like himself. He's supposed to meet Baekhyun at the café close to their apartment, the one with the warm mocha interior and the barista who always smiles too much at Kyungsoo (not that he notices). But Kyungsoo is late, twenty minutes to be exact, and as he hurries down the sidewalk he curses the nip in the air and sniffles irritably.

It's not his fault that Baekhyun lost his keys to their apartment and took Kyungsoo’s instead, without telling the latter mind you, leaving him to tear apart their living room for twenty minutes in search before dejectedly giving up. So now aside from stressing over arriving late, there's an added weight in Kyungsoo’s mind that some stranger is going to steal everything (which isn't much) that the two own. They don't live in a sketchy part of town, per se, just not the nicest. But it's been working for them for the last three years, so neither of them can really complain.

Kyungsoo huffs out a breath that resembles smoke in the frosty November afternoon as the café sign comes into view. He grabs the door handle with fingers stiff from the cold and pulls, the door refusing to budge, before he remembers it's a push and embarrassingly shoves his way inside.

Heat, he notes with relief, flexing his fingers and thanking every living soul that this café isn't modest with their energy consumption. The warmth spreads through the tips of his fingers and he feels grateful to have refuge from the bitter winter air.

He lets out a breath when a sound startles him from the back. “H-hello Kyungsoo-ssi,” says the barista timidly, a small smile gracing her lips and a faint blush tinting her cheeks. Her pink apron lies slightly askew on her body and she fidgets nervously.

“Hey Hyejin-ssi,” Kyungsoo greets back, rolling his wrists and smiling at the girl. “Pretty chilly today, isn’t it?” He asks. Hyejin nods quickly and looks away. Huh.

“And if it isn't the man of the hour.” Baekhyun calls from their regular table by the window front. The backlighting gives him an almost angelic look, but Kyungsoo knows from far too much experience that Baekhyun is anything but.

“And just on time too.” He adds cheekily, raising an eyebrow in wait for an explanation.

“Sorry Baek,” Kyungsoo greets, sliding into the seat across from his roommate. “I couldn't find my keys.”

“You mean these?” Baekhyun asks, dangling a key ring teasingly in front of Kyungsoo’s nose, the jingling sound echoing in his ears. He snaps the ring back into his palm and closes his slim fingers around it before grinning.

“You bastard.” Kyungsoo mutters, shaking his head with an annoyed sigh but not really meaning it. He snatches back the ring, not missing Baekhyun’s snigger.

“Still got that Pororo charm, huh?” He asks while raising an eyebrow, causing Kyungsoo to flush pink (the barista accordingly freaks out at a distance behind the glass container of biscotti on the counter).

“What the hell Baekhyun.” Kyungsoo stuffs his keys into his pocket, ignoring the smug look on his hhead of a friend’s face. The charm was a gift from his first grade crush, and everytime he looks at it he remembers Cheolsu’s warm smiles and soft eyes, so screw whatever Baekhyun says, he’s keeping it.

“Goddamn Kyung, aren't you 21 or something?”

Kyungsoo pats the keys in his pocket absentmindedly, the corners of his mouth turning upwards in something resembling a wistful smile.

“It's sentimental, alright?”

“Sentimental my . You're just an 8 year old boy trapped in an old man’s body.” He knows him too well.

Baekhyun leans back in his chair and once-overs Kyungsoo amusedly, eyes slightly squinting as he chuckles lightly.

Kyungsoo grins. “If this is what being an old man looks like, sign me up.”

Baekhyun just eyes the other skeptically, because honestly he looks more like a hermit than anything else, all small shoulders and fluffy sweaters.

“Soo, when's the last time you did something remotely active?” Baekhyun questions.

“I walked here.”

Baekhyun laughs, a sharp sound that speaks of an old friendship and too many years spent together (but in a good way).

“Okay, Soo, okay.”

Kyungsoo smiles and leans back in his chair as well. He and Baekhyun have been roommates for three years, and friends since birth. It was one of those friendships born out of your parents forcing you on play dates, and as a kid you pretty much get along with anyone. And after seeing each other almost every weekend for the entirety of their childhoods, they inevitably grew closer until it was too late for Kyungsoo to escape from Baekhyun.

But Kyungsoo is glad to have the other. He keeps him level with his head on straight, because for all of Baekhyun's bull he won't take bull from anyone else, much less allow them to give it to Kyungsoo.

And Kyungsoo knows that Baekhyun is glad to have him too. It's hard to accommodate a personality as large as his roommate’s- Kyungsoo knows this far too well- but he's always been there for Baekhyun when others have turned away.

It's a mutual friendship, and a good one at that, Kyungsoo thinks with a nod.

He lets out a contented exhale and looks around the café. It's been the same for the past three years, a timeless comfort in an ever changing world.

The few scattered pot lights provide a dim glow, just barely illuminating the round wooden tables and rickety wooden chairs. The walls are painted a stormy grey and behind the barista’s counter lies an organized mess of aluminum and copper coffee machines and brewers. A few paintings decorate the walls, modern pieces comprised of only shapes and edges, limited to varying shades of grey. Coupled with the scuffed mahogany flooring, the cafe reminds Kyungsoo of home, or rather, of a home away from home.

A clearing of the throat that comes out as more of a squeak breaks Kyungsoo out of his reverie, his head snapping up to see Hyejin anxiously holding a short and wide porcelain teacup on top of a small saucer.

She sets it down on the table in front of Kyungsoo when he notices her presence and manages to peep out, “Chai latte as usual, Kyungsoo-ssi!”

Kyungsoo smiles up at her warmly. “Thank you.” She only nods once in acknowledgement before furiously scrambling away.

Kyungsoo frowns, because Hyejin has always been this way with him. Minimal eye contact, short conversation, blushing cheeks. It confuses him, because she seems perfectly fine around Baekhyun, and there’s no way that there’s something wrong with him and not his roommate.

Said roommate barks out a laugh.

“You really are a sorry bastard.” He tsks across the table, tongue clacking loudly against his teeth.

“Um, what?”

Baekhyun sighs. “She obviously likes you Kyungsoo. Really, it's like your head is made of sand.”

“She does not!” Kyungsoo protests.

“Kyung, she doesn't know what my usual is.”

“That's just called being nice Baekhyun. People do that when you show them good manners.”

Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “I call bull. She wants in your pants, and I say go for it.” Kyungsoo chokes on his own spit, collecting himself before shaking his head dismissively. It's better to just ignore Baekhyun sometimes.

“Any special girl in your life, Byun?” Kyungsoo counters, eyebrow arched. He knows it's a low blow but Baekhyun's pulled lower.

A scoff. “You'd know if there was.” The other grumbles, arms folding across his chest and gaze dropping to the table.

“I'm kidding Baek,” Kyungsoo says with a laugh. “I know I'm the only special woman in your life.”

Baekhyun snaps his head up to look at him disapprovingly and he winks.

His roommate’s arms uncross slowly. “You're lucky I put up with you Soo.”

“Likewise.”

There's a moment of silence as the two size each other up, Baekhyun being the first to back down and change the subject.

“Anyways, how's that semester-long project thingy going?” He asks with a vague flick of his wrist.

Kyungsoo pinches his lips together. “It's not.”

“Aw come on, it can't be that bad.” Baekhyun coaxes. “What's wrong?”

Kyungsoo sighs, running a hand through his short black hair. “I haven't started yet Baekhyun.” A small inhale from the other. “I just have no clue what to do.”

The other seems to think for a moment before supplying unhelpfully, “You could always do a o starring yours truly.”

“I'm serious Baek,” Kyungsoo’s eyebrows knit together. “It's an issue. I only have like, a month left to finish it.”

Kyungsoo was a film student at the Korean Academy of Film Arts, almost done his second semester of third year. This semester’s final project was to create a short film, 10 minutes in length, and then hand it in for marking. The top 30 marks passed the course. It wasn't the most ambitious project ever, but with more and more students being cut from his program with each passing semester, it was just as, if not more, important than any other large scale project.

He knew the vague concept of what he wanted to do, just didn’t know how to execute it. He wanted to capture something ordinary, something everyday, and turn it into something… well, not-so-everyday. The only thing he knew was, was what that he had no clue what that something was.

He couldn't exactly turn his leaking bathroom faucet into a cinematic masterpiece.

Baekhyun sighs. Having known Kyungsoo for as long as he has, he's proud to say he can read the other pretty well. And he can tell that this is eating at his friend. Kyungsoo is a worrier by nature, always finishing projects weeks ahead, not because he wants to impress but because he just genuinely enjoys doing what he does. So for the man sitting across from him to have nothing and only a month to go, there has to be something seriously wrong.

“Do you have anything?”

Kyungsoo briefly explains his inkling of an idea and Baekhyun nods. “So, you're just waiting on inspiration, correct?” A yes from Kyungsoo. “Well, my friend, you better get out there and go get started.”

Kyungsoo pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. “I know that Baekhyun, but it's not as easy as you think. “

“Sure it is,” The other replies earnestly. Kyungsoo looks up him tiredly, not even needing to roll his eyes because the message is already conveyed in his body language.

“I'm not kidding, Kyung. We live in Seoul, one of the most goddamned beautiful places on the planet, and if you can't find inspiration here then what the are we even doing?”. He sighs. “Just go for a walk, go to a park, do something relaxing. Because the more you push it the harder it’ll be. Just let it come to you naturally, is my best advice.”

Kyungsoo pouts, leaning back in his chair and throwing his hands up in defeat. “That's what I've been doing for four months Baek, and look where it's gotten me. .”

He drops the now empty teacup back onto the saucer a little too harshly, the clang ringing through the café.

His roommate's voice softens.

“Just try it, Soo. Go for a walk. I've heard cold November days provide the perfect melancholic inspiration.”

Kyungsoo looks at him skeptically before he sighs one last time.

“Go. I'll still be here when you come back if that's what you're worried about.”

“ you, Byun.”

“Gladly.”

“Gross.”

Kyungsoo pushes back from his seat and tells Baekhyun that he’ll be back never because he’s still five years old and Baekhyun still has cooties. He pays Hyejin at the counter and awkwardly leaves a generous tip for the mess that his roommate is bound to leave behind, before exiting out the front and back into the stinging afternoon air.

He strolls aimlessly down the street, in the direction away from the centre of the city, while letting his legs swing and shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. He whistles a tune under his breath and watches as each exhale blows a bout of steam from his lips.

He's ed, he really is, and he knows it. A month is barely enough time to film and edit a 10-minute piece, and he thinks that he could do it, if only he had something to do. But his brain is giving him nothing and that really because he really wants to stay at his school and get his degree. He's always loved film arts, capturing scenes and arranging them in ways that could make people cry. He's good at it too, being one of the top in his class for three years running.

Not that that streak will last much longer.

Just last semester one of Kyungsoo's closest friends in the program handed in something that the professor deemed was sub-par, leading him to get kicked out as he, “just wasn't keeping up”. And for Kyungsoo, it’s not even that he’s handing in something sub-par, he’s not handing in anything at all, which is definitely going to be an issue.

He kicks an aluminum can, watching it roll away clumsily until it hits a chain link fence about ten feet ahead. Kyungsoo hadn't even realized he had walked so far, now at the end of the dead-end street and staring at the paved parking lot beyond it. His song comes to an end as well, leaving him to stare blankly into space with his breaths the only sounds keeping him company. 

A car goes off in the distance and he squints at the parking lot behind the fence. It stretches far back and to the side, and it has a kind of nice vintage look to it. But as much as he turns his head this way and that, he just can't think of any way to capture it in film.

Useless, he huffs in his head, turning around and leaning back against the flimsy fence, letting his head bang against it. His eyes shut and he leans his body weight into the chain links, heartbeat slowing in his chest.

I could just drop out, he thinks, it would be less embarrassing than getting kicked out.

He lets out a sharp laugh before exhaling and just letting it be.

Somewhere behind him he hears birds chirping as they make their way away from the city, wishing that he could leave with them. It’s days like this when Kyungsoo hates birds the most, days when the air is dry and the sky seems bleakly pale. It reminds him too much of a time in his life that was full of hurried decisions and rushed packing and panicked driving.

When he flew away himself.

He sighs into the fence and shakes his head bitterly, because there’s no point in dwelling on the past.

Wait.

Wait.

Past.

Dwelling.

Hold on.

He's thinking.

He’s thinking, and just maybe, he has it.

With a hurried hand he pulls his phone out from his back pocket and unlocks it, opening the notes app and rapidly writing down words. It’s annoying because autocorrect keeps changing the words as his fingers fly across the keyboard, but he doesn’t care if it doesn’t make total sense right now because he has an idea, he has an idea, he has an idea.

He could capture someone running away, but make it realistic. No wide-angles, too cinematic. Only close-ups, to really show the emotion. He’ll need an extremely talented actor but right now he's not even concerned because he has a ing idea! It's perfect too, if he does so say so himself. People run away all the time, from over controlling parents and judging eyes. But the general public doesn't get that. They don't understand the logic behind running away, what it really means to be the runner.

Kyungsoo knows this from experience, having run away at the age of 18. His parents were abhorrently against their only son pursuing a floppy career in the film industry, refusing to allow him to go to KAFA.

So like the logical person he is, he ran.

He knows better than anyone that running away is not necessarily an attention grab, but it's more like a means of coping. If he could capture the essence of that in ten minutes, he's sure it would win over his undercover sap of a professor (he once saw the man crying while watching Marley and Me in his office).

He thinks that he could get Baekhyun to be his main actor. His roommate understands, for the most part, what Kyungsoo went through when he ran away, and when he's enlisted his friend’s help before he’s always done an exemplary job. It's his eyes that are the most expressive, Kyungsoo finds, making him perfect for the sharp and messy cuts of close-ups that he wants to achieve.

Kyungsoo turns around and kicks the fence in a sort of you manner, a few pieces of trash flying up at the disturbance. He grabs the fence through some of the links and rests his forehead against it. Thank God, he smiles. The cold doesn't bug him, the metal fence digging into his forehead. He's happy, ecstatic even, and he pushes off the fence to return to the café. Hopefully Baekhyun is still ther-

His head whips around when he hears the sound of screeching tires in the parking lot behind him. A small and sleek black limo pulls in quickly, coming to a halting stop parallel to the abandoned warehouse on the far side of the lot about 30 feet away from Kyungsoo. A figure emerges from a small door in the side of the warehouse, gesturing wildly and shouting something at the driver who has exited the car and opens the door on the side closest to Kyungsoo.

The shouting one walks around the limo and Kyungsoo sees that he’s dressed in a suit, probably Italian, because it looks more expensive than everything he owns combined. His voice is a low timbre even when he's shouting, and something about it sends a chill down Kyungsoo’s spine. The car doesn't look cheap either, polished black exterior complete with out windows.

The whole ordeal is extremely out of place in a sketchy parking lot that hasn't been used in God knows how long.

The man doesn't seem to notice Kyungsoo, who is admittedly just standing there dumbly. The film student in him is quite enamoured by this scene, and he wishes he had his camera right now. But he regains his senses and realizes this is probably not something he should be eavesdropping in on, and he takes a step back as the man ducks into the car.

Crunch. He steps on a twig and the sound is loud, causing him to cringe. It echoes in the otherwise silent air, and the man in the suit pauses, halfway into the limo. He looks up, straight at Kyungsoo, and even from thirty feet away Kyungsoo thinks,

He's beautiful.

•

I don't ing have time for this, Jongin thinks impatiently, dress-shooed foot tapping against the concrete of the warehouse floor. His driver was supposed to arrive fifteen minutes ago, and if there's one thing Jongin doesn't tolerate, it's tardiness.

He shoves his phone back inside the pocket of his suit jacket after seeing that the driver is still two minutes away, breath huffing out sharply.

He's supposed to be on his way to a gala right now, celebrating Korean National Bank’s 25th anniversary. Jongin’s target for the night is Mr. Song Geunho, vice-president of KNB, a man who’s known for his strategic smiles and endless chequebook. It’s simple really, Jongin will spark up conversation, then after an appropriate amount of drinks get the wrinkly old bastard to provide the whereabouts and the knowhow to get into the main vault of the bank’s Gangnam branch. 

An easy task for Jongin, who’s accustomed to smooth talking high-ranking dignitaries and socialites. He's spent countless hours perfecting the game that is social interaction, and he wouldn’t hesitate to say that he always comes out as the winner.

But he can't very well be doing his job if he’s stuck in a ing warehouse.

Minseok steps up from the shadows, bowing his head. “Sir, Mr. Song has arrived at the gala,  but it seems that the Syndicate is already all over him. Would you like me to set up preventative-”

Jongin holds up a hand, not caring to hear about the Syndicate at the current moment, or about their bastard of a leader, Lee Taemin. They’ve been causing far too many problems lately for him and his men, more commonly known as the Family, or Seoul’s most lethal underground crime group. Whichever works best.

“Please Minseok, not now. I'll deal with it when I get there.”

“Yes Sir.” Minseok nods and stands down, disappearing again and leaving Jongin alone.

Jongin sighs, rolling his head to the right and releasing it with a satisfying crack. His phone beeps, signalling the arrival of his driver, and he adjusts his suit as Minseok opens the heavy metal door for him.

ing Lee Taemin, the little leech.

Jongin walks outside to be met by the overly apologetic face of his driver.

“Sir, I-”

“Save it. I'm trying to run a business operation and you can't seem to get your ing head out of your . up again and you'll never be seen again, am I clear?” Jongin walks around to the far side of the car where the driver holds the door open, not bothering to look the quivering man in the eye.

There's no response.

 “AM I CLEAR?” Jongin spits venomously, slamming his hand down onto the hood of the car and towering over his driver, icy look in his eyes.

“Y-yes Sir,” The man whimpers, slumping in relief when Jongin backs away a second later.

“Good. Now do your job and drive. Get me there in 5 minutes.”

The driver nods eagerly and Jongin ducks into the car when a noise pauses him. It's a crunch, coming from the chain link fence at the opposite end of the parking lot.

He looks up, and straight into the wide eyes of a stranger.

From this distance all he can see is a sharp tweed jacket undercut by a boyish mess of black hair, a fairly unassuming look. The chain link man looks at him curiously, head tilting to the side and fingers threading through the links of the fence.

Who the does this kid think he is? Jongin thinks when the other remains unmoving. He knows that he's terrifying, even from a distance, but apparently this kid doesn't. ing hell.

He his head to the side, staring for a moment longer before shaking his head ducking the rest of the way inside the car. The driver slams the door behind him, getting into his own seat and pedalling away.

Jongin peels his phone from his pocket, dialling his number two speed dial before pressing the device against his ear.

It only rings once before he hears a, “Sir.”

“Minseok. Street across from the warehouse. Chain link fence. Find out who that is.”

“Yes Sir.”

He shuts his phone.

At least one person knows how to do their job.

•

The party is in full swing by the time Jongin arrives.

He’s immediately met with a wall of people, the large ballroom absolutely stuffed. They’re all impeccably dressed, satin gowns and silk suits mingling together to create a blinding image of the wealthy and the well-to-do. Jongin doesn’t look too shabby himself, his finely-pressed suit tailored to show off his rather impressive physique. Tall stature, broad shoulders, and trousers a little tight in the , just in case Song is into that kind of thing.

Servers run back and forth in their crisp white dress shirts overlaid by black vests, carrying elegantly perched silver trays in their hands, an assortment of small pastries and fluted glasses of champagne on top. A small white cloth hangs over each of their extended forearms, completing the effect that they all have massive sticks up their asses, Jongin thinks with a quiet snort.

He sweeps his eyes around the ballroom, noting the high vaulted ceilings and the plush maroon carpet underfoot. Several white-clothed tables lie around the room, standing up to a person’s rib cage and holding a centrepiece of flowers. Each table is crowded with people dying for a chance to set their drinks down, to rest an elbow for a minute. If Jongin squints he can see the far end of the ballroom clearly, a good 100 feet away.

He immediately feels comfortable in the setting, being used to attending high-profile parties, to coaxing secrets and passcodes out of slightly-buzzed lips in dark corners. It’s what the Family specializes in, grand heists and famous assassinations that never fail to make the front page.

And this, is the perfect place to  leave their mark.

A throat is cleared a few feet to his left, a young woman sitting behind a low rectangular table. She wears a satin dress in emerald green, luscious black hair piled on her head in a delicate knot. She smiles at Jongin sweetly, white teeth shining, before asking him his name.

“Kim Kai.” He says with an air of distaste. It’s his charm he’s been told, to be a heartbreakingly beautiful .

The woman flips through the guestlist in front of her, a small frown wrinkling her forehead. “I’m sorry sir, but there is no Kim Kai on this list.” She glances up at him curiously.

Jongin is momentarily surprised and arches an eyebrow. Minseok had told him all of his arrangements had been taken care of. Guestlist included. He takes back what he said earlier.

“Miss, I’m positive my name is on that list. Perhaps you need to have your eyesight assessed.” He says back sweetly with a bit of a bite.

The woman looks flustered. “Sir, I must insist, there really is no-”

“It’s fine, Yerim.” A smoothly dressed man almost as beautiful as Jongin himself glides up to the table. “He’s with me.” The man lets out a dazzling smile and the woman, Yerim it seems, can only nod dumbfoundedly before waving Jongin through.

The man motions silently for Jongin to follow him, and he fixes the cuff on his right wrist as he strolls further into the ballroom, trailing closely behind. He tucks the gold bangle that lies permanently on his wrist farther up his sleeve to hide it from prying eyes, to hide it from the few here tonight who might know what it means. Jongin isn’t surprised to see the countless pairs of eyes that follow him throughout the room as he walks, some staring out of curiosity and others blatantly undressing him with their eyes.

He looks forward to the man and at the tattoo peeking out the back of his collar, a swirl of black ink that resembles a dragon breathing fire. He’s seen this symbol more times than he cares to count, and the way the ink is so stark against the pale skin makes his lips curl and his stomach churn. He wonders why this man has never heard of concealer, because Jongin at least attempts to cover his markings.

How obvious.

The two stop once they reach one of the tall tables in the back corner of the room, where the lights from the centre of the floor are dimmer, the music less of an assault on the ears and more of a dull thud. Jongin looks expectantly at the man across from him, eyebrow raised and waiting for him to speak first.

The man shakes his head with a laugh, his platinum blonde hair shaking along with it like a cascade of white gold. He settles his chin to the left and once overs Jongin, none too subtly.

“Kim Kai, what a pleasure it is to see you tonight.”

Jongin’s blood freezes at the other’s voice, because he’s always seemed to have that effect on him.

“Likewise, Taemin-ssi.” He responds coolly with a tip of his head, hands coming up to shove casually inside his pants pockets in a disinterested stance. He doesn’t enjoy Taemin’s company, to say the least. It brings up too many hard feelings, too many unresolved issues, too many memories of earlier days spent laughing in the backyard. Jongin remembers too much of his past when he’s with the blonde, and he prefers to forget.

It’s always been what he does best.

“Please, no need for formalities. I’d say we’re far past that.” Taemin says charmingly.

Jongin frowns. “We’re far past many things Taemin, one of them being smalltalk.” He shifts his weight to the other foot and glares coldly. “What do you want?”

Taemin holds his chest in mock offence. “And what makes you think I want anything from you?”

Jongin scoffs. “This is hardly your crowd, Taemin. You wouldn’t be here unless you wanted something.”

Taemin drops his hand. “Right you are my brother.” Jongin scowls at his use of the word, the blonde ignoring it. “I really do hate crowded rooms. They make me nervous.” He pauses.

“Nervous?” Jongin questions with an eyebrow. “I didn’t think that word was in your vocabulary. You’ve never had an issue being a backstabbing bastard.” the jab is loaded but apparently Taemin doesn’t notice.

“Too many witnesses.” Taemin waves his hand dismissively. “Makes it harder to kill people quietly.”

“Well then maybe the Syndicate needs better hitmen.”

“Oh Kai, I don’t need a hitman to do my work for me.”

Jongin breathes out through clenched teeth, because he knows that that statement is true from personal experience.

ing Lee Taemin.

“Enough.” He practically growls. “Tell me what you want or have a pleasant evening without me.”

Taemin looks at him thoughtfully, and speaks after a long and tensely silent moment. “I know why you’re here tonight.”

His head whips up.

“Don’t worry Kai, you don’t have any worms in your… company.” He winks. “It’s simply intuition.”

Jongin regards him pensively, having learned that you can never fully trust anything the blonde says to you. Can never even partially trust anything he tells you. He hates Lee Taemin, and he cannot stress that point nearly enough.

“If you’re so intuitive, Taemin, then tell me: how does this night end?”

The blonde waves his hand vaguely beside his ear.

“As it always does Mr. Kim. With a winner, and a loser, and I think we both know who is who.”

And with that he looks at Jongin once more he walks away with long strides, disappearing into the sea of people.

“,” Jongin says under his breath. Taemin has always been like this, dealing in cryptic messages and unclear words. It’s his way, and as long as Jongin has had to deal with him it hasn’t made him any more understandable. And it’s been a long time.

He's been sold out, and he knows it, but he doesn't have long to dwell on that. He came here with a purpose and he might as well fulfill it. Bring something back to headquarters, to show his men how real leaders handle themselves in surveillance missions.

He taps the clear earpiece resting on the inner shell of his ear, static crackling and a deep voice coming into focus.

“Evening, Sir. A pleasure to be working with you tonight.”

“Chanyeol.” He dips his head slightly even though the other can’t see it. “Where is he?”

“The target is located in the northeast corner of the ballroom, about 35 feet away from you.” Chanyeol’s voice takes on a creepy quality. “And if I may so myself Sir, he's already got some… pretty decent company, if you know what I mean.”

Jongin ignores him. “I'm trying not to, Chanyeol. Moving in.”

“Gotcha.” The earpiece goes dead and Jongin makes his way northeast across the floor.

Chanyeol has been his human computer and resident tech guy for the past 6 years, ever since the Syndicate murdered his fiancé-to-be. Coincidentally on the night he was going to propose to her. Chanyeol had come to him, and although Jongin strongly dislikes working with people with vendettas, finds it always gets messy, Chanyeol has been loyal so far and proven himself to be anything but a hassle.

As Jongin weaves his way through tightly-packed bodies and wandering hands, his eyes scan back and forth for Song, glancing at each face he passes and cross-checking his memory for any matches to the pictures he had seen of the man earlier that day. Jongin spots Mr. Song ahead of him, and he speeds up just barely.

The vice-president is in the company of a fine young woman, as Chanyeol had mentioned, voluptuous figure outlined in a floor length but immodestly tight black dress. Jongin had given up any pretense of a libido years ago, but even he would admit that Chanyeol was right.  The woman was attractive, and the only thing about Song that could possibly compare was his money.

As he approaches the older man the woman spots him over his shoulder. Her eyes glaze over with something hungry, and Jongin just hopes it won't be too much of an issue to get rid of her for the time being. Woman can be so relentless, he thinks.

“Mr. Song.”

The VP turns around slowly, pupils dilated from whatever alcohol he's already consumed and also presumably from ual attraction to the female he's with. He looks slightly annoyed at being interrupted, but after detailing Jongin’s relaxed and confident posture, the annoyed look is replaced with one of curiosity. He faces Jongin fully and brings his companion around to stand by his side on his arm.

“That would be me.” He says evenly. “And you are?”

“Kim Kai, sir. A pleasure.” He holds out his hand and Song replies with a firm shake. Jongin takes half a step back as a submissive gesture, allowing the other to assume to dominant role in the discussion and be less wary of him in general.

“Likewise.” A pause. “Tell me, Mr. Kim, are you enjoying the night’s festivities?”

Jongin nods, charming smile overtaking his features. “Absolutely, sir. Congratulations, by the way, to the bank for 25 years, and also for throwing a spectacular party.”

Song shrugs with a good-natured grin. “We do what we can.” He says in an amused tone, clearly warming up to Jongin.

The woman accompanying the vice-president looks bored at his side, glancing at her nails and obviously not interested in the political interactions of an important man. Song seems to notice her irritation and pulls her closer to his side.

“What can I do for you this evening?” He asks.

Jongin rolls his shoulders, pretending like he’s a young man trying to get insider info on how to survive in the world of stocks and mortgages. “Well sir, as an aspiring businessman myself,” A partial truth, “When I saw that you would be in attendance tonight I knew that I had to speak with you. Your work has been nothing short of sensational, inspiring even, and I only wanted a moment of your time to find out your secret to being so successful. If you're willing to share, that is.” Jongin replies with a bantering lilt in his voice.

Song smiles playfully. “A magician never reveals his secret, but he'll tell you anything short of it.” He adjusts his grip on his glass of champagne and takes a slow sip. “I'm impressed, young man. Not many have the courage to approach a senior officer of the bank.”

Now it’s Jongin’s turn to shrug, sheepish expression creeping in. “I'm curious sir, and I'm ambitious. It seemed as good a mix as any.” He replies modestly. “Please, allow me to buy you and this lovely lady something more... refreshing to drink.”

In other words, please let me get you drunk.

But Song is a careful man.

“More refreshing than champagne? You must be out of your mind.” It's a joke but Jongin can hear the cautious tones that are beginning to grow underneath it.

In his head he backpedals for a second.

Clearly Song isn’t as willing or as stupid as he was told he would be, so he needs to switch his angle. Getting him drunk is no longer an option, so he’ll have to just find a way to make the man like him. If he can forge enough of a bond, he knows he can convince the vice-president to offer to set up a meeting, or even to show him around the bank someday or something ridiculous like that. From there he can find the main vault himself. Not exactly what he came here for, but it’ll have to do.

“I must be,” Jongin says with an apologetic laugh. “Forgive me, sir, if I overstepped any boundaries.”

The older man seems to calm down at this, the aggressive flare in his eyes from moments earlier rapidly receding. His shoulders deflate slightly and he sinks back into his heels.

“Nonsense, young man. I'm simply a businessman, and being as such makes you wary of every other man. Come, let's go talk somewhere a little quieter, and maybe I'll tell you my secrets, as you've so kindly asked.” Song smiles at Jongin.

“Thank you, sir.”

The vice-president looks at his companion and taps her shoulder twice, a seeming signal that she is dismissed. The woman shrugs and struts away, generous hips swinging back and forth and she merges into the crowd.

“I’m sure you don’t have much time sir, so I promise I won’t take too much of it. ”

Song lets out a sharp laugh. “Well said, Mr. Kim. No time for chitchat. Everyone these days seem to be all for long and unnecessary conversation, never really getting to the point. All this sidestepping, it makes an old man like myself tired.” He motions for Jongin to lead the way. “So, what can I help you with?”

Jongin shifts his weight in preparation to start walking. “Ah, well you see sir-”

He pauses.

To the untrained ears it’s nothing, background noise.

But Jongin hears it.

A click.

Then Song’s eyes widen impossibly, breath coming in a sharp intake before he suddenly falls forward, right onto the floor in front of Jongin.

The ballroom goes silent for a second, all heads turning one by one to see what the noise was. And with each and every pair of eyes that swing his way, they gasp.

It’s then that one woman screams in horror, followed by another, and then by another. Quickly Jongin’s ears are filled with shouts from all around him, and in the corners of his eyes he sees people scrambling away towards the exits madly.

It’s chaos, the music cutting off in a horrible screech as the guests run in every direction. A shout meets his ear, someone telling everyone to get out.

But Jongin isn’t listening.

He looks down at the now deceased body of Mr. Song, red oozing from the bullet hole in the centre of his head. A clean shot, and a remarkably good one at that.

As Jongin looks up after noting the workmanship of the wound, he’s met with the sight of none other than Lee ing Taemin, twenty feet away.

The blonde smirks as he unscrews the silencer from his pistol and stores both inside his suit jacket, all the while looking Jongin straight in the eye.

He chuckles sardonically at what Taemin had said earlier clicks. He knew Jongin was here for Song, and in his own petty way saw to it that Jongin wouldn’t be leaving with his prize. After all this time it’s still typical Taemin behaviour, always trying to place Jongin in second and rise up on top.

But he never succeeds, and Jongin is confident that he never will.

He’ll make sure of it.

The party ends with a scene of pandemonium around them as Taemin winks at the only other person in the room that isn’t terrified.

Jongin blinks and he’s gone.

•

Kyungsoo can’t shake the feeling that he’s being followed.

After returning to the café he and Baekhyun had left about twenty minutes ago, Baekhyun going back to their apartment and Kyungsoo going to the library. He hasn’t told his roommate about his idea yet, because he wants to make sure that he knows what he’s doing before he asks him to help. So instead he chooses the library. It’s his place of peace, somewhere he goes when he needs a little time to think or a little inspirational downtime. He’s been coming here since he could walk, over the years adding book after book to his completed count.

How typical of a film student to love reading literature.

But as he walks to his destination he can feel a pair of eyes on him. It’s weird, he thinks, the feeling of being watched. It’s like he knows there are eyes constantly boring into the back of his head, but every time he turns around there’s nothing but a whistle in the wind. He must be tired, losing sleep night after night of stressing over his final project.

He shakes his head and ignores the feeling, choosing to hum a tune instead. It's admittedly Ring Ding Dong- Baekhyun introduced Kyungsoo to Shinee when they first moved in together and the latter has been in love ever since.

The song puts a little hop in his step and before he knows it he's shouldering the door to the library open and shivering at the sudden gush of warm air.

He pauses for a moment near the entrance, taking in the scene of what he considers to be his second home. Eggshell blue walls, maple wood floors, and bookshelves that go up to a person's rib cage open up the space and give a straight line of sight all the way to the back. Floor-to-ceiling windows cover the far wall, revealing a stunning view of the garden behind. The air smells slightly musty and a little bit minty, just as Kyungsoo always remembered it.

He smiles, worries already beginning to ebb away slightly at the familiar sight.

He makes his way towards the windows at the back, where he knows his favourite café-style table will be. It's almost always empty, most people thinking it's rather uncomfortable, but Kyungsoo has grown used to the pair of stiff wooden chairs that surround it.

Along the way he picks up a book from one of the low lying shelves. He's definitely never seen it before, probably because it's in English. But he likes to think that he's pretty much fluent, having studied it since the age of 6.

The book is called The Day of the Owl by Leonardo Sciascia, and after skimming the back cover for a moment Kyungsoo deduces it's a detective thriller about the mafia. He shrugs internally. He's not particularly interested in gangs and violence, but the book itself seems interesting enough.

He shuffles over to his table and slides into one of the rickety old chairs. The spindles at the back dig into his spine a little, but Kyungsoo barely notices. He flips over the cover of the book and starts reading.

The novel starts with a bus ready to leave the station and a gunshot ringing out, leaving one less passenger and one more dead body. From there it's a murder mystery as Kyungsoo had found out, but he's pleasantly surprised to find that it's actually pretty good.

He's about 200 pages in when he sees a pair of feet in his peripheral vision. A throat is cleared and his gaze is snapped upwards to a man standing before him.

The man's facial features almost resemble those of a hawk, lips and nose ever-so-slightly pointed at the ends. His chin comes to a gentle tip and his cheekbones stand tall. Strong eyebrows complete his intimidating face.

His hair is black, verging on a purple tint, and he wears a black blazer over a dark grey sweater. It's classy, but not stuck up. Kyungsoo decides he likes it.

“Hi, is it alright if I sit here?” The man asks.

“Um, sure, yeah, no problem.” Kyungsoo moves his stuff off the table to make room for the stranger. He's a little confused because there's literally a hundred other tables to sit at in this library that don't have him at them, but hey, some people are just friendly.

The stranger coughs. “I'm Minseok, by the way.” He laughs- a short, sweet sound. “I'm sorry to interrupt you, but uh, I'm knew to Seoul. Thought I could use a friendly face.”

Kyungsoo almost snorts at that. He doesn't have a friendly face, that's just bull. He's got a resting face and he knows it.

“Where are you from then?”

“Gangnam.”

“Ah-” And the man, Minseok, really does look like he's from Gangnam. He's got a gold bangle on his right wrist that just barely shows when he shifts his arms, and even from that brief glance Kyungsoo can tell it's not cheap.

“Well, what can I help you with?”

Minseok thinks for a second. “How about a name? I need some more contacts here.”

Kyungsoo squints. With the trained glint in Minseok’s eye, it brings him to think of that thing that moms always say:

“Stranger danger.” It's out of his mouth before he can stop it, but Minseok just laughs.

He responds with a lilt in his voice. “Sorry, didn't mean to scare you off.”

“No no no, it's not that. Sorry, I really have no clue.” He takes a breath. “It's Kyungsoo... Do Kyungsoo.”

Minseok laughs again. He does that a lot, Kyungsoo notes, laugh.

“How 007 of you, Kyungsoo-ssi.”

Kyungsoo smiles. “Just Kyungsoo is okay. But look at yourself Minseok-ssi. That blazer must have come straight out of Goldfinger.”

What a nerd.

“Just Minseok is okay.” He echoes, matching Kyungsoo’s tone from a moment ago, this time with a mischievous glint in his eye. Kyungsoo chuckles briefly.

“But this old thing?” Minseok continues, gesturing at his jacket. “It's nothing. A gift from a…” He pauses. “Friend.”

“You've got good friends then.” Kyungsoo leans back in his chair, matching Minseok’s relaxed posture. “You're the only person I've seen dressed that nice in this area for a while.”

Wait. That's not true. There's the limo man from this afternoon. Kyungsoo had almost forgot about him, forgot about the breathtaking stranger, but the thought flashes into his head and plants itself there.

An idea comes to him, and Kyungsoo knows it's a massive assumption to make, but he wonders if Minseok knows the man.

It's not completely implausible, both of their jackets looking like something out of a magazine.

“Say, Minseok, you wouldn't have happened to see some guy getting into a limo this afternoon, would you? Tall, dark, mysterious?”

Minseok startles, his eyes widening in a momentary look of surprise. “Uh… Why do you ask?”

“Why are you so suspicious?” Kyungsoo retorts with a playful smile. “I’m just curious, is all.” He amends. “You don't see many people in suit jackets around here normally, much less two in one day. So I just thought that maybe..” he trails off, question implicit, gesturing his point with short fingers.

Minseok clears his throat. “Well um, in that case yeah, I do.”

Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean, in that case?”

The other laughs. “He's just higher profile, if you know what I mean. Likes to keep things more low key.”

“What kind of high profile?”

Kyungsoo has been told before that he can be annoyingly insistent, but he prefers to call it curious. The man across from him seems to think for a second before he answers.

“Mm, an actor. Not big screen, but he's got a large following. Mostly does indie stuff, you know?”

“Actually, I do know.” Kyungsoo says with a light chuckle. “I'm a film student. KAFA.”

"Oh really?” Minseok looks a little thrown off, Adam's apple jumping in his throat as he swallows.

Kyungsoo nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, so I'm pretty familiar with the indie scene around here. What's his name? I might know him.”

Minseok hesitates. “He's not from here actually. Did most of his work in… in Canada.”

This makes Kyungsoo laugh and ask, “Then why’s he so low key halfway around the world?” He finds it funny, an indie film actor from Canada being scared of fans following him to Korea. Must be one attractive man to attract such a following halfway around the world.

“He had a bad experience once. Crazy woman. No idea of personal space.” Minseok shakes his hand by his ear at the word crazy, emphasizing his point.

Kyungsoo hums in response. So he was right. Well, hot men lure in crazy people, it's natural.

It's silent for a second, both strangers not really having much to say.

An actor, huh? Kyungsoo ponders. He hasn't seen any of those in his area before. But the man has the face for it he admits, handsome and brooding even from a distance. He'd probably be a director’s dream for close ups-

He suddenly remembers his project. He knows that he has Baekhyun who would be more than willing to do all the acting in return for a lunch or two, but it would be amazing to have a legitimate actor fill the role.

“Are you, like, his agent or something?” Kyungsoo ventures.

A warm laugh. “Yeah, something like that.”

Kyungsoo leans forward. “Well then Minseok, I have a proposition for you.”

Minseok leans in as well, interest sparking his eye. “I'm listening.”

“You see, I have this semester-long project that I have to do, and I'm in need of a lead. It's not too big, won't take long to film, but it's more serious so I’d love to work with someone that has a little more skill.” Kyungsoo falters. “But uh, I'm not too sure of pay. I'd do what I can, but I'm a third year student well on his way into debt so it might be more of a charity project. And I know that that's a lot to ask, but if you could just ask that would be amazing and I would be so thankful and-”

“I'll ask.”

Kyungsoo blinks.

He thought it would have taken a lot more begging and convincing on his part, but maybe not.

“Oh.”

“Do you want to meet with him?” Minseok looks highly, highly amused right now, and Kyungsoo can't say he knows why.

“Y-yeah, that would be amazing! Thank you so much, really.”

“Hey, you were nice enough to welcome me to your table,” Kyungsoo reddens. “It's only fair I return the favour. What do you say tomorrow, same time, right here? I'll bring him.”

“Sounds fantastic.” Kyungsoo smiles brightly, lips forming an almost-heart shape.

“Well in that case, I'd best be on way. Got to work my magic. It was nice meeting you, Kyungsoo.” Minseok stands up and Kyungsoo follows. The former holds out his hand and Kyungsoo replies with a light shake.

As Minseok walks away he laughs loudly and without turning around brings his hand up in a wave.

“See you tomorrow Kyungsoo!”

Before Kyungsoo can reply he's walked out of the library.

Rich people are weird, he decides.

•

Jongin taps his fingers against his glass, tightly-trimmed nails clacking against the crystal. He inhales through his nose and brings his other hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Minseok was supposed to be back thirty minutes ago, and from experience he's not one to be late.

Jongin pushes out in his chair from his behind his unnecessarily large lacquered desk, a deep shade of mahogany inlaid with elegant wood carvings. As he walks out around the large piece of furniture his feet sink into the Turkish carpet he imported two years ago and his fingers brush against the custom wooden shelving that covers the back wall. It's filled with books he's read a million times but now has no more time to even think about.

He walks over to the window and pushes aside the heavy drapes. He looks back around his office and sighs. It's extravagant to say the least, but he likes it that way.

Jongin is by no means a lavish mobster. He keeps his business to himself and his money to his pocket. But in this room that no one save for Chanyeol, Minseok, and himself, is permitted to enter, he allows himself to spend a little more than he needs to.

He doesn't even really need the office in the first place. He knows some leaders of nearby gangs like to sit on their asses all day and hold their power above everyone else, but he firmly believes that you don't get to say unless you do . It's something his dad had taught him when he was little. If you put in the work yourself then no one else has the right to reap your rewards.

He even ing tattooed it on himself. No one knows it's there, but on the side of his right rib cage in swirling black cursive lies the words: When a man lifts his chin in pride he cannot see the chasm at his feet. It’s cheesy but it serves as a reminder- showing itself to Jongin every morning when he wakes up and looks in the mirror. A good leader does the work so that he knows it's being done. That's him. A good leader. And he knows it's true without a doubt.

His head snaps up as the heavy and dark door bangs open. In its wake stands Minseok, slightly out of breath and slightly hunched over. Jongin looks at him expectantly while the dark-haired man catches his breath.

“Do Kyungsoo.”

Jongin’s face remains inquisitive while he arches an eyebrow.

“The kid. The man. Do Kyungsoo. That's his name.” Minseok's words come out in short bursts. He must have run here.

Jongin blinks. “Why are you late?” He asks, moving to his desk and leaning against it, posture regal and hands shoved into his pant’s pockets.

“Uh-” Minseok looks confused. He would have thought Jongin’s first question would have been about the film student, not him. Jongin never asks about him.

“He asked about you. Jong-”

“Oh shut the door for Christ’s sake, Minseok.”

As long as the door to his office is open Jongin remains Kim Kai, Minseok remains his handy man, and their relationship is nothing more than boss and employee. They only become friends when the door is shut and their words are safe from prying ears.

The man in the doorway seems to regain his senses as he turns quickly and shuts the door behind him with a gentle click. He looks back around to Jongin, who tilts his head.

“So what happened Min?”

Minseok looks over at the bureau opposite the window, specifically the silver tray and bottle of scotch on top. “May I?” He asks, eyes gesturing to the empty glass beside.

Jongin waves his hand dismissively, giving him the go ahead. As he makes his way over to the bureau he says casually, “He asked about you Jongin. Wanted to know who you were.”

Jongin’s question is edged with a suspicious tone. “And why did he know that you would have the answer?”

Minseok sighs. Jongin thinks he told him.

The former pours himself a glass.

“Jesus Jongin, what do you think I did? Go up to him and say ‘Hi, I'm Minseok and I know you were watching my boss earlier because that's not creepy, and oh yeah, he's a mob leader?’ Of ing course not.  He's intelligent, Kyungsoo. He figured it out on his own. The suit jackets were a giveaway, apparently.”

The warning look in Jongin's gaze recedes as his back relaxes from its rigid pose. “Smart kid.” He says after a moment. His tone is apologetic and Minseok smiles because he know it's the closest Jongin will ever get to actually saying I'm sorry.

Minseok laughs. “I'd stop calling him a kid if I were you, Jongin. He's 21. Third year.”

“Min, that's still a kid.”

“You would know, old man.” Minseok retorts with a frown, clearly unhappy with Jongin’s somewhat sassy reply.

“You're older than me!” Jongin throws up his hands in exasperation (an emotion only Minseok has had the privilege of seeing out of him).

“Relax, relax, I'm kidding. Learn how to take a joke Jongin, it's good for you. You're too uptight and stick-up-your--y sometimes.”

Neither of them are old, physically anyways. Mentally they both have the minds of forty-some-odd year olds, but in reality Jongin is 27 with Minseok closely following at 29.

The taller is young for a mob leader, outrageously so, but that's what happens when your father is brutally murdered by someone you both thought you could trust.

He hates blondes.

“Whatever.” Jongin grumbles in defeat. He shifts his body to rest one of his legs over the over while still leaning back against the desk. “So, tell me about him. I'm interested now.”

Minseok rolls his eyes. “Bull Jong, you've been interested in him since the moment you saw him.”

Jongin rolls his eyes. “Which was earlier this morning, so I’m sure I don't know what you mean.”

“Oh come on. You obviously wanted to know more about him.” Minseok takes a drink.

“And what if I say I just wanted to make sure he wouldn't tell anyone what he saw?” The leader retorts.

Minseok shrugs. “You would have killed him. I know you better than you think, Jongin.” He takes another swig from his scotch. “You're not a sentimental person. If that's what you were worried about he would be dead in a ditch right now.”

“Touché.” After being friends for longer than either of them cares to admit, Minseok can spot Jongin's bull from a mile away. Jongin sighs.

“He wasn't scared of me, Minseok. I'm not used to that. I look at people and they run. He didn't. I wanted to know more. That's all.”

The other looks down almost nervously. “Well sir... you'll have your chance tomorrow.”

Jongin frowns. “Minseok-”

“You get to meet him!” The shorter squeaks out, moving away from Jongin who slowly pushes off from his desk and starts towards him.

“What the hell Minseok?! I told you to get his name, not arrange a blind date!” Jongin chases after Minseok to give his a piece of his mind before stopping abruptly, realizing that's what toddlers do. He walks to his chair, sitting down with a groan.

“Jesus Christ. I'm not going Min, that's just stupid.”

Minseok leans on the desk across from him, weight resting in his palms. “Oh come on, Jongin, it could be fun.”

“Fun? Does it look like I have time for fun?” He glances up a Minseok miserably.

Minseok backs away. Jongin looks like a bitter old man who yells at kids to get off his lawn.

“Yeah, I guess you're right. You're just a boring, sad old man.” He shrugs in mock defeat. “I'll just go then, and leave you to do whatever it is that sad old men do.” His hand touches the doorknob.

“Wait.”

Minseok smiles and skips (but not actually skips because mobsters don't do that) back to Jongin.

“ you, Minseok. Jongin says through gritted teeth. “I'll meet him tomorrow-” He shuts up Minseok’s gloating laugh with a hand. “But only for fifteen minutes. That's it, alright?” Minseok nods, looking way too pleased with himself.

“I really hate you Minseok.” Jongin rests his head on one hand.

“No, you love me.”

“Your mother loves you.” Jongin pouts slightly, definitely not something someone as infamous as himself should ever be caught dead doing. He doesn’t pout, end of story.

“She does, thank you very much,” Minseok says proudly with a smile in his voice. “But I think your mother loves me more.” He wiggles his eyebrows.

Jongin sighs.

“Get the out of my office Minseok, before I set Yixing down on you.” The threat has no real venom behind it.

“Love you too Jong. Take care.” And with that Minseok sets his now empty glass down on Jongin’s desk and stealthily backtracks out of the office, shutting the door behind him.

Jongin picks up his drink and gives it a sidelong glance as the liquid swishes around.

He sets it back down after taking a sip and closes his eyes.

He really needs to let Minseok go.

•

Two hours later Jongin sits in his office again, body tense and posture straight. In the chairs surrounding his desk sit Minseok, Chanyeol, and two of his other trusted high-ranking officers, Joonmyeon and Yixing. Gold bands on their forearms all glitter back at him, a symbol binding them to Jongin and to each other. The mob leader doesn’t like to spend money when he doesn’t have to, but for his men, he will.

He clicks his tongue against his teeth and leans back in his chair.

Directly across from Minseok stares him down expectantly, and to his right, Joonmyeon crosses his right leg over his left, placing his palms on his knee. Chanyeol is fidgeting with something in his hands, pushing his glasses farther up his nose every five seconds. He needs to get those fixed. It’s distracting. And Yixing, like always, is sitting on the edge of his chair.

Jongin sighs.

“This is getting out of hand,” He says finally, four pairs of eyes looking up to land on his.

“As you all probably know, Song was murdered last night by none other than the Syndicate’s fine-” A mocking smile and a rude gesture. “-leader, no less right in front of my ing eyes.”

He exhales. “It's degrading, really, that he thinks he can get away with that.”

Jongin pauses for a moment, collecting his building anger and casting it aside for the time being.

“We're now stuck on standby with the KNB heist until we can find another way in.” He continues. “Our best bet was the vice-president, but I'm looking into other senior executives of the bank for another alternative. They're clearly already a step ahead of us, or else Taemin wouldn't have known I would be there yesterday. So, now begs the question: how did Lee Taemin know I would be at that gala?” Jongin asks, voice dripping with poison and eyes sharp.

His men are made of steel, that's why they work for him, but his current tone makes even them flinch in their seats.

Joonmyeon takes a shaky breath before he speaks. “We had a rat sir. In my division. Choi Minho. A plant. He's been taken care of.”

Jongin looks at him dangerously.

“Make sure there's no mess. And I trust that this will not happen again, correct?” Joonmyeon nods tensely.

“Good. Now, Chanyeol, how is the bank feed coming along?” With his immediate question out of the way, Jongin can move on to the more business aspect of his agenda, demeanour relaxing and gaze taking on a more serious edge.

“It's coming sir. It's been more difficult than I had originally anticipated to tap into the Gangnam branch’s main security system, but give it twelve hours and I'll have you every security camera in the building.”

Jongin nods.

He likes that about Chanyeol. For all the giant’s jokes and bull-ery, he knows when to gun down and get the job done. He's efficient, and he's damn good at what he does.

A valuable asset.

Jongin turns his head. “Yixing. Our Chinese friends, are they in contact?”

“Yes sir. I've been in talks with Yifan. He said he'll have the arms shipment delivered to us by Thursday, no questions asked.” He nods.

Yixing comes from the elite group of hitmen the Family has stationed in Shanghai, having been brought to Seoul two years ago and tasked with the assassination of one of the Syndicate’s highest-ranking officers. After doing one of the cleanest jobs Jongin had ever seen, he had invited the assassin to stay by his side. Yixing has been hard working ever since, following orders and bringing Jongin countless invaluable connections from China.

“Excellent.” Jongin looks at Yixing, a silent praise in his eyes, and Yixing acknowledges it with a slight dip of his head.

The Chinese male has always been good at picking up subtleties.

Jongin has always been good at giving them out.

It's nearing midnight when they begin to wrap up, heads fuzzy and eyes heavy.

“Alright, you may all go now.” Jongin dismisses them eventually. The four men prepare to stand up, hands pushing on the armrests of their chairs. They almost make it to the door when Jongin clears his throat.

“And lastly, if any of you ever see Lee Taemin again, you find the clean shot, and you take it.”

He counts four nods.

“Good. Get out.”

•

Jongin rolls up the sleeves of his crisp black dress shirt, pushing them up past his elbows.

Minseok had told him to dress casually because Jongin looks painfully overdressed on a bad day, and he figured the younger wouldn't want to attract too much attention. But his soul had quite literally died when he had tried on the band t-shirt and washed jeans that Minseok had sent him, so he opted for a plain black shirt and matching pants instead. It still looked stuck-up, but when Minseok looked at him with a judging look in his eyes that morning he had simply said that Jongin could pass it off as him being emo.

He sweeps a strand of his chocolate brown hair out of his face and tucks it back into place, muttering under his breath. He's cold, very cold, pride refusing to let him put on a jacket when Minseok had suggested it before he left.

He had, though, listened to Minseok’s suggestion to wear an earpiece, just in case. With someone of Jongin's status going out into the open like this, none of them wanted to take any unnecessary risks.

A familiar bubbly voice comes on, deep timbre undercut by a happy laugh. “Hey sir, reporting for duty.”

“Hey Chanyeol,” Jongin says dejectedly, not quite ready to deal with the giant.

“Just want you to know, Sir, that I'm right behind you in this... Well, technically I'm in you. Um. In your ear. God, I didn't mean it like that.”

Chanyeol has this habit of talking too much and too fast and too loudly so Jongin just shuts him up with a stern call of the technician’s name.

“Sorry, got carried away.” Jongin hears a huff in his earpiece. “Anyways, I looked up this Do Kyungsoo last night, and while I am straighter than Minseok’s hair, because no ing way he doesn't blow dry that , this guy is hot. Lowkey hot, but very hot nonetheless. I think you'll like him, sir.”

“And I think you're overstepping your boundaries, Chanyeol. Remember, you're on duty.” Jongin sees the library about a hundred feet away and speeds up his pace.

“Right. Well, I'll leave you to it then. Let me know if you need anything. I'll tune out to give you some… privacy.” Jongin can hear the suggestion in his voice and is about to tell him off before Chanyeol interrupts- “

You know the word. Yeol, out.” And the earpiece dies.

Jongin is tempted to rip it out of his ear right then and there, just because as much as he loves Chanyeol, he can be really ing annoying.

But he's out of time as he approaches the library door, pushing it open. His cold skin welcomes the sudden warmth and the bare patch on the back of his neck breaks out in goosebumps.

The first thing he notices is that it's very warm in the library, the warmth enhancing the subtle minty scent that fills his nose. He takes a deep breath while rolling his shoulders before setting off to find Kyungsoo.

Minseok had showed him a blurry image that no one could really get anything out of, but he had said that Jongin would know when he saw him. How, he wasn't sure. He had only seen the kid from thirty feet away. Maybe he was wearing the same jacket. Hopefully.

Jongin makes his way through the rows of low bookshelves, eyes constantly scanning and ears open. He remembers that Minseok had mentioned something about a God-awful table, so when Jongin sees some okay looking ones by the window he heads towards them.

And true enough, in the centre of the line of tables, lies one that really needs to be transported back in time about fifty years. But that's not the important thing. The important thing is that at that table sits a small man, probably only about 5’8, leaning over a book while he rests his weight on his elbows. His legs swing slightly under the table and Jongin can see a hint of a soft pink tongue poking out from the corner of the man's mouth.

Cute.

But he can't see his full face from here, the massive amounts of sun from the window creating a nasty case of backlighting.

He takes long strides towards the table, hands clasped tightly behind his back. When he approaches the man must hear him because he looks up.

And Jongin blinks.

Flawless skin covers high and round cheekbones, sharp jawline contrasting the softness. Warm brown eyes are framed by thick lashes, definitely longer than Jongin's own. Strong dark eyebrows cut into the boyish looks of the man's face, but the young effect is once again brought back by the heart-shaped lips with corners that are naturally just a little bit upturned. Straight black hair falls into the man's eyes, and Jongin thinks that if he were to shake his head it would resemble a dog.

He loves dogs.

A horizontally striped shirt and jean jacket complete the look, making the man seem way younger than 21. Jongin dismisses the thought before hesitantly speaking.

“Hi. You wouldn't happen to be-”

“Do Kyungsoo. A pleasure to meet you.” Kyungsoo scrambles to stand up, hands smoothing down his jacket and reaching out to shake Jongin's.

As Jongin shakes back he notices that Kyungsoo is rather short, having to crane his neck slightly to look the taller in the eye. The shorter of the two smiles, like he's genuinely happy to see Jongin. No one has looked at him like that in a long time, he remarks miserably.

When Kyungsoo smiles it's a full face one, eyelids curving into crescents and almost- heart shaped lips morphing into a fully-heart shaped grin. It's kind of beautiful, in a painful way.

Cute, Jongin thinks again.

He then immediately shakes his head. No, he has no time for cute things. He drops Kyungsoo's hand abruptly before replying- “Likewise.”

But Kyungsoo is still smiling and Jongin really wants to wipe it off his face. It's distracting, honestly.

Kyungsoo sounds nervous, gesturing to the chair opposite of him as he slides back into his own.  “Please, please, sit down. Um, we have a lot of things to talk about.”

As Jongin sits he feels the back of the chair digging into his lower back, grimacing uncomfortably before schooling his features back into normalcy.

Kyungsoo lays his palms flat on the table, and Jongin can see the visible tension ebbing out to his fingertips. The shorter bites his lip, full bottom one disappearing between two rows of pearly white teeth.

“So, um, this is terribly awkward and I feel like an idiot right now, but uh, Minseok never told me your name.” Kyungsoo locks his gaze on his hands, interlocking them on the wooden table.

Good Minseok, Jongin thinks. Minseok probably wanted to leave room for Jongin to decide what he wanted the boy to know him as. It’s easier that way.

“Kim Jongin.” Jongin realizes he hasn't smiled once since he arrived here, so as he says his name he tries it out. It's a tight lipped smile that quickly begins to resemble a crude mimic of Kyungsoo’s beautiful one so he drops it.

“Jongin…” Kyungsoo makes the two syllables sound way too innocently sensual and Jongin tells himself that the way his name rolls so easily off Kyungsoo’s tongue doesn't send shivers down his spine

He clears his throat.

“So Kyungsoo, tell me about your project.” Even if he's thrown off, Jongin has never been known to be a stumbling mess.

Kyungsoo can't exactly say the same for himself.

The sound of his name brings his head whipping up, large eyes widening. He's silent for a second before remembering that this is when he's supposed to speak.

“Right… Um, well, I'm a film student at the, uh, Korean Academy of Film Arts, and I'm in my third year. I have to do this project for my second semester, and it's uhm, it's a short film. Ten minutes long, really small. I couldn't really find any ideas until recently so it's really really last-minute, but I was thinking of doing something more homey, you know? I want to, um, capture a runaway teenager.”

Kyungsoo fiddles with his hands. Jongin stares at them.

They’re small.

Cute.

“Um, having run away from home when I was… 18 myself, I know that running away isn't really what everyone thinks it is. It's more than just a cry for help; it's actually an act of helping yourself too. And I wanted to capture that in film. But, uh, I need a pretty good actor for it. It'll be mostly close-up shots, to see how being a runaway really feels to that person, and I need someone who's used to doing that more... technical kind of thing.”

Jongin nods, entranced by the way Kyungsoo speaks. It makes him fascinated in film, and Jongin hasn't watched a movie in over ten years.

“When Minseok approached me yesterday I didn't think that I could be so lucky. And I know that it's not a done deal yet, don't worry, but um, after meeting you I'd really like it if you would consider. Because um, Jongin-ssi, you do uh- have a very nice face for close ups.”

Kyungsoo blushes beet red at his own words, and while Jongin still looks like a stone on the outside, on the inside he's cursing Minseok for suggesting he even come. Because he's enthralled by Kyungsoo, that's the only way to put it.

He’s silent for a second too long so Kyungsoo tries again nervously. “Would this be um… something that you could consider? I can’t pay you very much, and I know that you're a legitimate actor who deserves a legitimate pay, but it would help me out a lot.” Kyungsoo bites his lip nervously.

, Jongin breathes in his mind, the kid needs to stop doing that. The thing with his lip. Biting it. Yeah. That. .

“Just Jongin is fine Kyungsoo.”

What the .

“If we're going to be working together on this we may as well be comfortable with each other-” Jongin says it before he can even think about it, immediately regretting his words when Kyungsoo breaks out into another heart-wrenching smile.

He swears under his breath.

First of all, he's not really an actor and has no actual screen experience.

Second, he's a ing mob leader and doesn't have time for this .

But Kyungsoo looks at him with such hope in his eyes, like Jongin literally has the entire world on a silver platter for him. In his line of work, people don't look at you like that. Ever. Jongin hasn't seen such a gentle and sincere face in years, and something about Kyungsoo makes him want to hold him away from all the bad things in the world. Himself included.

Jongin can't bring himself to say no so instead he says- “But. I,” He touches the gold bangle on his wrist. “I can't actually be in the film.” Kyungsoo face drops at this, eyebrows scrunching up in confusion.

“I have a contract, in Canada. I'm not allowed to work with other production companies, small or large, until I'm done the project I’m currently working on. Conflict of interest.” He twiddles his thumbs, something he’s never done but has seen Chanyeol do when he’s nervous.

Kyungsoo looks crestfallen. “Ahh, I see. Well uh, Jongin I-” He trails off.

Jongin decides he doesn’t like it when Kyungsoo doesn’t smile. His face seems too severe.

“But perhaps I can still provide some assistance.”

Oh God.

“I can't be in it, but I could be there to give advice to whoever is in it, if you'd like?”

.

“Really?” With two sentences Jongin has brought back the life in Kyungsoo's eyes and it kills him. The boy shouldn't get his hopes up.

Not for him.

But the smile he gets is beautiful, and Jongin can’t help the way his heart stutters a bit at the pink lips.

Cute.

“Mm.” He hums in agreement, because he doesn’t trust himself to speak right now.

“Are you sure?” Kyungsoo looks kind of confused.

Jongin is too.

“I believe so.”

“Wow.”

“Indeed.”

“Wow. Um. Thank you Jongin, really. That's uh, that's just fantastic. I promise, it'll be worthwhile.”

“I'm sure it will be Kyungsoo.” Jongin supplies, purposefully ignoring the way Kyungsoo shivers as the older says his name.

“Well uh. Now that that’s settled, and really thank you so so much again, did you um, have any questions?” Kyungsoo’s mouth is moving at a thousand miles a minute in excitement.

Jongin tilts his head. “You said that you’re a third year, correct?”

“Uh huh.” He says this with a small little nod and Jongin can’t help the warm laugh that erupts from him. Everything Kyungsoo does screams youthfulness and it’s refreshing.

“Well you certainly don’t look like it, Kyungsoo.”

Kyungsoo bites back a frown. He hates it when people call him young.

It’s what his parents did.

“I promise you I am.”

Jongin an eyebrow. “Don’t worry, Kyungsoo, I’m not here to discredit you, I’m just stating an observation.” The shorter nods in embarrassment, cheeks reddening slightly. “Anyways, tell me about film school. Why did you enroll?”

Kyungsoo looks taken aback for a second, clearly not expecting this question. He nibbles his bottom lip and Jongin can't help but watch hungrily as Kyungsoo flicks his tongue out to wet it.

He takes a breath. “I guess I enrolled because I like to make people feel things. And film does that, right? Makes you cry, makes you laugh, and so many other things, and that's what I want to do. I want to move people.” Kyungsoo looks away from Jongin, out the window and into the distance.

He lets out a self-deprecating chuckle. “Not by being like some Asian Martin Luther, because God knows I couldn't speak in front of that many people, but I feel like I can accomplish the same thing with film, just in a different way. Does that make sense? I feel like it doesn't.” Kyungsoo eyebrows furrow.

Jongin offers a small smile.

“I think I understand.” He begins slowly. “You want to move an audience, but not with words; with images and pictures. And a picture's worth a thousand words, so a collection of them must be priceless. Correct?”

Kyungsoo blinks. “Wow, um. Yeah. Exactly. That's impressive.”

Jongin shrugs. “I'm no poet.”

“Sure sounds like it.” The shorter smiles warmly and Jongin returns it.

“So um Jongin, what about you? What inspired you to get into acting?”

Jongin laughs awkwardly, hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Good question, Kyungsoo.”

He coughs.

“I suppose, it was a mix of things. I don't exactly care for dealing with large numbers of people either, but I've been told I have the character for it, so why not just do it to a camera as a middleman of sorts?”

The other nods in understanding. “That makes sense, actually. Pretty smart. Well, you won't have to deal with many people when you're working with me. It's just me behind the camera and my friend slash roommate Baekhyun.” A regretful smile. “He's a handful but I'll tell him to behave.”

Jongin's frowns at Kyungsoo’s voice. His face seemed to light up as soon he mentioned this Baekhyun character, and it doesn't sit well with Jongin. He doesn't like to share.

Not that Kyungsoo is his.

“Baekhyun?”

“My roommate.”

“Ah…. You care for him, don't you?”

Kyungsoo chuckles. “Of course I do. We've been friends for as long as I can remember.”

Jongin nods. He wants to prod further and ask if there's something more, but he drops it. Why give the idea to Kyungsoo if it wasn't already there?

“That's uh, that's very observant of you, Jongin.”

He shrugs. “In my line of work it's better to be able to read people easily.”

“Yeah I suppose with actors everyone has the potential to be really good at being two-faced, huh?” Kyungsoo says with a joking lilt.

“Yeah, acting.” Jongin's jaw clenches. He wasn't even thinking about his “new job” when he said that. He needs to be careful. Being around Kyungsoo makes him let his guard down.

Whatever that means.

Kyungsoo notices the sudden tension in the air and apologizes profusely. “I-I'm sorry Jongin, I didn't mean that you were two-faced. Really, you seem great to me.”

Jongin relaxes, the moment gone.

“Thank you, Kyungsoo. Good to hear that you'll enjoy working with me as much I'll enjoy working with you.” Said male flushes.

“Of course, I'm really excited. I hope we'll all get along well.” A pause. “Baekhyun takes a little getting used to though, I'll admit.” A sheepish smile.

Jongin wills away the snarl that comes up when Kyungsoo mentions his roommate. He needs to control himself.

“No worries Kyungsoo, I'm used to dealing with all kinds of people. You learn how to adapt. Showbiz trick.” He says casually with a flick of his hand. 

“Good.” Kyungsoo pauses. “Well, speaking of Baekhyun, I should probably be heading back. Neither of us have eaten yet and I wouldn't trust Baekhyun to make cereal.”

Kyungsoo moves to stand up and Jongin naturally follows like the gentleman he is.

Kyungsoo collects his coat and book before facing Jongin again. “Really, Jongin, thank you so much for doing this. You have no idea how much you're helping me.”

“It's honestly no problem Kyungsoo.”

And for some inexplicable reason Jongin wants their first encounter to leave an impact on the younger, so after a moment he leans in close to Kyungsoo, hot breath fanning over his skin.

He hears Kyungsoo inhale sharply and waits a long second before whispering- “I’m sure this will be very… memorable for both of us.” His voice dropping five octaves and turning into liquid honey.

Kyungsoo shivers visibly and Jongin grins devilishly into his neck, backing away abruptly. He slips a piece of paper into Kyungsoo’s palm, the other still standing rooted in shock.

“Here's my contact number. Reach me with the details. I'll see you soon, Kyungsoo.” His eyes bore straight into Kyungsoo’s soul, saccharine words melting his body.

And with that Jongin turns around and briskly walks to the exit, door flinging open carelessly as he steps into the cold November afternoon.

Kyungsoo huffs, heartbeat returning back to normal. He opens the folded paper to reveal small digits written in precise script.

His gaze then flicks back to the door of the library, the image of Jongin walking away with his broad shoulders proudly on display in his black button up still fresh in his mind.

ing rich people, Kyungsoo thinks for the second time that week.

•

 

A/N: Hey there :))) Feel free to subcribe, add me, and comment your opinions. It would be really great to hear what people think. The first chapter is actually, in my opinion, the worst one, so I promise it'll get a lot better from here on out. Hope you like it!!