8749 words

I'm not going to rate this chapter M but there is violence heads up

5.

His finger closes over the trigger when Taemin stops him.

“Uh uh uh, I wouldn’t be doing that if I were you, Kai.” Jongin pauses, expression quizzical and blood pounding in his ears. “You see, I have a gun pointed directly at Kyungsoo here, right between his shoulder blades. A rather painful shot to receive, in my humblest opinion.”

Jongin stiffens, finally noticing Taemin’s arm bent at the elbow behind Kyungsoo’s back. His brow creases and his breath comes out sharply as he slowly lowers his gun. He hopes that Minseok is doing the same behind him, because he’d rather be in a vulnerable position than have a dead Kyungsoo any day. Taemin makes no move to pull his trigger though, so Jongin lets out a sigh of relief.

“What do you want, Taemin?” Jongin asks evenly, forefinger still toying with the Gloc’s release.

Taemin laughs, a short one that to Jongin’s ears holds no humour.

“Nothing, Kim Kai, nothing. I simply enjoy watching the world burn, and seeing as Kyungsoo is your world, it only seems fair that he burns as well.”

Jongin growls.

“If you lay a finger on him Taemin, I will personally cut it off.”

Taemin smiles. “I suppose you must be blind then Kai, because if you weren’t, I believe you would have noticed that I’ve already laid several fingers on him.” He points out, grandly gesturing to the gashes that cover Kyungsoo’s skin.

Right on cue the black-haired man lets out a moan of pain, which makes Jongin flinch and Taemin smirk. Kyungsoo seems to be largely incoherent, a fact for which Jongin is immensely grateful. He knows the pain a knife can inflict. Very much so.

But seeing Kyungsoo in such a state has his mind reeling and his pulse hammering, and it makes him want to fall onto his knees and surrender. Thank God he's not alone.

“Taemin this is ridiculous. Kyungsoo has nothing to do with you.” Minseok tries from behind him.

Taemin tsks. “Ah, but really, Kyungsoo has everything to do with me.”

Taemin almost looks otherworldly right now, eyes wild and blonde hair disheveled. He looks like he just escaped death, and for all Jongin knows that may be exactly what he's just walked into. Taemin shakes his head, eyes never leaving Jongin and pitying smile slowly gracing his features. As the pearly whites reveal themselves Jongin finds that he feels sick, because there is something concerningly wrong with Taemin’s smile. It looks unnatural. Not forced but just so wrong.

“You must understand, Kai here is a very selfish person. He likes to take the credit for everything. You rob a bank, he’ll say he orchestrated it. You cook a meal, he’ll say he prepped all the ingredients. You run a marathon, he'll say he mentored you. You kill your father, he takes over leadership instead of you.”

Jongin blinks, expecting those to be the last words to ever leave the blonde’s mouth. He can see Taemin his lips in anticipation, the dry tip just barely visible through his teeth, but it sends a shudder through Jongin nonetheless.

His heart pounds as Taemin takes a breath and continues. “He’s just so unfair, so please do not tell me that Kyungsoo has nothing to do with me.”

Minseok blinks. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don't. Dear Minseok, I didn't understand for the longest time either, but I think I do now. I think I understand how it feels to be on top for the first time in my life, and I'm really hoping that Kai here is understanding how it feels to be the loser for the first time in his.” He takes a breath. “This is all just one big, giant race, and Kyungsoo is my prize. My ing consolation prize because it'll still never be enough, but at least I placed third and Kai placed fourth. That's all I've ever wanted, all I ever needed. Not first, heavens no, but a solid anywhere above Kai would do.”

Jongin feels the earlier trickle of sweat on his back race all the way down, and he feels several more collect under his bottom lip. He doesn't like where this conversation is headed, not at all.

Minseok, however, has no clue what this all means, so as his brow furrows he can't help but wonder what made Taemin so bitter in the first place. He can see the sourness in the way the mod leader smirks at him, fingers gently brushing through Kyungsoo’s hair in a way that spells victory. The way the corners of his mouth tilt up but still look lopsided, the way the expression doesn't quite lift the deadness from his eyes.

“Taemin please, you have a vendetta, I get that. I do. But put your gun down, and we'll give you anything you want, money, fame, resources, connections. Just let Kyungsoo go.”

Taemin laughs, and when he does it spits blood onto Kyungsoo’s hair. “You still don’t get it, you still don’t. Let’s see if this will move you along. I’ll tell you a story.”

Minseok rolls his eyes, because what the actual , but his eyes stop mid circle when Taemin speaks.

“A lifetime ago, there was a young man whose name was Kim Jongin. He was born into a family of illegal drug deals and midnight assassinations, and to put it simply, he was perfect. He had beautiful hair, beautiful eyes, a beautiful body, and a beautiful mind. He was intelligent, cunning, motivated, calculated, bold, flawless. At age eighteen there was not a single person in all of Seoul’s underground crime ring that didn’t know his name. He had already established a reputation for himself of being ruthless and strategic, and anyone who came across his face could match it to the name without a second thought. While children of the underground his age were still clumsily learning how to fire a pistol, Jongin was already killing their parents and bringing to everything they had ever owned and called their own. Kim Jongin was a saint, or maybe he was more like the devil.

“And then there was the brother. He went by a different name in that lifetime, one that no one knew back then and one that no one will miss now. In many aspects, he was just as good as his brother. Smart, handsome, talented, physical, but for some reason it just never seemed to be enough. Never seemed to be better. He could memorize the first 50 digits of pi, but not 60. He could crack a safe, but not with his bare hands. He could shoot a man with one bullet from twenty feet, but not from thirty. He could run the mile, but not two. He was every bit the leader he knew he could be, but he wasn’t Jongin. And he never would be.

“So he turned to the shadows. He had been swept under the rug for as long as he could remember, and no one really payed attention to him slipping away anyways. Until he made them notice. Made them notice, when one morning he visited his father, the infamous Kim Kibum, fixed him his coffee, then as he took his first ship shot him in the head three times. An action so heartless it would have been worthy of the legendary Kim Jongin. And it was. But then again, planning had never been this boy’s strong suit, so when people started to whisper that it was Jongin who had done it, that it was Jongin who had pulled the trigger, he didn’t know what to do. No one would believe this miserable ing boy who wanted nothing but to emulate his brother, who would always just be part of the shadow.

“So he talked to his brother. To the fabulous Kim Jongin. And when he asked him to tell all of his supporters that he hadn’t done it, that it was really the work of the boy who deserved it so much more, Jongin looked him blankly in the eye and said I don’t know what you’re talking about. I pulled that trigger, and I killed our father. And after that he shut the boy out. Left him to die on the streets, because in his world there was no room for someone who couldn’t even convince a man to tell the truth to his own brother.

“The boy wasn’t mad, really. Not in the way you might think. But it gave him the motivation, the push that he had always needed to make something out of his life. Or well, what was left of it. Abandoned by his family, by The Family, that boy took matters into his own hands. As he heard whispers of Kim Jongin is the new leader of the Family, he changed his name to Lee Taemin, and swore that it would be a name that no one could ever forget. He created his own group, the Syndicate, a group designed to do everything the Family could do, but do it better.

“And now, ten years later, stands a boy named Lee Taemin, and a boy named Kim Jongin, and for the first time in their lives, the former is the one on top.”

Taemin is violently shaking when he finishes his last sentence, shoulder unbelievably tensed and hand gripping his pistol shakily. Jongin is afraid that he might pull the trigger.

Minseok’s jaw drops open, the sudden confession rendering him speechless. Jongin has never told him any of this, never even mentioned that he had a brother, least of all Lee Taemin. To say he’s shocked would be the understatement of the year, and as he takes in a deep breath in he looks to Jongin.

But the look falls onto dead eyes, because Jongin has heard this all before. This story. He’s lived it, but he never thought he would have to again. All Jongin can do is hope that Kyungsoo is too far gone to comprehend any of it.

“Jongin…” Minseok breathes.

“Yes Jongin,” Taemin says snarkily. “Did you tell Minseok about all this? About me? Did you tell Chanyeol? Or maybe, your precious Kyungsoo?” As he says the last name he grips Kyungsoo’s hair and yanks his head to the right, stuffing his gun into the juncture between neck and shoulder.

Jongin growls, and Minseok has to admit that the sound even scares him.

He growls because even like this, even in this situation, Kyungsoo looks as beautiful as ever.

“Taemin, just let him go. This isn’t worth it.”

“Don’t ing tell me what is or isn’t worth it Kim Jongin!” Taemin screeches. “Don’t tell me that this isn’t worth it, because for longest time you made me feel like I wasn’t worth it. And you know what really isn’t worth it? You. You, Jongin, you, you, you. You are the most worthless piece of I have ever met, and you know what else? I think I might just pull this trigger.”

Taemin grins, but at this point it looks more like a grimace. “Good effort Jongin, but it seems you just weren’t meant to win.”

He blinks once.

Then the shot rings out and Kyungsoo slumps forward.

Everything from that moment moves in slow motion.

Jongin’s scream pierces the air and he raises his gun right to Taemin’s head. The blonde doesn’t even flinch, just gives him a smile that says that he’s happy to go.

Never had much purpose in life anyways.

Jongin doesn’t think twice when he fires off three rounds, two more than he really needed to, and he feels satisfaction as Taemin drops to the ground, cold. He walks over to the body and kicks it over until he’s met with the dead mob leader’s ugly, ugly face, and fires another shot. And another.

“You son of a  .” Shoot. “You stupid ing son of a .” Shoot. “I hope you go to Hell Lee Taemin,” Shoot. “Because then when I meet you there I can do this,” Shoot. “Over,” Shoot. “And over,” Shoot. “And over again.” Shoot.

His cartridge empties before his words do, and as he reaches to his back pocket to pull out his other pistol he hears a ringing. He feels rage bubbling up white hot in his veins, and he wants nothing more than to tear Lee Taemin limb  from limb and throw his remains into a vat of acid. He hears a rushing sound in his ears but nothing else, and as he eyeballs the blonde down the barrel of his Gloc his vision becomes spotty at the edges.

Kyungsoo.

“Jongin! Jongin stop it! He’s dead, he’s dead, just stop it! We have to get Kyungsoo out of here!”

And suddenly Jongin snaps back to his senses.

His palm goes lax and his gun clatters to the ground, but he can barely hear it over the relentless white noise that threatens to make him go deaf. He looks to the centre of the room to see Minseok kneeling over Kyungsoo, a Kyungsoo that looks far too dead to be his Kyungsoo. All Jongin can see is blood, blood, blood everywhere. It runs red over the white tiles of the vault and right up to his toes, where he chokes and gags.

“Jongin help me!” Minseok yells again, this time more angrily, and Jongin snaps his head up to be met with a pair of panicked eyes. Minseok’s scared, he thinks, and that’s all it takes before he’s rushing over to Kyungsoo and brushing back a strand of hair that’s clumped with blood to his forehead.

“Kyungsoo, Kyungsoo, Kyungsoo,” He repeats tirelessly, trying to get the man beneath him to respond. Trying to get him to live.

“Sorry, love, this is going to hurt.” He whispers softly, before he’s scooping him up in his arms and struggling to stand straight. Minseok rushes to help him but Jongin just growls, get those ing lasers down.

Minseok runs back to the corridor and Jongin only hears yells of Chanyeol’s name because he’s too busy staring at Kyungsoo’s face. The younger still takes his breath away, even when he barely has any of his own left. Jongin’s thumb traces Kyungsoo’s split lip and wipes away the trickle of blood that seeps from the seam of his lips, and as beautiful as Kyungsoo looks right now, it all seems so wrong. Wrong that he can barely feel the shorter’s heartbeat even though he’s smushed against his chest, wrong that Kyungsoo’s face is blanching far too quickly, wrong that Kyungsoo won’t open his eyes and look back at him with the love that Jongin knows would be there. Should be there.

For the first time in his life, he just might be scared, and that thought frightens him almost as much as the nearly lifeless man in his arms.

He hears a shout of his name and looks up to see Minseok beckoning him from the corridor, lasers now lowered. Jongin trudges towards Minseok as fast as he possibly can but Minseok yells at him to move faster and Jongin tries his best but it feels like everything is drenched in molasses. When he finally reaches the elevator shaft he’s met with Chanyeol’s large outstretched palm, pulling at Kyungsoo and taking him into his arms. He tells Jongin to climb up, and the brunette can only follow the instructions numbly as he leaves the bloody vision of Kyungsoo below him.

Minseok follows next, leaning back down over the shaft once he’s reached the top to grasp Kyungsoo by his elbows from Chanyeol and pull him up. He passes the limp body off to Jongin before helping Chanyeol up, and once all four have made it Minseok scoops Kyungsoo up in his arms because Jongin seems incapable of supporting even himself right now.

They race to the back entrance, and before he knows it, Jongin’s face is swamped in cold air and a late November snow. The snowflakes tickle his chin as his feet move towards their van, towards Kyungsoo, towards safety.

Chanyeol yanks open the door and shoves Jongin inside while Minseok unceremoniously dumps Kyungsoo’s body beside him, the two then climbing into the driver’s and passenger’s seats. Chanyeol presses hard on the gas and Minseok tells him to hurry up, hurry up, hurry up.

And amongst all this chaos Jongin finds himself admiring Kyungsoo’s face again, because his love is an angel and he simply can’t resist. He can just barely feel the rise and fall of the narrow chest under his palm, and it allows hope to flourish in the pit of his stomach, blooming like the flowers in early spring.

But it’s eerily quiet in the van, Jongin too busy gazing and Chanyeol and Minseok too unsure of what to say. The silence rings loudly, and Jongin feels his chest tighten.

The silence builds and builds and builds, until it’s almost deafening, and then there’s a gasp, and Kyungsoo’s sputtering blood out of his mouth as he takes in a shaky breath.

If it can even count as a breath.

Jongin’s eyes widen as Kyungsoo’s struggle to open, and he doesn’t stop the sigh of relief that bubbles up.

Kyungsoo’s alive, Kyungsoo’s alive, Kyungsoo’s okay.

At least for now.

“Soo…” Jongin whispers, like the name is water and he’s a man that’s been stranded in the Sahara for weeks.

“H-hey.” Kyungsoo croaks weakly, left eye opening partially to reveal the stunning eyes that he’s missed so much.

Jongin smiles softly and lets the corners of his eyes crinkle, because he knows that Kyungsoo likes it when he does that.

The other seems to notice and with a pained expression he reaches up to touch Jongin’s face with bloodied fingers. “You really are handsome you know,” He says wistfully, cloudy look in his eyes.

Jongin chuckles softly. “You make it sound like you never noticed.”

“Let’s just say that near death experiences make everything seem more beautiful.”

“Even Baekhyun?”

“Oh God no.” Kyungsoo drops his hand.

Jongin laughs, a full-body one that has Minseok turning his head to check on them. When he sees the two he just smiles and turns back around, gaze focused on the distance.

Jongin quiets down and lets the van be silent for a moment, because he’d rather stare at Kyungsoo for a minute than say another word for the rest of his life. But Kyungsoo breaks the stillness first.

“I...I meant what I said, Jongin…” The older squints. “About… not caring. About what you do. And I still mean it. I don’t care.”

Jongin lets out a shuddering breath, because Kyungsoo just nearly died, and he really should not be saying these things.

“You’re an idiot!” Chanyeol shouts from the driver’s seat.

Kyungsoo jumps and Jongin just smiles.

“You probably are, Kyungsoo.” He confirms as he plants a kiss on the smaller’s temple.

Kyungsoo grins, and Jongin feels his heart stop.

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot.”

Then his eyes roll back in his head.

And now it’s Kyungsoo’s turn for his heart to stop.

•

But he doesn't die that night.

Or the next.

Or the next.

Or the one after that.

They manage to bring Kyungsoo back to life with three rounds of CPR and shocks of the defibrillator, but only just barely. They're forced to enter him into a comatose state, while his body recovers and mends over all his wounds. Which turn out to be quite extensive, as it stands.

24 lacerations across the chest that require 7 stitches each, 3 broken ribs, a minor concussion-

And a bullet through the chest.

They say that it's exceedingly lucky that the bullet passed cleanly through and didn't hit any major organs, but as Jongin had watched through a glass window as doctors and nurses rushed back and forth doing everything they could to keep Kyungsoo alive, he couldn't help but think that it was anything but.

The ringing hasn't stopped either. For three days and three nights he hasn't left Kyungsoo’s side, and the ringing hasn't left his ears. Minseok tells him that he should get it looked at, but Jongin isn't listening because he's too focused on the shallow sounds of Kyungsoo’s breaths.

He's tried talking to him, touching him, kissing him even, but Kyungsoo is just as stubborn as he's always been and refuses to wake up. Or well, that's what Jongin likes to think. The alternative is that Kyungsoo can't get up, and to the taller that just sounds so, so much worse.

And so he sits, and sits, and sits. He never lets the other’s palm slide out of his grasp, never lets his fringe fall into his face. Jongin ordered Kyungsoo into a private room (because let’s just say he's done some business with the hospital director in the past), so that he could stay with him night and day and never be interrupted.

He's perfectly content waiting forever for Kyungsoo to wake up, but after a week Minseok is concerned. Jongin hasn't slept since the night Kyungsoo died and then didn't, maybe stealing an hour here, 90 minutes there. And he's pretty sure Jongin hasn't eaten a solid meal in several days either. The mod leader looks gaunt, and tired, and just so not okay, that it scares Minseok. He's never seen his boss look anything but robust and confident and cold, and to see the vulnerability and fear in his eyes breaks his heart.

He just doesn't know how to help.

But help apparently comes in the way of privacy, when a week stretches into two and people start to wonder where Kim Kai has gone. Why he's just disappeared off the grid without a single word. Lee Taemin too. Minseok, Chanyeol, Joonmyeon and Yixing hush any whispers that they hear, but they are simply four men, and Seoul’s underground crime ring extends far past the reach of thousands.

Minseok goes to him one night, in the early hours of the ghost watch, when the moonlight streaming in from the windows highlights Jongin’s sunken face and makes him seem smaller. He sits on a chair beside the bed, and tells him in a whisper far too harsh for the quiet of the room, “Jongin. I think you need to get back to work. I know Kyungsoo is… Kyungsoo, but you knew what this was when it started, and you knew it only led to one place.”

“Here. I know, Min, I know.” Is the only thing Jongin says before smiling and patting Kyungsoo's hand. But he doesn't let go, and Minseok is starting to get the idea that he may not ever.

A few more days and Jongin is running out of time. Minseok knows this, Chanyeol knows this, and Jongin knows it most of all, but yet he still can't find it in himself to leave Kyungsoo.

Not yet.

The room is bathed in fluorescent lighting and it’s making Jongin a little sick, the sharp glow hurting his overtired eyes. He hasn't slept in a long time, not a decent sleep anyways, but it doesn't matter to him because he feels like he's in a permanent dream state. Seeing Kyungsoo but not being able to touch him. Watching Kyungsoo but not being able to hold him. It's surreal, and he can't say that he enjoys the feeling.

Eventually a solemn-eyed doctor strolls casually into Jongin’s life just to ruin it, telling him they’re not sure how much longer they can keep Kyungsoo in his suspended state because they’re a hospital and they need the space. The declaration earns the doctor a nasty black-eye and they seem to reach a mutual agreement that Kyungsoo will stay.

Kyungsoo will stay.

But Jongin has to go.

Back to Minseok, back to Chanyeol, back to the Family, back to his life, because that’s what he does. He moves on, and he forgets.

It’s snowing on the day that he leaves the hospital, white flakes dropping down from the sky like feathers and tickling his nose. Minseok tells him to put on a jacket but of course he doesn’t listen because he doesn’t feel anything anyways.

HIs office feels colder from the last time he was in it, maybe because it’s now early December or maybe because there seems to be a little less life in the world everywhere that Jongin goes. The lights seem a little dimmer and the carpet seems a little duller, but either way it’s as close to a home as Jongin will ever get, so he moves on, and he forgets.

Minseok tells him that in light of his disappearance, the Syndicate has fallen into shambles and their members have scattered everywhere, nearly impossible to trace. But nearly, as Jongin knows all too well, does not mean exactly.

He finds Lee Taemin’s former right hand man, Kim Jonghyun, two days later. Not by accident though, not by chance. It’s purposeful and it’s planned, and as Jongin plants the bullet into his skull he moves on, and he forgets.

The next day he finds three of Taemin’s most prized hitmen, and as he slits each of their throats he feels his blood run cold, but that’s okay, because he moves on, and he forgets.

And so it goes like this, each day Jongin finding another ex-partner of the Syndicate and killing them in cold blood, in the same way that Taemin shot Kyungsoo through the chest.

He builds up quite a reputation, not that he doesn’t already have one, but he comes to be known as the cold killer who makes no sound and leaves no mess. He can hear it in the whispers of his allies, that they are afraid of him, that everyone is. He can see it in the way his enemies look at him, that they know what comes after seeing Kim Jongin’s face. It seems to become Jongin’s only purpose in life after a while, hunting down and killing anyone who he could possibly link to Kyungsoo, because with each shot he fires, every knife he buries, every body that falls to the ground, he moves on, and he forgets.

He knows that his men are worried, that they don’t like talking to him anymore because he stares at them with dead eyes and sometimes doesn’t even respond. Chanyeol and Minseok try to give him space, but Jongin can still feel their bodies on the other side of his door, always waiting, always watching.

It’s when Minseok storms into his office one day, screaming at him to snap out of it and be the man he’s supposed to be, that Jongin finally gets it. He watches numbly as tears threaten to stream down from Minseok’s eyes, as his friend throws vases and files and words all around the room and screams into Jongin’s face to wake up, wake up, wake up.

When Minseok stops suddenly, catching his breath and eyes widening as he looks at the mess he’s made, it makes Jongin think of Kyungsoo, of the way Kyungsoo had looked at him when he had told him that he loved him.

He thinks of the way Kyungsoo had said it back to him, of the way it had been so breathtaking.

Then he thinks of the way that Kyungsoo’s body is lying limp and alone in a hospital bed.

And with that image in his head he moves on.

And he forgets.

•

Jongin has always been stubborn, so a month later, his brain tries to make him remember.

The setting is a high-end club, meant for the elite and definitely not for people like Jongin. Socialites and famous celebrities with hidden personal lives crowd the dance floor, and the booths are all over-cramped and far too small.

The dull thud of bass and EDM pounds into his skull relentlessly, like a migraine, but Jongin finds that he actually quiet enjoys it. It's numbing, and maybe just a bit surreal. Exactly what he needs to make him forget on a night like this.

Because he's already moved on.

This is his first real mission if you will since… well, since things happened, and he knows that Minseok has been holding back for his sake. But Wu Yifan is looking to do business again, and this time he needs an assassin. Jongin had immediately volunteered because these days he enjoys nothing more than shooting things. It’s his coping mechanism.

His target for the night is Kim Jongdae, a young man in his early twenties who stole something or other from Yifan and just generally made him look like an . Good, Jongin thinks somewhere in the back of his head, because with the Syndicate disbanded Yifan had risen a little too high on his horse for his liking.

But whatever had happened is none of his concern, as he’s here to identify Jongdae, pull him to the side, and shoot. A simple three step plan that Jongin is confident he can adhere to.

He sits alone in a booth, the only empty one, because his glare had scared off even the bravest of patrons. Jongin knew that he had this way of looking at people like they just killed his puppy and he was going to kill them back. It could be quite unnerving, but extremely effective.

He swirls the amber liquid around in his glass and watches intently as it creates a small vortex in the centre. The ice clinks along the edges and Jongin tilts his head to the side, watching as the cubes slowly melt into the drink. It’s nice to be in his own little world among all the noise around him, the sounds fading into the background and his eyes squinting at his hands.

He was told that Kim Jongdae would be arriving at the club sometime near midnight, something about meeting someone and something or other else. He didn’t really know the full details of it, and quite honestly he didn’t really care. He’s just there to get the job done, and then he’ll forget about it the next day.

Because forgetting is what he does best.

His Gloc rests on his thigh, hidden from prying eyes but still easily accessible for when he’ll need it. He finds the heavy weight of it comforting in his palm, and he runs his forefinger along the barrel as he leans back into the plush cushions of the booth seat. He has a bit of time before Jongdae is scheduled to arrive, had gotten here early on purpose, and Jongin takes a moment to think about the way that Lee Taemin died.

It’s something that crosses the mob leader’s mind every single day, whether it be in his waking hours or when he’s deep in sleep. At night he always wakes up in a cold sweat and with a furrowed brow, shaking violently as his heart races to calm down. He doesn’t go a day without picturing the way Taemin’s face had looked so not surprised, the way that the life had drained from his eyes so calmly. And it makes him furious. Furious because Taemin deserves to die a thousand times and be terrified each and every time. Furious because the blonde hadn’t gone with a dramatic last word but rather with a boom and a bang. And furious most of all, because Jongin really wishes he had shot the man one more time.

But as the days have gone by Jongin seems to forget why imagining exquisite ways to kill the deceased mobster has become his favourite pastime. He seems to forget about a young man named Kyungsoo, who had a wide smile and dreams to go for miles. Instead he remembers bodies crumpling to the floor and bleach blonde hair soaked through with blood.

It’s a selective kind of memory, but it works.

It helps him forget.

His rolex shows the time to be 11:55 when  a door opens in the club across from his table and catches his eye. In strolls a broad and bulky man with virtually no neck, clad in a black suit and ear piece stuffed into his ear. He looks like every bodyguard from every action ever made, and with a snicker in the back of his mind Jongin thinks that this man embodies the likelihood of a rock.

The newcomer’s eyes scan the room carefully, pausing on Jongin as they take in the scene for what he assumes would be any immediate threats. Jongin doesn’t exactly blend in here he knows, most blaringly obvious the fact that he seems to be the only one not trying to get laid tonight. But he makes sure not to make eye contact with the guard and instead glances away casually. He feels the gaze lift off of him after a moment and slowly turns his head back to see the man whispering back into the semi-open crack of the door behind him.

He moves to the side and suddenly another body is slipping through the door, this time a much narrower man with a devil’s grin and charming jaw. This must be the infamous Kim Jongdae, eyes alight with charm and posture rigid with poise.

He sees Jongdae mutter something back to the neckless man before the latter disappears into the throng of people and leaves Jongdae standing by himself. As the smaller man’s head rotates to survey the crowd it gets stuck on Jongin, just like his guard’s had, because Jongin will always attract attention and that’s just a fact.

Jongin makes himself seem inviting, smirk gracing his lips and eyes narrowing seductively. It seems to peak Jongdae’s though, the man raising his eyebrow to see if Jongin is looking at him.

The mob leader just lifts his glass to his lips and hides the lower part of his face behind it, eyes concentrated on the figure across the club as he winks.

You know it goes from there.

An hour later Jongin has Jongdae beaten and bloodied in one of the club’s private rooms, the smaller man uselessly trying to crawl away from him. But it’s futile, as Jongin kicks him in the stomach and sends him sprawling across the floor once again. Jongdae gasps for breath, and the man above him smiles almost sadistically, because he can’t help the thrill that rushes through his blood at the sight of someone lying helpless below him. Time makes you cold, and Jongin is a prime example of just that.

He had decided to have a bit of fun with this case, because Jongdae had seemed so unexpecting and honestly, putting a single bullet through a target’s head can only be exciting so many times. So he had dragged the man into a room with a nod to an employee and had barely closed the door before he had spun around and swung his fist right at the other’s jaw.

It leads them to where they are now, Jongdae on his stomach and Jongin closing in for the kill. He pulls out his gun because it’s getting late and he should really be thinking of heading home, and he takes one painstakingly slow step after another to the panting mess on the floor.

As he approaches though, Jongdae flops onto his back in defeat and looks him dead in the eye. All the confidence Jongin had seen in his face when he first saw is now long gone, being replaced by a look of desperation.

“P-Please…” He stutters out. “Don’t do this.”

Jongin laughs humourlessly. “And why should I not?” He asks cheekily.

“Because… it’s not worth it. Don’t you see that? This isn’t how it has to be, this isn’t how this has to end.”

Jongin smirks. “Dear Jongdae, that is exactly where you are wrong. Everything has to end eventually, I know that better than anyone, and what better way to go than with a pop and a flash of smoke?”

He levels the gun to be in line with Jongdae’s nose and his finger itches to pull the trigger. The snivelling man tries one last final time to whimper out an objection, but it falls on deaf ears as Jongin’s face morphs into a carefully blank expression.

“Sorry love, this is going to hurt.”

And Jongdae closes his eyes.

And waits.

And waits.

And waits?

But the trigger is never pulled.

The shot never goes off.

Jongdae squeezes one eye open when there’s another second and no bang, just as Jongin falls to his knees on the floor in front of him and lets the Gloc clatter from his hands, skidding across the room. The sound startles the injured man and if he could he would jump back, but seeing as he’s immobile right now he looks up instead at his assassin's face.

Jongin’s eyes have glazed over and his mouth has dropped open, the world around him becoming muffled and blurry. He feels his pulse begin to race, because he can’t believe it.

Sorry love, this is going to hurt.

They’re the same words he said to Kyungsoo a month ago, as he had picked up his nearly lifeless body off the floor of that goddamned vault, as the shorter had let out a pained moan and Jongin had clutched him tighter. But now, Jongin isn’t doing the saving, he’s doing the killing.

And this time, it just doesn’t feel right.

He feels the first tremor wrack its way through his body before his shoulders slump forward and he feels a tear hit his cheek, for the very first time in his life. In this moment he thinks that he doesn’t like the salty wetness very much, but it’s really no use because another one rolls down caramel skin after that. And another. And another.

It’s all too much in this one crashing second and Jongin finally feels the weight of everything that’s happened come rushing at him. His heart skips as his brain is bombarding with beautifully torturing montage of Kyungsoo, of Kyungsoo and his eye smiles, of Kyungsoo and his laugh, of Kyungsoo and his blood surrounding him. Jongin opens his eyes to the very same shade of red pooling at his knees and he feels the dry heave bubbling up before he retches once into his hands. Nothing comes out, but Jongin is pretty sure that he doesn’t need physical evidence to deduce that a part of his soul just left his body.

Jongdae watches from the floor with widened eyes and a scared expression, because what the is happening and what the actual . In his delirious state it looks like God has just descended from heaven and releasing all of the pain he sees in the world every day at once, and it’s not difficult to say that Jongdae is absolutely terrified.

Through the blur of his eyelashes Jongin sees the figure of Jongdae and his head sinks even further into his chest as he growls at him to “Get out.”

Jongdae doesn’t need another reminder before he’s struggling to his feet and almost falling right back down, ankle twisted at an odd angle and every inch of his insides screaming.

But Jongin’s insides are screaming as well, and as Jongdae glances back over his shoulder he sees the sobs wracking the broad shoulders and decides that he won’t speak a word of this to anyone, because whatever it is that’s happening to the fallen man right now, is obviously punishment enough.

He limps away bit by bit, back towards safety and away from Jongin’s ruined body.

The latter should care that he just let a man go, that he just did whatever that was, but he doesn’t give a damn about anything right now because everything and it’s all too much.

It’s too much.

It’s too much.

But it’ll never be enough.

Because Jongin has forgotten, but it seems that he just can’t move on.

•

He remembers, however, a month later on New Year’s Eve.

Minseok brings a bottle of scotch into his office along with Chanyeol and three glasses, large grin taking over his face. Happiness still makes Jongin a little sick, but he’s getting used to it.

He’s moving on.

Or well, working on it anyways.

“Well, sir, we’ve made it through another year of illegality and criminal activity. Cheers to us!” Chanyeol toasts as he raises his glass. The giant may or may not already be slightly inebriated, not that Jongin can blame him. He could do with being drunk right about now.

He sits behind his desk and takes a deep swig of his scotch, eyes remaining blank even when he notes how smoothly it slides down his throat. Chanyeol and Minseok sit opposite him, and the three sink into silence. It’s been a chaotic year, to say the very least, and it would be a shame to pass up moments like these. Ones where it’s quiet, but there’s still that air of comfort because you’re with your two closest friends and nothing could touch you. It almost makes Jongin want to smile, but that’s not really something he does anymore.

It’s been that way for a while now, ever since that night with Jongdae. It’s like that had been the pushing factor for him, that it had been his defining moment, because from that night forward, Jongin hasn’t been the same. He’s always been a cold person, but now his frostiness lacks motivation and it just makes him appear more like a corpse than the one doing to killing. He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t respond  to Minseok and Chanyeol’s quips anymore, because they don’t make him feel that lightness that they used to, don’t make him smile.

Because he’s forgotten.

When his glass empties he looks pointedly at Minseok for a refill, but the dark-haired man just shakes his head, lips pulled into a small smile. Being too occupied with chugging down the honey liquid, Jongin hadn’t noticed the way that all eyes in the room had slowly become focused on him intently.

He frowns when he sees that the grin has intensified on Chanyeol’s face, and he looks questioningly at Minseok, who winks.

“Minseok?” He questions, because he’s not used to other two smiling so much around him anymore. They’ve mostly done their best to match his sullen mood because they know how Jongin is stubborn like that, but the blatant show of joviality is raising all kinds of alarms. “What’s going on?”

Minseok sighs, but it’s not an exasperated one.

“Jongin…” Chanyeol begins, but at this point he’s too drunk to do anything other than smile.

“What?”

It’s silent.

Jongin blinks.

“Kyungsoo.” Minseok blurts.

And even just the name has Jongin tensed and on high alert.

He chokes.

“Kyungsoo,” Minseok tries again,

“He’s awake.”

And suddenly Jongin’s world is crumbling down around him.

The words have barely left Minseok’s mouth before he’s bursting out of his chair and out of his office, running outside and pausing breathless when he sees his driver already waiting. Minseok catches up, slightly wheezing,  and looks at up Jongin through his lashes as he catches his breath.

He grins.

“I figured you’d be in a rush to leave, so I took the liberty of calling your ride.”

Jongin looks at him then, and though he’s not good with these kinds of words, he hopes that his expression conveys everything his mouth can’t.

Minseok just smiles. “You’re welcome, Jongin. Now go, before I decide I want to join you.” He grins playfully.

Jongin needs no further convincing before he’s sliding into the sleek black car and speeding off into the night. His mind races with thoughts of KyungsooKyungsooKyungsooKyungsooKyungsoo, and his fingers itch in anticipation. He thinks of heart-shaped lips, of soft eyes, of warm laughs and of Nikon cameras. It’s been far too long since he’s allowed himself to even think of the shorter, and he finds that the prospect of seeing him so soon doesn’t make his heart race any less than it used to.

He’s pushed every thought of Kyungsoo out of his head for so long, because he’s had to, but now that he doesn’t he’s not sure what to think. Will Kyungsoo still want to be with him? Will Kyungsoo still let himself be held in Jongin’s arms? Because honestly, he would be an idiot if he did. Just being associated with Jongin had gotten very, very nearly killed, and that wouldn’t even be the beginning of a future with the mob leader. If one even exists.

All too quickly they’ve arrived at the hospital and he jumps out of the car. He hears shouts for him to stop as he barges in through the doors and runs past countless nurses who barely swerve out of his way in time. He’s pretty sure he knocks over a child at some point but none of that matters because Kyungsoo is waiting and like hell is going to make him wait long.

His body still remembers the twisting path to the room where Kyungsoo’s been kept, and his dress shoes squeak as they pound across the white speckled tiles.

When he reaches Kyungsoo’s room he’s gasping for breath and a young man dressed in a white jacket and stereotypical stethoscope stops him from entering.

Between pants Jongin growls at the doctor to let him, but he just sadly shakes his head.

“I’m sorry sir, but I’m afraid I can’t do that. We have a strict policy to keep newly awaken comatose patients in a state of minimal outside contact for at least 24 hours to give them time to adjust.”

Jongin frowns at this, because that’s just bull. He straightens himself up and subtly broadens his shoulders to make himself seem a little more threatening, not that there’s much room for increase. He smiles politely and tilts his head. “You must not be aware then, that my name is Kim Jongin.”

At the mention of his name the doctor visibly stiffens and he immediately starts stammering out an apology. “I-I’m very sorry Mr. Kim, I was unaware. Please, go right ahead.” Jongin nods, satisfied, and moves to push past the man before he’s grabbing his elbow and Jongin turns around with a sigh.

“And, um, also sir, really thank you so much. Your contributions to this hospital have been amazing. With all the money that my department has now I was able to save a little girl’s life just last week. I just… wanted to let you know that.” And the man looks at him with such admiration that it sets Jongin on edge. He’s used to people looking at him in fear, disgust, and maybe a little bit of fear, but not this… thankfulness. It’s strange, he thinks, what a failed mission and a still-full cartridge can do, and how it can motivate you to give up every cent that you own (and donate it to the hospital where your brain-dead lover is kept). But hey, that's progress.

He just offers the doctor a small smile before shaking him off and slipping open the door to Kyungsoo’s room quietly. The door creaks open heavily and Jongin pokes his head in to be met with the sight of an angel.

Kyungsoo sits propped up on the bed, book in hand and round glasses perched on his nose. Jongin doesn’t remember those, and he thinks that they must be new, but either way they look fantastic on Kyungsoo, giving him a youthful and intelligent look that makes Jongin want to bury the shorter in his chest and never let him go.

Kyungsoo looks much the same as Jongin remembers, maybe a little thinner from months spent unconscious in his head, but still just as gorgeous as the day he met him. It will never cease to amaze him how a single person can make his heart race so much from a single glance, how one person could make him feel the things that Kyungsoo so effortlessly does.

But staring is quickly not enough, and when Jongin clears his throat Kyungsoo’s head snaps up. The younger chokes, and the book drops from his hand at the same time his jaw does. Jongin feels his mouth go dry because Kyungsoo is looking at him, Kyungsoo is awake, and it’s all too much for him to handle.

“J-Jongin…” Kyungsoo croaks, and Jongin almost wants to coo at how adorable the unused voice sounds, but he is a grown man, and he doesn’t coo. Obviously not.

“Hey Soo,” He says softly, and he realizes just how much he’s missed even simply calling the other’s name. He smiles. “Had a good nap, I hope?”

Kyungsoo laughs, a short-clipped one that’s still warmer than hot chocolate in the middle of winter. “Just how much did I miss in two months?” He asks. “Do you make… jokes now, Kim Jongin?”

Jongin grins, “Well, Do Kyungsoo,” Said man giggles and Jongin’s eyes crinkle because he’s never heard anything more precious, “As it turns out I do not, although I may start now if it means I get to hear your laugh again.” He winks.

“Oh Jongin, you can hear it whenever you want. It’s not going anywhere, not for you.” 

Jongin suddenly strides over to Kyungsoo and sits in the chair next to him, leaning on his elbows onto the bed.

“Kyungsoo, are you telling me that you’re going to be laughing at me? I’m a very dangerous person you know.”

“I’ve gathered.” Kyungsoo chuckles. “Trust me, I have extensive personal experience to back up that observation.”

Jongin laughs, because it’s so, so true, but at the moment it doesn’t have the impact it should because they’re both floating on cloud nine.

Jongin doesn’t answer and Kyungsoo just relaxes back into the pillows, eyes softening the longer they look at the taller. He regards him curiously and Jongin finds himself wanting to squirm under the younger’s gaze.

“You’re still unfairly handsome.”

Jongin smirks mischievously.

“Is that so?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Well, Kyungsoo, if you must know, you still look as beautiful as you did two months ago.” The words are said in such a tender voice that it has Kyungsoo’s heart stuttering, and Jongin looks at him with such a loving expression that he knows that nothing has really changed in the months he’s been away. Nothing important anyways. He’s still Kyungsoo, and Jongin is still Jongin, and the sparking connection between them right now is still called love.

He can’t help it when he grabs the back of Jongin’s neck with shaky fingers and pulls him in for possibly the best kiss of his entire life. It’s slow, it’s sweet, and it’s so long-awaited that Kyungsoo thinks he might only kiss Jongin once every two months if this is how good it’ll feel. He feels Jongin let out a breath into his mouth and he smiles into the kiss, pulling back not even half an inch.

“Hey Jongin…” He whispers hoarsely, and the other shows that he’s listening by grabbing Kyungsoo’s bottom lip between his teeth and nibbling lightly, foreheads still pressed together. “Jongin, I have something to tell you.”

Jongin ignores the younger and instead kisses him again, this time a little deeper and leaving them both a little more breathless. By the time he pulls away because they’re in a hospital and Kyungsoo is still recovering, the shorter is flushed and breathing hard (not that Jongin can claim to be any different). Their faces are now properly an inch apart, and Kyungsoo laughs lightly.

“Jongin,” He tries again, because in their elated states it’s honestly extremely difficult to concentrate on anything.

Jongin brushes back a lock of black hair that hasn’t been cut in several weeks from his eyebrow, something he seems to do a lot with the shorter man, and he can only smile because Kyungsoo is real.

Kyungsoo is everything he remembers.

And he doesn’t want to move on.

Kyungsoo presses their noses together, and Jongin thinks it may be his new favourite thing to do.

But then Kyungsoo has to interrupt his moment.

“I still don’t care.”

Goddamnit Kyungsoo.

Jongin laughs, the first real one he’s let out in far too long.

“Idiot.”

Kyungsoo grins, and with that one single smile Jongin knows that they’ll be alright.

They’ll figure things out.

Because he’s in love with a man named Kyungsoo, and Kyungsoo is in love with a man named Jongin.

And that is something that he'll never forget.

“This time, I couldn’t agree more.”

•

The end.

(But not really.)

 

 

A/N: That's the end! I know I posted all the chapters one after another, but this did actually take me about two months to create, write, and edit, so if you guys want to tell me how I did that woud be amazing <333 Thanks so much for reading, and I'll be back with another fic before you know it;)