Narrowing my eyes at him, suspicion - and apprehension - only makes me more urgent to get him off me.

"Where did you hear that from?" I ask in a low voice.

Wu Yifan doesn't answer; instead I feel the curve of his nose my neck up and down, and then he stops, his cheek pressed against my collarbone. The instinct to struggle is strong, and it doesn't look like I'm going to get any answers out of him.

"Want to know what your first mistake was?" he whispers lovingly into my neck.

Not be able to see my face, he misses me rolling my eyes.

"No one calls me Wu Yifan anymore," he snickers softly. "Call me Kris. Remember it when you're screaming my name later."

The bulge pressed against my belly tells me more than I need to know, and I really don't want to be doing that tonight. His hold on my wrists loosens as he moans louder, but the only thing I feel is annoyance and disgust. Enough if this act now.

"So you know my name," I say in a bored voice. "Remember it when you're begging me for mercy later."

My knee jabs upwards into his stomach and he gasps out loud in pain, momentarily taken by surprise. I slam my elbow down on his shoulder, hard enough to dislocate it, and curl my fist up into his chest to fracture a couple of ribs. He makes a frantic grab at my neck, but I catch his wrist and yank it away as I dart out from underneath his slack body. As I swing onto his back, Wu Yifan falls forward on the bed, face-planting into the headboard. Digging one knee firmly into his back, I stretch his arms out behind him with one hand and pull out the diamond belt with the other. When his wrists are secured, I dig around in his pockets, and toss the contents to a far corner of the room, except for his phone and wallet, which I pocket myself.

Then, I feel his body shaking beneath me. At first, I think his will has already snapped, but then I hear a strange spluttering sound that sounds a lot like laughter. Does this man ever stay silent?

"Are you going to shut up, or do you need me to do that for you?"

With a slight struggle and a lot of breathless chuckling, Wu Yifan manages to turn his head to the side. He's still smiling, a wide amused smirk, as if he's not pinned underneath one pissed off assassin.

"Where did you hear that name?" The hidden blade slides out, a metallic shing that freezes all humour in the room. I hold it there, the tip just hovering under his Adam's apple. He doesn't move, he doesn't breathe. Pressing the flat side of the blade against his neck so it doesn't draw blood, I speak with low menace.

"Answer me."

"Ru-rumours..." he rasps, rolling his eyes up to look at me.

A pause, as his breathing returns to normal. "Go on."

"They say... the yakuza and the Chinese triads... they say that there's this secret... school."

My mind goes blank and my blood runs cold at his words. A sudden hiss of pain sharpens my focus again, and grudgingly I loosen the death grip on the man's wrists. A tap of my blade urges him to continue.

"No one knows much about it, but... I hear they... train people."

He stops and swallows. Another hopeful glance up at me, but he sees nothing in my blank expression.

"They train them to... to kill. But they're like curses, myths, legends - if you see them, you're dead. I became curious... so I did some digging."

The academy's stayed hidden for centuries, silencing anyone who so much as breathed a word about us. Betrayal is impossible - isn't it? But there was that Frenchman, he too recognised my eyes. I didn't think much of it at the time, but now his reaction to my eyes seems more and more unusual. Speaking of which...

"You talked about my eyes before. What have you heard?" I demand, moving the blade to a spot above the back of his neck, letting him feel the cold metal against his flesh.

His whole body tenses, and he speaks even slower than before. "There was this one story that... stood out from the rest. I, uh, heard about someone who had... grey eyes. The t-top assassin... they called him A-Ashen. Didn't know it was... a girl..."

His voice stutters into a pathetic silence, made dumb by fear. Any more prodding, and he may burst into tears. It won't be the first time either.

"Thank you for your cooperation." A firm thump to the back of his head and he's out like a light. Sweet dreams, Kris. I didn't learn much, but the credit cards in my pocket can tell me where a man eats, where he shops, who his business partners are... This guy will lead us right to Onew's father.

Carelessly, roughly, I tear the clothes off his slack body and scatter them on the floor around the bed, ruffling the sheets a little. If anyone comes looking for him, they'll see what they expect to see. It's not exactly a pleasant task, despite what you may think. A rich, attractive, young man - fully clothed and passed out in a club? That would raise more eyebrows - and questions - than if he hadn't engaged in the sordid and dirty... activities.

It's no surprise when I find Minho at the bar, glancing around him anxiously like he's being pestered by some large moth or bee buzzing around. When our eyes meet his face hardens and turns cold, but I've barely registered it before he shoves off from his stool and marches single-mindedly toward the exit. Puzzling, but I'll deal with him in a moment. Scanning the room, no one seems to care about Wu Yifan's absence nor my appearance without him. At least, no one leaps up and stabs an accusing finger in my direction yelling, '"That's her! She attacked that helpless, innocent man! Grab her!"' Even the bodyguards seem more interested in checking out the women than looking out for their employer. The club is still in full swing when I leave, but I'm glad to be away from it. Being in a stuffy, badly-lit room, not knowing how many people are looking at you with lust or with hatred... it's hard not to be constantly suspicious of everything and everyone. But then again, hasn't that always been my life?

The chilly atmosphere during the walk back to the apartment has little to do with the dropping temperature. Minho walks a few paces ahead of me, the lines of his body angry and sharp, like a fragment of broken glass. When we arrive back in the warmth of the building, he still refuses to face me. Does he not want to hear about what I learnt? Starting forward, I reach out for his arm, if only to force him to listen to me. He retreats even further, as if sensing my touch, and crosses into the kitchenette. There, where the moonlight doesn't reach, he speaks.

"So? Got anything?"

His voice is flat and toneless. Indifferent. For some reason, it offends me.

Flinging the leather wallet onto the counter between us, I say,

"I managed to beat this out of him."

As he rifles through the cards and slips of paper, I struggle to get the next words out of my lips.

"Minho... he knew who I was."

Minho's hands freeze; all I see of him in the darkness is his eyes, almost popping out in shock. Recognising the resignation in my expression, another realisation dawns on him.

"You didn't kill him." An accusation, not a question.

Minho slams the wallet down with such force and revulsion as if it's a bag of poisonous snakes. He leaps over the counter and nearly sprints out the door, pausing only to jerk his shoulder away from my hand. Again, I feel wordlessly offended, and it's irritation that makes me catch his wrist and yank it backwards.

"Where are you going?!" I demand, squeezing so hard on his wrist I know it has to be painful, even for Minho.

"I'm going to kill that bastard," he snarls, trying in vain to wrench his hand out of my grasp.

"What for? If that man needed to die, I would've done it myself."

"Then, why didn't you?" Instantly his fury switches to me, streaming fiercely from his eyes.

"I know what type of man Wu Yifan. He's the type of person too arrogant to ever admit a single weakness. His reputation would be ruined if people found out he lost against anyone, let alone a woman."

"Oh, so you know all about how a guy's mind works now, huh? You got to know him that well, did you?" He utters a contemptuous snort, and at that moment I'm sorely tempted to wipe the smirk off his face.

"Oh please, Minho, it never even got to that point. Why do you even care about that anyway?"

Without warning he freezes and stops trying to pull himself free. The sudden lack of resistance makes me stumble into him. Before I'm able to stand back, Minho grabs my shoulders and draws me into his body. Enveloped in his arms, my mind all but ceases to function and I'm rendered speechless. The words get stuck somewhere in my throat and come out in a gargaled mess.

"Wha - Minho, you - you -"

"Shut up. Don't talk." he mumbles into my shoulder.

There, in the middle of the night, the room, the apartment and everything around us seems to fade until there's nothing left but the warmth between our bodies and the rhythym of our breathing. Befuddled and incoherent, the musky scent of Minho's hair invades my senses and dominates my mind so that it takes me a while to notice the thudding in my chest - or is it in Minho's?

What is he doing? What am I doing?

"Cobalt - Minho, stop it!" I demand, shoving us apart. He doesn't resist, he only places a hand on the door behind as he stumbles backwards, like he doesn't even realise what he's doing. Raising his head, a shaft of moonlight drapes across his eyes like a silver veil. It must be the light causing that strange reflection in his eyes, not looking ahead, but as if he's staring at something in the distance. His gaze goes straight through me with a sort of blank yearning.

Did I act too harshly? Taking a step forward, I try calling out his name.

"Minho...?"

Instantly his eyes snap back to me, and he reaches out with a half-gesture of apology. Almost on reflex, I spin around and make for my room, away from his touch and away from the confusing feelings it causes. Back in my room, where I don't have to see his eyes.

My heart continues to beat a mile a minute, like it's revolting against the rest of my mind and body. As I desperately try to calm down my racing pulse with a number of deep breaths, the irony of the situation slices me like a knife. Wu Yufin, the rich and pampered ladies' man. Minho, the rude and childish sparring partner. Both have embraced me tonight, but it is the latter that renders me speechless and frantic with his exceptionally abnormal behaviour. I've scarcely liked it when things changed; having to adapt and swap so many different identities and lies often made me wish that, just for once, things would remain the way they were. And now, when Minho's changing in ways that I'm unable to predict, sometimes it doesn't bear thinking about. Throwing myself onto my bed, all the tense energy leaks out from my body, leaving me emotionally drained even though sleep is nowhere near.

"Urgh." My groan is thankfully muffled by the pillow in my face.

A knock resounds on my door, and Minho's voice, though soft, comes through clearly.

"Jiyeonnie... I'm happy that you're OK."

He stands there for a few seconds, and when I don't reply, I hear him shuffle into his own room.

That night, I dream of the academy burning again.

 

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A/N: GUISE. I'm sorry for this piece of crap. Please forgive my tortoise-like writing skills. I'm sorry if you've had to re-read a few chapters because you've forgotten what's going on in this story.

/rolls away into a ditch

11.03.13