“Did you want something from me?” Minseok questioned hesitantly, avoiding looking directly at Jongdae. Why was he half-? Minseok felt overdressed in his leather jacket. But hey, it was chilly outside.

He smelled before he saw the alight cigarette. Minseok’s head swiveled to witness Jongdae smoking. He eyed the death stick disapprovingly but did not say anything.

“Don’t like the party downstairs?” Jongdae dodged Minseok’s query, asking his own, as he stubbed the burning end of his cigarette onto the balustrade before flinging it into a flower vase close by.

“I bet it’s fun,” said Minseok, so as to not make Jongdae feel bad that he was not on the dance floor or at the bar enjoying the gathering as he ought to. “I just wanted some air.”

“Hmm, it can get stuffy there,” Jongdae conceded, turning to appraise Minseok, leaning his weight on one elbow on the banister.

Minseok fixed his eyes straight ahead of him. The balcony looked out over the town; he pretended to be engrossed in monitoring the city lights. His peripheral vision, however, was interested in Jongdae’s tattoo that spread up his right arm to his shoulder and down across his chest.

Incapable of pinning down his curiosity any longer, he blurted, “Who are you?”

Jongdae stared at him; he bravely stared back.

“Kim Jongdae. You forgot my name so soon?” Jongdae feigned an indignant expression.

“No, I mean” – Minseok gestured at the other’s body – “why do you have this tattoo?”

“Oh….” Jongdae peered down at his chest for a moment, as if he was just discerning the black ink pattern now. Then he slowly turned and walked over to the exit, beckoning Minseok to come along.

“You wouldn’t call the cops if I told you, would you?”

“I wouldn’t. I promise,” Minseok vowed. He did not have any inclination of spilling someone else’s secrets to others, which was the reason why Luhan trusted him with information he would glean in the first place.

Jongdae crossed the threshold of a room along the corridor which had several luxurious couches, glass tables, and there was a balcony overlooking the dance area. He retrieved a black shirt from a couch and shrugged it on as he answered, “Being the son of a mafia, I have to have this ma