Looking back on it, Sehun would’ve never though that six months after he ran out of his front door with a busted lip and backpack, stuffed with three shirts, 5 undies, 2 pairs of socks, and a fifty thousand won bill, adamant on never turning back, he’d be clinging to the window of a skyscraper for his life.

 

“This,” Sehun grits from 100 stories above the swarm of nightlife, a cesspool of cars and people too tired to sleep, “Was a bad idea.”

 

“What was that?” a sharp voice cuts in from Sehun’s earpiece.

 

Sehun looks down and approximates that there would be an approximate distance of 450 meters to cover before his body hits the ground like a sack of potatoes and tomato sauce seeps through all the cracks. A small gulp. “I said, this is a bad idea.”

 

Staticky laughter pierces through the comm and another voice sing-songs, “Aw Sehunnie, are you pissing your pants from the heights?”

 

The dark-haired boy scowls, contemplating whether or not he should free a hand to flip Jongdae off, before remembering that Jongdae couldn’t see him anyways. He’s in a “perfect blindspot”, however perfect being 100 stories above the Seoul concrete could be. From this height, nothing is discernible and everything is reduced to small dots and less small dots that jostle each other around and occassionally collide. 

 

Sehun closes his eyes, gnashing his teeth together with a clenched jaw. It isn’t really about the dizzying height or the fact that the only thing anchoring him from the plunge is the pair of metal discs he used to scale the building. It isn’t about the fact that his biceps feel a little sore or that his bomber jacket was offering little protection against the chilly wind. It isn’t about the fact that when he was 9 and looked down from the Namsam Tower, he gripped the railing so hard his knuckles turned white and then he had to look away. It really isn’t. 

 

The laughter pauses and the whiny voice steadies into a somber tone. “Sehun.”

 

Sehun sighs.

 

He opens his eyes and doesn’t look down.

 

“I know,” he mutters, releasing his grip on the left disc. “I got it.”

 

He pushes his feet harder onto the window for smidgeon of security, before reaching into his belt for a pen-like contraption. Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, Sehun pushes the small blade into the window and stretches his body to draw a circle large enough to fit his body through. When he’s satisfied with the shape, Sehun retracts the blade and tucks it back into his belt.

 

Almost done.

 

His free hand pushes the glass inwards and the cut-out falls onto the carpeted floor with a small thud. Left hand grabbing onto the metal holder again, Sehun positions his body to swing his legs through the opening, sliding on his knees across the rough fibers.

 

“I’m in.”

 

“Good,” Jongdae replies. “So far, so good.”

 

Sehun dusts off his knees and stands up.

 

The dark hallway is empty save for himself, Sehun notes with relief. Not that there was any reason for there to be anyone other than himself on the 100th floor right now, especially when Jongdae has been quizzing them on the security schedule and all possible routes of escape for the past few weeks. Twenty steps down the padded hallway and Sehun turns into a corridor. Five more steps down the corridor and Sehun stops in front of a door, brandishing a plastic card from his belt. Slide, beep, click, turn. 

 

Open.

 

“Bottom right drawer,” Jongdae says as Sehun raises a flashlight around the room.

 

Sehun steps behind the large mahogany desk and sinks onto his knees. His eyes flicker over the compartment before focusing on the correct one.

 

“5712.”

 

Sehun’s fingers punch in the numbers while he repeats them again under his breath. There’s a click and Sehun pulls out the drawer. His fingers latch onto the thin box and pull the top off. 

 

“Target One secured,” Sehun whispers, letting his mouth quirk into a smile as he stands, ping his jacket to pull out a small manila folder to hold the USB. “How’s Jongin?”

 

“One step ahead of you.” The voice comes from a dark silhouette underneath the door frame. A set of pearly white emerge first from the shadows, followed by a boy with sleepy eyes. He shakes his head and the short locks of his hair flap around. “Can’t believe you left the door open, Oh Sehun. Rookie mistake.”

 

Sehun rolls his eyes, but an indulgent smile twists around his lips.

 

“Target Two already secured.”

 

They stand there for a moment in silence, letting the ecstasy of their heist thrum between them as Jongdae obnoxiously whoops in the background. The rush of adrenaline fuels their addiction, the delicious burn of success pulsing from vein to vein, breath to air, sealing them in a capsule of pure, morally unjustified pleasure. Sehun inhales. Jongin exhales. Then, they escape.

 

At 1:53 a.m., two unidentified males slip out into a dark alley in the heart of Seoul. Tomorrow, the contents of the small folder, tucked into the taller’s jacket, will be delivered. Bullets will fly through the air, red will paint the concrete grounds, and an empire will fall into shards. But for now, their voices mingle quietly as they disappear into the charcoal shadows, leaving no trace but a gaping oval hole in the 100th floor window of the Lotte World Skyscraper.