The receptionist is exactly where the pair find themselves five minutes later.

It isn’t far from their room, but it was a five-minute struggle before Yixing was able to successfully sling Junmyeon over his shoulder, and quickly jog to the more-or-less bewildered receptionist.  She was just about to leave the desk for lunch when the pair skids into the lobby, causing her to topple back into the booth in surprise.

“Mr. X… clue… impending doom,” Yixing explains in between breaths.  He notices the way the receptionist eyes the cross-dressed man slung over his shoulder (she might be checking out the brand of the lacy black thongs peeking under the hem of Junmyeon’s red dress—for the record, it’s a limited-edition Victoria’s Secret piece—but he can’t really tell), so he clears his throat and unceremoniously drops Junmyeon.  The latter quickly turns, pulls down his dress, and casts the middle-aged woman a million-won smile despite a disheveled wig and flustered cheeks.

Albeit reluctantly, the receptionist slides over two cell phones, a wallet, and a set of car keys.  Almost immediately, Junmyeon reaches out to the last of four objects, only to cry out in frustration when it wouldn’t even fit in the handcuffs’ keyhole.  Yixing gives him a look: the , bro.

They turn to thank the receptionist, but it seems the old woman has already run off to some unknown direction, screaming for salvation and flailing comically like some permanently traumatized chicken.  They gape after her, confused stares following until there’s nothing left but cartoon dust motes floating in the mostly empty, dilapidated lobby.  They grab their respective phones, each welcomed with different sights: Junmyeon’s lock screen is set to a Notepad screenshot, while Yixing’s is to a Google Maps one.  They look over at each other’s phones, then up at each other.

“Looks like a map to this café nearby.” Yixing nods over. “What does yours say?”

“Um,” Junmyeon tilts his head as if to read better, but truly, he’s just stalling.  Sure, he wants freedom, but can it be really found on the other end of these set of clues?  If so, is the risk worth it?  “There’s uh…”

“There’s…?”

He holds the cell phone down to his thigh.  (Yes, Kim Junmyeon, he totally wouldn’t suspect anything.  Very inconspicuous.)  Take the third car to the left (a silver KIA, KML-1485).  Destination: see Yixing’s map. “Something.”

Yixing’s eye twitches. “…‘something’?”

“Yeah, something.”

“Junmyeon…”

Said man pretends to drop the car keys, making a big show out of picking it up and fumbling with it.  He ‘accidentally’ clicks unlock, and sure enough, a silver KIA a few meters away beeps in response.  His face is immediately painted with what has got to be the fakest attempt at looking surprised, all complete with an agape mouth and French-tipped hands clutched dramatically to his chest.  Somewhere, a Hallyu talent scout gets a heart attack from having their dreams of recruiting him crushed. “Wah, how convenient!  Luck must be on our side today.” (Not.)

Yixing looks at him weirdly, but wordlessly follows after him anyway. Another five-minute struggle ensues as an insistent Junmyeon demands he drives, and a groggy Yixing grumbles under his breath and tries to climb over the middle compartment.  Said attempt fails before it even started: Yixing falls on his face on the passenger seat when the chain on his jeans gets caught in the hand brake, dragging Junmyeon along.  The chain pulls the hand brake and therefore the car forward, knocking Junmyeon out of balance and causing his stomach to land smack right onto the hand brake.

Finish him.

He doubles over, and as if the searing pain in his gut isn’t enough, inertia propels his head forward, smashing his heavily made-up face right onto Yixing’s raised .

FATALITY.


-


Junmyeon can feel Yixing’s eyes burning holes into his skull.

“You…”Yixing begins, composure maintained despite vexation seeping through his voice. “...just missed the exit.  Again.”

For what feels like the past fifteen minutes (probably more), Junmyeon has been purposely ignoring Yixing’s instructions.  He just keeps his stare straight ahead, foot heavy on the accelerator, and hands tight on the steering wheel, letting the KIA push forward like some aimless, non-Christmas version of the Polar Express.  For what feels like the past fifteen minutes or more, Junmyeon seems to be, so far, safe from Yixing’s wrath.  If he’s lucky, perhaps he can push the teasing further, just enough that the other will give up this Amazing Race fantasy, and let him take the lead.

But he feels a light but firm hold on his clothed bicep, and he jumps in his seat, almost steering the car into a road barrier.  The car behind them honks loudly as it swerves past them, only speeding past after flipping them the bird.  Junmyeon apologizes and grins sheepishly, albeit minutes too late and volumes too quiet.

“W-what is it?” Junmyeon inquires.

“You—” Yixing manages after un-latching from the car’s interior, having previously looked like some petrified gecko holding onto the door for dear life. “—don’t–don’t take this personally, but do you actually know road signs?”

Yes, we learned them in like, fourth grade.

“Or how to drive?”

Sure, aced my test the first time. It’s not a big deal or anything.

“Or at least how to follow instructions?  Because I’ve been telling you to turn left for the past half-hour and—“

Wow, has it really been that long?

“—you just keep going forward.  Is anything the matter?  Because if you’re not feeling well, I can totally take the wheel.  I mean, I have the worst hangover in history, but I can drive for a bit, it’s fine—“

It seems things aren’t going as planned.  I need to think of another way I can get out of—

“—Junmyeon, are you okay?”

Yixing grips Junmyeon’s arm again, and the KIA finally screeches to a halt.  Junmyeon looks like he’s just seen his life flash before his eyes.  Another vehicle honks loudly before speeding past, tossing them an invisible goodie bag filled with middle fingers and profanities.  Junmyeon eerily turns his head, eyes widened and nostrils flared. “D