[a/n: so I'm sure all of you would like to shank me atm but might I suggest reading the long awaited chapter first? o.o'']

                Upon my entrance into the coffee shop, I’m greeted with two things: the smell of freshly ground coffee and the sight of an extraordinarily long line that stretches almost to the door.  I take my place at the end, arms crossed as I try to think of a solution to this mess that I’ve been given.  I’ve spent the last three days doing the same thing, but so far, an answer has yet to come up.  All I’ve done is sit in my hotel room, writing down ideas on scraps of paper and then burning them in the trash bin when I decide they won’t work.  Potential onset of pyromania aside, I’m irritated, irritated, irritated.  But it’s the type of irritation that a caffeine fix can generally solve, so I’m here to find some coffee before I irritate the hell out of my by plotting again.

                “You better hurry up, intel,” I mutter to myself, pulling my phone out of my pocket to scroll through my still empty inbox.  I requested all possible information about Jang Hyunseung from the intelligence division, but they’ve yet to get back to me with anything.  It’s their job, so why should it take so long?  I always knew file clerks were useless.  How hard is it to find information on someone who’s widely known?  It’s evidently difficult to the point of impossibility, because it hasn’t happened yet.  What’s worse is that I can’t do anything about it.  I already tried threatening the file clerks (in hope that it’d get them to work faster), and all that did was make them work even slower.  I just have to wait.

                I hear the sound of the door behind me opening, and the cold winter air rushes in through the entrance.  I grit my teeth and pull my thin jacket closer to my body, but the action does little to bring warmth, because like always, I’m dressed for show more than for comfort.  My dress, heels and cardigan do little but display how ridiculously dressed I am for the weather and I would, quite literally, kill for a functional jacket right now.  Maybe I can take one off whatever idiot is holding the door open behind me.  They must be relatively well dressed, because they seem to be having no problem with holding the door open for ages to let all the cold air in…

                Then the door closes with a bang.  “Finally,” I say under my breath, but my relief is short lived because that’s when I hear a male voice from behind me that I assume can only belong to the person who’s just entered:

                “ing longest line I’ve ever seen.”

                Of course.  Of course the who decided to leave the door open is going to complain about the line. 

“If you don’t like the wait, go somewhere else,” I say without turning around.  It’s three o’clock, after all.  I’m sure that plenty of other coffee places will have shorter lines.  The only reason I’m bothering to wait in this one is because a) their coffee is actually pretty damn good, and b) I’m trying to stall.  Anything so that I don’t have to sit there and think of useless ideas for another hour.

                Inconsiderate and apparently impatient idiot laughs.  His reaction irritates me.  Did he hear what I said?  If my suggestion is what he’s laughing about, then he needs to get his ears checked, because it definitely wasn’t supposed to be a joke.  I was being one hundred percent serious, and if he’s going to continue in this idiodicy, I wouldn’t mind pulling that gun out of my jacket and shooting him right now—

                “I guess the coffee here must be that good if no one minds waiting, huh?”

                Why is he still talking again?  “No, the drinks all , we just like waiting in long lines to waste our own time,” I tell him sarcastically.  “You didn’t realize?”

                I hear another laugh.  “I guess not.”

                I roll my eyes and turn my attention back to the phone in my hand.  Did I leave it on airplane mode or something?  What’s taking them so long?

                “So, you seem to know a lot about this place, are you from around here?”

                Why.  Is.  He.  Still.  Talking.  Have I not made it clear that I don’t want to converse with him?  Or is this guy really just that dense?  I ignore him this time, but evidently he still doesn’t get the message, because he speaks again.

                “Wow, someone had a bad morning.”

                That little .

                I’ve had enough.  I turn around, quite ready to tell him to buzz off and to maybe just follow my previous advice and go somewhere else.  Especially if he doesn’t like the fact that I don’t want to talk to him, because I have no intention of doing that.  Why would I talk to someone who’s so obnoxious?  But as soon as I actually see the , I stop with a frown.

                “Do I know you?”

                Black hairs, brown eyes, expressionless face…I don’t think I’ve ever met this guy before, but…why does he look familiar?

                The man in front of me smiles at my question, though the expression looks rather…forced in my opinion.  Still, he asks, “Do you want to?”

                Please don’t tell me that the obnoxious behind me in the coffee shop is trying to pick me up.

                “I don’t know, but I could swear I’ve seen you before.”

                He only shrugs, but after a moment more of me staring, he suggests, “In your dreams, maybe?”

                Apparently obnoxious only knows the overused cliché pick up lines.

                “No.  Just forget I said anything.  And I’ve heard that one already.”  I turn back around, telling myself that the familiarity is probably just a coincidence.  I’d remember meeting someone like that.  But the isn’t ready to give up.

                “Which one’s haven’t you heard before?”  I hear him shuffling around, and I reluctantly turn around to see he’s actually pulled an index card out of his pocket and is looking over it.  While I stare incredulously, he starts reading lines off of it.  “Um, did it hurt when you fell down from heaven?  Have you heard that one before?”

                I snort and shake my head.  “You’re a dork.”

                “There’s something wrong with my phone, it doesn’t have your number in it.”

                “You’re a total dork.”  But I still can’t help but smile.

                He doesn’t look offended—he just laughs.  “I’m putting in the effort, so the least you can do is let me buy you a coffee or something.”

                Is this guy just ridiculously obsessed with me or what?  I give him a look (one that is meant to say, “Are you insane?”), but in return, he just smiles that hopeful, slightly pained smile again.  I wonder if he always smiles like that.  Or if the pained smile is because he’s just faking it.  Honestly, the guy came up behind me in a public place.  There’s a high possibility that he has ulterior motives.  Which means there’s a high possibility that he’s here to kill me.  It’s not like I’ve never made enemies, after all…

                Then again, I do still have a gun in my pocket.  If the intention of this guy had been to kill me, he probably would have done it already.  And even if he’s just waiting to do it where there’s no people around…well, I’m not stupid.  It’s not like I’ll agree to go anywhere with him.  And who’s ever heard of a hitman using bad pickup lines on his target?

                I frown, placing a hand in my pocket to make sure my gun is still there.  “One drink and you’ll leave me alone?”

                The side of his mouth twitches.  “If you want me to, yes.”

                Well, I still want to know why he looks familiar.

                “Fine.  I want a caramel macchiato.”  I point to the long line ahead of us.  “You get to wait.”
 

                Fifteen minutes later, we're sitting at a small table in the corner of the cafe, drinks already ordered and prepared.  I take a sip of my coffee, all the while staring at the man's face.  He just stares back, his face completely blank.  His cup is in his hands, but he plays with it instead of drinking it, his slender fingers tracing patterns on the side.  We both sit there for a long moment, not saying anything.  But to my surprise, the man is the one who breaks the silence a moment later.

                “What's your name?”

                I'm too busy trying to think of mystery man's identity to come up with a fake name, so I just throw out my real one.  “I'm Hyuna.”  I gulp down another mouthful of way-too-sweet coffee.  “Kim Hyuna.  And you?”

                He smiles wryly, the corner of his mouth twitching up into what seems to be his version of a smile.  “I’m Hyunseung.

                “Jang Hyunseung.”

                I choke on my coffee.

                Did he just say Jang Hyunseung. 

                He definitely just said Jang Hyunseung.

                As inconspicuously as I can, I rake my eyes over the man sitting in front of me again.  Is this seriously the person I’m supposed to be hunting?  Impossible.  It was far too easy to find him.  But…doesn’t his behavior make sense, then?  Trying to get someone isolated makes sense for a hitman, but…then why was he hitting on me?!  And why would Jang Hyunseung be after me? 

                If the fact that I have just started choking on my drink at the mention of his name is odd to Jang Hyunseung, he doesn’t mention anything of it.  He kind of just gives me the same blank look he’s had for a while and asks, “Are you alright?”

                “I – um – yeah!”  I try to nod convincingly and take another gulp of the coffee, as if that’s going to help the burning in my trachea.  It goes away after a minute, and I take what I feel is a well deserved moment to panic.

                Oh my god, what do I do. 

                “So, um, Hyunseung – “ I try not to choke on the name.  “ – are you sure we haven’t met before?”

                He frowns at the question.  “Not that I recall,” he drawls, eyes falling away from mine for a minute to examine his coffee cup.  “I think I would remember meeting someone like you…”

                He pauses for a moment there, as if thinking.  I sense another cheesy pick up line coming (even if this is Jang Hyunseung, he’s been using them for the past half hour) and ask another question before he can.  “Then, is going up to random girls in coffee shops and talking to them a normal hobby of yours?” 

                Hyunseung looks up at me again, blinking as if he doesn’t get it.  “What?”

                “Last time I checked, it’s considered odd – “ Or creepy,  “ – to talk to strangers.”

                All he does is shrug in response.  “Not necessarily.”

                Not necessarily.  Was Jang Hyunseung raised in a hole?  Even I know the stranger danger rule, and I was raised as a normal person.  A hitman especially should know that it’s weird, dangerous to talk to someone whose background you don’t know. 
                “Maybe it’s only considered creepy if you don’t use the dorky pick up lines,” I suggest shakily, forcing a laugh as I pick up my cup again to take a sip.   It’s already half empty – I’m going to need to drink slower or else I’m not going to have a convenient source of conversation intermission in a few minutes. 

                Jang Hyunseung blinks at me a few times.  If not for the blank look that’s been on his face since I first saw him, I’d say he almost looks surprised.  “I wasn’t aware that they were considered dorky,” he says almost indignantly, as if I’ve just said the worst insult in existence instead of stating a fact. 

                “They are.  I think I used to hear those when I was in…fifth grade?”  I shrug.  “Personal opinion.  We’re all entitled to one.”

                “I suppose.”  He frowns slightly.  (At least, I think it’s a frown – the corners of his mouth kind of twitch downwards a little but that’s about it.)  “But, is it considered normal for people to be saying things like that in fifth grade?”

                Maybe he really was raised in a hole.

                “Um.  I guess?  It all depends…kind of.”  As if I’m going to be the all time expert on grade school dating, after all.  “It was for me but…not for other people?  Probably?”

                “…interesting.”  The level of intrigue in his voice has raised enough that I almost expect him to pull out another one of those notecards he seems to be carrying (you know, the ones with all the pick up lines on them) to start taking notes.  He doesn’t, thankfully, but it’s not even a minute later before more questions come.

                “Then, I would assume since you consider it to be normal, you were one of the such people who said or heard such things in fifth grade?”

                Did I not literally just say exactly that.  Literally two minutes ago.

                I force a smile anyways, mostly because a) this is my target and I need to get on his good side if I’m supposed to figure out how to kill him and b) this is my target, the son of a rival killer corporation’s leader and I’m sane enough to feel fear in his presence.  “Well, I was usually the one who heard it.  Because usually guys thought they were cool if they tried to hit on me.  Like, I remember in my second semester, Kim Jangil said…”

***

                It’s many awkward questions and explanations later that I’ve left.  The trip back to my hotel room is quiet, mostly because it’s getting to be somewhat late and I’m contemplating on things.  The biggest one of them is that, well, it looks like I’ve now found my target.  I took the last few hours picking out information (according to Jang Hyunseung, he’s staying somewhere around here, which is pretty vague but I also got a phone number at the end of the night so maybe the vagueness is alright after all) and it is perhaps getting safe enough to say that:

1. Jang Hyunseung is one of the weirdest people I’ve ever met who, if my suspicions are correct, was raised in the most obscure corner of the universe in which dating is unheard of, as are dumb pick up lines.
2. Despite his apparent oddness, I am still quite sure that the Jang Hyunseung I spent the last few hours talking to is the Jang Hyunseung that I’m supposed to kill.
3.  The Jang Hyunseung who I’m supposed to kill has actually given me the information to contact him again and my assignment may very well be on track.

I sink into an armchair in the corner of my room with a sigh, pulling my phone out of my pocket to open my message inbox.  I notice that there’s a couple messages floating in there (they are presumably the very very late information texts from intel) but I ignore them, instead hitting the compose button to type out a message.

Sender: Kim Hyuna

Recipient: BREAK [database]

Message:

I have successfully located the target. 

Send.

a/n: alright.  so.  obviously this update is very, very, very, VERY VERY VERY late.  and I honestly don't think I have an excuse for the lateness, besides the fact that I just really really didn't want to write this chapter or something.  I don't knooooowwwww.  BUT now this awkward (or not awkward, still don't know) chapter is out of the way, I can hopefully update more often...hopefully.  I'm honestly just kind of really slow at updates (but I think you've noticed that by now?)

ANYWAYS so I'm glad I could get this done before Christmas.  Happy holidays everyone~ (I hope you eat lots of delicious food and slack off because both of those are fun things to do)

(on an unrelated yet slightly related note, this picture makes me wonder how exactly I am supposed to be writing a fic in which both Hyuna and Hyunseung are complete badasses.  just.  what.  no.  adorableness.)

(on a a more unrelated note I also started another fic called Hearing Blue, it's Kaisoo (mah otp) and if anyone wants a complete 360 degree turn from the concept of this fic I'd love you 5ever if you looked at it? 8D  //shameless advertising)

(um ima just go now bai <3)