“Yongsan Ward, Seocho-gu #2, 1308-25, Hana Apartments

32사4200

Tomorrow

7PM”

As Minho quickly opened his umbrella, a raindrop fell on his cheek in the same way than every other ones on the street, in a quite inaudible noise almost like a lullaby that would be sang to a newborn child: a sweet melodic whisper that would appease anybody. In Choi Minho’s opinion, it wasn’t relaxing at all.

The asphalt was already all wet, the usual light grey turning into a glossy darker one that was a call for any passer-by to slip on it and twist their ankle. The sky had become a tide of depressing umbrellas from which some drops were flowing and crashing on the ground, breaking the constant melody for the nearest people who could hear it. In any other district of Seoul, Minho was sure he could have seen funnier or more cheerful umbrellas, excited children jumping into puddles of rain then being scolded by their parents, high schoolers running as fast as possible as they would have been surprising by the weather now searching for a place to prevent drop from tickling their neck.

But never in Seocho-gu.

The area was a bunch of salary men, all dressed up in the blackest garments they could find in their wardrobe, leaving their job for their home with more than tired expressions painted on their faces.  The women were suffering with uncomfortable and pointed heeled shoes, almost unable to breath squeezed in their suits which were also bruising their waist and keeping them from accelerating their pace. The men were not doing any better and the rain adding its effect, some of their clothes becoming itchy.

Minho felt so much superior to all the people walking past him. It was like he was comfortably sat in his couch, at home, in front of his television watching some random documentary about some weak animals which weren’t worthy to live and always condemned to submit themselves. And he was the predator. At that thought, he let a smirk appear on his now perfectly dry face.

Not that Minho had any cannibalism es - he wouldn’t bet about his contact on the other hand – but the way people lowered their head at his sight added to the admiring glances he caught time to time made him feel like a god in the middle of the street and he was completely aware of it. He had planned everything, from the Italian waxed shoes to the leather umbrella by way of the French tailored suit. His hair had been cut two days ago so that he wouldn’t have to worry about it before a while.

Yet, it wasn’t all that superficial apparel that made Minho’s charisma. Sure it helped a lot, but Minho had it in him. He had grown up with the best physic qualities a boy could wish at every age; as a child he was cute as possible, as a teenager he was charming and then as an adult he had become manly, still he managed to be handsome all the time. But with those perfect features came cockiness and arrogance because Minho had rapidly understood that if he had the face, he had to be proud of it. Until the mix of those two created a fascinating aura crushing anybody into a trembling mess in front of Choi Minho.

Anybody, unless Lee Taemin. His contact; the one he was waiting for, leaning against one of those top of the world high building whose walls were all the time dirtied by the endless pollution of the car traffic. Minho had already been standing here for less than half an hour and he still hadn’t caught any sign of Taemin. He tried to remember how the boy looked when he had seen him last, narrowing his eyes as he scanned the crow, searching a match with his memories. But the last time he had seen him in person, Taemin wasn’t exactly looking like the usual himself and it wasn’t also a really treasured memory in Minho’s mind. Then Minho focused on the most common appearance he could thought about Taemin which was such a long time ago that he would have put his hand on fire that his contact wouldn’t look like that at all again.

So Minho dug his hand in his trousers pocket, picking a damaged piece of paper on which he had wrote the instruction Taemin gave him a few days ago. Taemin had called just as Minho was quitting his father’s office and had given him no time to reach a proper forget-me-not or anything else, so that Minho had to write everything down an old restaurant ticket. Actually, the voice Minho had heard sounded so unfamiliar when he answered his phone that he had believed it was some prank played by some bored teenagers.

It had been too raspy, too deep. Until it had murmured his name over the phone. Even thought it had been two or three octaves too low, the way it had been pronounced left no doubt in Mihno’s mind. Every single syllable had been accentuated, almost sensually and desperately, as if the caller had been craving for this call for such a long time. And Minho recognized him, hurrying himself to grab anything as he knew how Taemin’s calls were : so demanding, silently begging for having a proper conversation over the phone nevertheless always as clear as concise and ending as soon as everything he had to announce was said. This time hadn’t been an exception, all Taemin had dictated consisting of a meeting point as well as what seemed to be a license plate.

As he found the piece of paper, Minho looked at his watch wondering how long he was going to wait, noting for himself that coming so early wasn’t the brightest idea he ever had, as well for the pouring rain than for the risk of seriously attracting somebody’s attention. Standing straight at the same point in such a busy district for half an hour wasn’t something people were used to see and Minho was ready to bet that some of them were speculating things about him, wrong things. He was also sure that people who might have seen his photo in some economic magazine had identifying him, but since nobody came to talk to him he deducted he hadn’t been recognized by anybody he knew personally, which would have been really bad.

He had five minute to wait if Taemin would be right on time. He caught a few more glances on him as he let his shirtsleeve fell over his silver watch. One in particular from a young and desirable woman made his blood almost boil through his veins, sending his ego on cloud nine. He let a little smile lift the left corner of his mouth as he followed the delicate silhouette with the eyes the entire street long; maybe in another context he would have stopped her and proposed her a one night stand or something like that in some fake polite way, but it wasn’t the right moment neither than the right place.

For now, he had to stay concentrated on every passer-by. Taemin could be any of them: the old man trying to cross the street before the fire would be red again, the delivery man who hardly made his way through the condensed crow, or even the fierce lady who was throwing a glare every time a person bumped into her. That was exactly the reason why Minho loved working with Lee Taemin. Because he wasn’t an amateur at all. Every job he was given, Taemin accomplished it in the most perfect way, never forgetting any detail, never leaving any clue, any dust; in all, planning anything. And Minho wasn’t even sure that it was the only work he had, even thought it was paying well. Really well.

But it wasn’t safe at all on the other hand and that was why Taemin surely had to cover himself up in case any of those little jobs wouldn’t turn well with some more legal employment. Minho could only imagine, because most of the talking he had with the boy wasn’t normal and insignificant one like chatting to hear how both of them were doing. Besides wondering too much about Taemin’s private life would be dangerous for Minho, since it included a real exchange in which he would have to reveal some elements about himself too. And God, having already seen how far Taemin could research and find files about anybody with only a few things about them prevented Minho from making any mistake about what he said.

He couldn’t even figure out how much the boy knew about him. Somehow, he had discovered the last time he saw him in person that it was way much more than what he had expected. He had to admit that it was scaring him a little but also flatting him like nothing else could ever do it again. Taemin was a really selective person in his opinion and the fact that he gave Minho so much importance made him feel almost loved.

But with Lee Taemin, it would never be love. Mainly because it was a feeling he was sure the boy couldn’t feel.

Minho checked the hour one more time, and seeing that it was already 7:02PM made him panic a little. What if he had missed the boy ? Taemin always had been punctual as hell. Maybe it really was this old man; he already used this costume once. Minho started to regret not having helped him, making him unable to check if his theory had been right or not. He started to shake his head from left to right almost frenetically scanning the mass of people, then stopped to read the note again. He had absolutely no idea what the license plate meant, and he was feeling more and more worried.

Taemin was the key to his glory. Minho couldn’t afford to report the meeting since his time was so counted and he knew nobody else he could trust as well as Taemin. Actually, Minho wasn’t really sure it could be called “trusting”, there was complicity between the two of them but it came more from the fact that if one of them came to sink because of the other, the other wouldn’t be left safe. Because Taemin was aware of Minho’s crimes and so was Minho about Taemin’s. Beside the fact that he already had worked with him would have permit to Minho to earn a lot of time.

And in Minho’s case, time was all that mattered.

Not only, Minho was running against time but also against his destiny, and everything was right now between Taemin’s hands so he better had not missed him. Otherwise, the situation would be a total cataclysm for Minho in which his eloquence nor charisma would be no help against his father decision and all the hard work he provided during all those years would become an old memory for the profit of an hippie teen spirit in an adult body. Never ever in his life, Minho would let it happen.

As he was reflecting again on the possibly hidden meaning of the note he could have neglected, Minho was also starting to imagine a back-up plan if he couldn’t count on Taemin anymore. They had to act tomorrow the latest and knowing how much Taemin was cautious when he was elaborating his plan, considering any aspect of the situation he was given, Minho calculated that if he hadn’t the night to plan everything, then Taemin would be a dead weight. This also meant he would act solo.

He was cut off his reflection by the sound of a klaxon and screeching wheels that made him hold his head high. At what he saw, he couldn’t help but let out a deep sight of relish as he closed his eyes, smirking again. His heart was pounding so loudly that Minho was sure if it wasn’t so rainy, anybody could have heard it.

He was facing an old yellow cab. On the side long was painted the name of the society it belonged to, “Seoul Taxi”, a common cheap name Minho couldn’t help but notice; a name that would catch a mind less than ten minutes and then being totally forgotten due to its banality. On its own the taxi seemed to be older than Minho himself, and he was already in his twenties, the back – and certainly the front too - being so begrimed by the dust that it was more greyish than yellow and the vehicle form itself being so old fashioned. At the sound he had heard, Minho would be ready to affirm that the wheels needed to be blown up again, changed indeed.

But what attracted Minho’s sight wasn’t how out of the picture this cab was. It was a lower detail, right under the car trunk.

“32사4200”

There was Taemin’s great entry, maybe one if best if Minho had to judge; the others being rather discreet and classic in comparison. Still, Minho wasn’t hundred percent sure that it was Taemin who was driving the car, the windows being as the rest of the car; totally dusted and almost opaque, hiding the driver’s face. And Minho had never seen Taemin’s car, the boy always using the subway when he had to meet Minho because he had stated he could more easily melt into the crow as he was coming and leaving.

A shrill sound broke into the air, resounding so high that it made every witness of the strange scenery turn their head in the taxi’s direction. The rain would never have been enough to cover that and Minho swore loudly at the total indiscretion. His curse was joined by another one, almost whispered, as the front seat window was slowly making its way down. Soon, he was asked:

“Are you Choi Minho ? Someone commended a taxi for you.”

Minho nodded carefully, trying to catch a glimpse of the driver as the voice wasn’t ringing him any bell. But he couldn’t tell who he was, since a cap was hiding his eyes and a sweat carefully buttoned up to his chin. The driver smiled kind of dangerously and unlocked the backseat door, eyeing Minho to get up in his car. He finally convinced him:

“The journey had already been paid, don’t worry Sir.”

And Minho did what he was told, goofily smiling as all his worries were fading away.

______

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