Hi everyone. Thank you to everyone to subscribed. 

It's late so I'll keep the intro short.

Trigger warnings: mention of suicide. Kind of. 

"There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes"

-Les Miserables 'Do You Hear The People Sing?'

The first time that Tao had shown him pictures of Kyungsoo, which was after he found out the true reason he had been assigned to Sector 302-D and before he fully believed in their purpose, D.O had a minor meltdown.

For three weeks, he oscillated between anger at the Institute, the Director, Dana his supervisor, Kangta his recruiter, and depression stemming from existential despair.

One morning, he opened his eyes after a fitful night of sleep and decided he wasn’t going to work that day or any day after that. He felt satisfied with his decision, turned off his alarm, and went back to sleep.

At 9:13 AM, his ringtone blared from the phone’s tiny speakers. He reached towards his nightstand and silenced the call. A minute later, his phone beeped with a text message notification.

[Kris – 9:14 AM]

Where are you? Are you okay?

Beep.

[Kris – 9:23 AM]

Director Ahn is asking about you.

Beep.

[Kris – 9:25 AM]

Don’t ignore me.

Beep.

[Kris – 10:00 AM]

You’re allowed to take sick leave but if you don’t call in, they’re going to be pissed.

Beep.

[Kris – 10:18 AM]

I’m not even ing around. You seriously need to call in if you’re not coming to work.

D.O didn’t see these messages until later but it wouldn’t have mattered. Nothing could change his mind at that point.

An urgent pounding on his door finally roused him at 11:25 AM. He pulled the covers over his head and figured the person would eventually give up. When the racket finally subsided, he figured himself correct and buried his face into the pillow.

Of course, he had been wrong because a few minutes later, angry footsteps marched through his apartment, opening doors and calling his name.

D.O lifted his head in time to see Kris in his doorway, face pale with fury. “What…how the hell did you get in?” he asked, voice still thick with sleep, before remembering that all Artemis graduates knew how to pick locks. It wasn’t a lesson that they learned in any classroom but an informal skilled taught by the older students to the new recruits.

Spots of color burned high on Kris’s cheeks and he reached D.O’s bed in a few long strides. “Get up,” he hissed and ripped away the covers. “Get dressed. Right now.”

“What for?” D.O rolled onto his side, turning his back to Kris. “I quit.”

A hand gripped the back of his head and D.O yelped in an embarrassingly high pitched voice. He was dragged off his bed and forced to his feet. His scalp felt like it was on fire and his eyes watered from the burn.

Kris released his hair and looked at him with undisguised contempt. “You ing stink. When was the last time you took a shower?”

D.O shrugged. “I don’t remember. Look, I’m sorry you came all the way out here but…just tell them that I can’t do this.”

Kris stared at him for a moment before grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him out of his bedroom. “Where’s the bath?” he asked calmly as D.O stumbled along. “Ah, here it is.” He pushed the young agent forward.

D.O shivered as his bare feet touch the cold tiles. “What’s your problem? Why do you – ”

“Are you a serial killer?” Kris interrupted. “Nobody but serial killers keep their bathroom this pristine.”

“No, I’m not a serial killer,” said D.O, frowning. “I’ve never killed anyone but I may be forced to take that back if you don’t get out of my apartment.”

Kris seemed cheered by this threat. “You’re starting to sound like your old self again. Now, take a ing shower.” He reached behind the curtain and a second later, water streamed from the showerhead.

D.O crossed his arms, determined to preserve what little of his pride he had left. “I don’t appreciate you breaking into my apartment and telling me what to do.”

Kris sighed. He wrapped his arms around D.O’s waist and tossed him into the tub still fully dressed. “And I don’t appreciate your ingratitude when I’m trying to save your life.”

D.O sputtered and wiped away the water running down his face. “What is your problem?!” he exploded. “Why do you care whether I quit or not?” He glared, hands curling into fists.

Kris took the shampoo off the bathtub ledge and squeezed a dollop into his palm. “I don’t know. I just do.” After a brief pause, he said, “If you decide to quit, they’ll erase your memory. There’s a fifty percent chance you’ll come out of the procedure just fine, mind mostly intact. But I’ve seen what happens if something goes wrong. You’ll be nothing but a drooling mess, unable to feed yourself because your brain doesn’t remember how to pick up a spoon. So let me help you.”

D.O’s anger faded without much resistance. He allowed Kris to rub the shampoo into his hair, dignity be damned. The act was strangly intimate, not ual at all, a little paternal.

He was just so tired. So, so ing tired.

Kris adjusted the showerhead and rinsed D.O’s hair of any remaining foamy suds. The water soaked the sleeves of his shirt but he didn’t seem to mind.

Once he was clean, D.O fell back against the tiled wall and slid down until he was cradled by the sides of the tub. And for the second time in his life, he allowed himself to cry in front of another person. He wept openly and the bathroom magnified his sobs until they were all he could hear. The sound of his own anguish, doubts, and regrets.

Kris turned off the shower and sat down, arms folded and his damp elbows hanging over the rim of the tub. “Why do you want to quit?”

D.O took a deep, shuddering breath and sniffed. He forced himself to swallow the lump in his throat and after a long silence, said, “When I initially applied for the Artemis program, I was rejected. I didn’t pass the physical exam.” He glanced at Kris for his reaction and seeing only a sympathetic look, he continued, “Almost a year later, they got in touch and wanted me to re-apply. That’s why I’m older than the other people in my induction class.”

He pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes and wondered why he was telling Kris, whom he’d only known for a few months, all of this. But he felt better already, less burdened somehow.

“That doesn’t mean you’re any less qualified than the rest of us,” said Kris. “Seriously. You’re good at what you do. You should be proud of yourself.”

D.O lowered his hands and smiled wryly. “The only reason I passed the second time is…there was this person and he…without his help, I wouldn’t have passed and once I learned I was in, I dropped him, basically telling him to off. I never told him I got into Artemis. And I thought sacrificing his friendship would be worth it because I could focus on doing something that mattered, something important. But this…” He met Kris’s gaze with red-rimmed eyes. “What the hell are we doing?

Kris didn’t answer. He stood, gently pulling D.O up with him. He found a towel in the linen closet and draped it across the poor agent’s shivering shoulders. “Hey,” he said cautiously, “it doesn’t matter to me what you do in your personal life. But you know that if the Institute finds out about your preferences, there aren’t any laws to protect you from being terminated and having your memories erased by force.”

D.O frowned, about to tell him that he’d got it twisted, that it wasn’t like that at all. But he held back.

Because it had been complicated.

And like everything else in the past tense, the truth was lost.

*

Over twelve hours have passed since he last saw Tao and the other boy with Kyungsoo although it feels much longer. After being dropped off a few blocks away by the driver, D.O arrived at an empty apartment, slept for a few hours, and went to two of his classes.

D.O had initially felt strange sitting in the lecture hall, seeing for the first time the instructors whose voices he had become familiar with in just three weeks. Not wanting the agent to be noticeably behind the other students, Tao had recorded the last two months of Kyungsoo’s classes (nearly 200 hours of lectures) and given him the tapes. Actually seated in front of the professors, he took notes and paid rapt attention.

Now he is back in the apartment he will share with Chanyeol and trying not to think about his first piano lesson tomorrow at 3:00 PM with little Jo-eun, seven years old, intermediate level three.

He’s fairly confident that he can fool Kyungsoo’s adult acquaintances, mainly fellow music majors and the other piano tutors. He’s even sure than Kyungsoo’s closer friends would never seriously suspect him of being a fake. They’d think him odd, maybe, and a little out of it, but not the actual truth.

Children and dogs, however, have a knack for spotting imposters. Children are especially worrisome because they tend to speak their minds without filtering their thoughts. He goes through Kyungsoo’s lesson schedule again, mumbling the names and skill levels of each student until it sounds like a chant.

D.O sets aside the paper. He stands up and stretches. A yawn escapes despite the non-stop stream of adrenaline pumping through his system since he woke up. He rubs his eyes and looks around Kyungsoo’s room for the first time with a somewhat clear head.

Clean, organized, pillow covers that match his sheets. Spotless floor and bare walls, about as personal as a hospital room. Even his desk offers no information as to Do Kyungsoo's private life but he figures there must be clues somewhere.

He rummages through the drawers of the desk. He is pleased to find that they are less organized than the rest of Kyungsoo's room. In the top drawer, he finds essays gray and soft with age. Some are in English and dated back to before Kyungsoo’s military service. He also finds old assignment pages and syllabi.

In the second drawer, he discovers more recent school work as well as a few rough compositions, mostly in some minor key. He briefly glances over these, humming the tunes under his breath, and is surprised to find Kyungsoo’s musicality closely matches his own.

Almost too closely.

D.O suppresses a shiver and moves on to the last drawer. ‘Aha,’ he thinks as he digs up old birthday cards and a stack of glossy 4 x 6 inch photos. ‘Sentimental after all.’ A characteristic that nobody has ever accused D.O of being.

The top photo is a group of teenagers in their school uniforms, Kyungsoo among them. They seem to be in a forest and some of the boys make obscene gestures. The next few pictures are the same as the first with a few variation in poses so he doesn’t examine them too closely.

Beneath the high school photos are Kyungsoo’s army days. His hair is cropped short and he’s wearing camouflage fatigues, same as the other young men around him.

D.O recognizes Chanyeol. The military haircut emphasizes the size and angle of his ears but he manages to pull off the style better than most. He wears his signature wide smile in every frame, unfaltering and constant.

The final photo of the pile had clearly been crumpled up into a ball at one point. Fractured lines distort the image but D.O could still make-out Kyungsoo, staring straight into the camera, with his arm around the shoulder of a young woman. She’s pretty in the conventional sense (unnaturally white skin, heavily lined eyes, red-stained thin lips) but D.O wouldn’t be able to pick her out in a room of girls with similar coloring so he's relieved that they don't appear to have ended amiably.

The front door squeals loudly as it opens and D.O drops the photos back into the drawer. His heart rate spikes as he stands up and quietly shuffles toward the hallway.

“Kyungsoo,” a deep voice booms. “Kyungsoo, my love, dear roomie, where are you?”

D.O takes a deep breath.

‘You can do this. You can absolutely do this.’

“I’m here,” he says, pretending to wander into the kitchen.

Chanyeol looks up from pawing through the plastic bags on the kitchen table. “There you are,” he says, beaming. “I was afraid you’d forgotten about movie night.” He nearly knocks over the six pack can of beers while removing his hand from the bag.

The stalker-ish, candid pictures that D.O had been given to study accurately portrayed Chanyeol's height and handsome features but the camera hadn't been able to capture his clumsy movements or lack of grace. His shoulders seem to be permanently stooped and he moves somewhat sluggishly like many men uncomfortable with their height.

Chanyeol notices the furrowed look on D.O’s face. He pouts, which D.O finds endearing and irritating at the same time. “Don’t tell me you forgot. You were going to show me Les Miserables because it has everything a movie should have: music, romance, es, fighting.” He brandishes an imaginary sword.

D.O busies himself with opening a beer while he scans his memory. Les Miserables. French novel over 100 years old by Victor Hugo. Apparently, also a movie. About the disenfranchised and revolution. No wonder Kyungsoo had thought Chanyeol would like it.

“I didn’t forget,” says D.O, “I’m just a little bit surprised that you remembered. You’re usually so busy.” He concentrates on keeping his hand steady while lifting the can to his lips.

“I know,” Chanyeol says and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry for missing our last movie night.”

“It’s fine,” says D.O. “You can make it up to me by bringing all of this – ” he gestures to the six shopping bags full of snacks “- into the living room.”

Chanyeol nods eagerly, anxious to atone to his roommate for his previous abandonment, and scoops up the bags, three on each arm. He follows D.O into the living room. “So do you know all of the songs?” he asks, dropping the snacks on the floor.

D.O sits down on one end of the couch and blinks. “What?” he replies, outwardly calm, inwardly panicked.

“The songs,” Chanyeol repeats. “You said Les Miserables is a musical, right?”

D.O starts to give a little shrug which he transforms into a twitchy nod as he remembers, yes, the novel had been adapted into a long-running stage musical and won many awards. “But I don't know all the songs.” He doesn't know any of the songs.

“Well, I heard it's very long so let's get started,” says Chanyeol and picks up a bag of chips off the floor. “Where did you put the movie?”

“Hmm, I don't really remember.” D.O cranes his neck and looks around, hoping he will recognize it when he sees it.

“Oh, there is it,” says Chanyeol and moves toward the television. He picks up a plastic DVD case amongst a pile of more DVD cases. "Le-miz-er-ah-bleh," he pronounces. He looks to D.O. "Kyungsoo, am I saying that right?"

“Yes,” D.O replies, finally able to to answer a question with total honesty.

Chanyeol powers on the old, boxy television and slides the disc into the DVD player. Using the remote, he skips over the previews, straight to the main menu. He takes two steps toward the couch before suddenly turning. “The lights,” he reminds himself and flicks the switch, instantly dimming the room.

'Do you hear the people sing?' flows from the television. A single, beautiful tenor voice.

D.O feels the familiar sensation of drowsiness weigh down his shoulders and tug on his eyelids. It's not just the lack of sleep that clouds his brain but a classical conditioned response. Muted lighting and the blue-ish articial glow of a television or computer never fails to trigger fatigue.

Chanyeol cranks the blinds closed, plunging them into further darkness. He creates a path through the snacks to the couch. The leather cushions groan loudly beneath his weight as he settles next to D.O. He presses 'play.'

D.O makes it through the first song before sucucmbing to his torpor, curled into his corner of the couch.

His dreams are filled with songs and water.

He awakes to what he thinks is the main title menu but realizes that it's choral reprise of the same song. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he sees a crowd of men and women dressed in rags, sitting atop a makeshift wall, waving flags, singing their hearts out.

They raise their voices and then they finish the final note. The screen turns black and the credits begin to roll.

D.O stretches his neck left and right, feeling a bit sore from having slept through most of the movie upright. He turns to his roommate, about to ask what he thought of the movie, but sees the tear tracks down Chanyeol's face. He freezes, unsure of what to do: should he comfort the other young man or pretend to not notice?

Chanyeol sniffs loudly and wipes his eyes with his thumbs, still looking straight ahead. Bathed in the blue-ish light of the television, he looks older, worn, ragged. He exhales loudly and pushes back his hair with his hands.

The credits finish and the screen returns to the main menu.

D.O tries to think of what to say but he doesn't have to because Chanyeol speaks first.

“I forgot to mention that Sehun is coming over,” he says in his low voice. He turns to D.O and despite the smile on his face, his eyes don't have their usual spark of life. “He's upset because his girlfriend is getting married this weekend.”

Sehun. A year or two young than himself and Chanyeol. Weird kid and amateur photographer. Also tall and handsome, like everyone else in Kyungsoo's life, D.O notes somewhat sardonically.

“Right.” D.O nods and then adds timidly, “but not to him?”

Chanyeol laughs and reverts to his cheerful demeanor. He bends over and begans gathering the empy bags of snacks and cans of beer, using his long limbs to reach far. “No, she's getting married to her fiance. Sehun is an idiot.”

He looks up. “Do you have anything you'd be willing to die for?” he asks.

D.O raises an eyebrow, bewildered by the abrupt change in topic. “I...I don't know. Maybe. I can't think of anything off the top of my head.”

Chanyeol resumes his tidying. “I received another death threat today,” he says casually, as if he's telling his roommate about a dog he saw on the street. 

“What?” D.O exclaims after the words sink in. Genuine concern mixes with confusion. Tao had not mentioned this. “Who? Why?” 

“I found it taped to my chair, the one I always sit in, during my Asian Public Policy class,” he says and pulls out a folded note from his back pocket.

Hey Park Chanyeol

Keep your ugly nose out of business that doesn't concern you or else I'll bury you where nobody can find your body.

D.O returns the note back to Chanyeol, his hand trembling appropriately. “What the hell does it mean? What have you gotten mixed up in?”

“Oh, so now curious about what I've been doing,” Chanyeol replies with light sarcasm. “Look, don't worry about it. This isn't the first threat I've gotten and it won't be the last. But the movie got me thinking...I can handle cowards hiding behind typed up notes but if someone were to hold a gun to my head and told me to back off, I can't say that I would be able to face death with any kind of honor, doing what I think is right. Then again, maybe I'd let them shoot me. It might be a relief.” He shrugs.

“Chanyeol,” D.O says carefully, “is everything okay?” This wasn't what he had expected. By all accounts, Park Chanyeol was annoyingly upbeat and optimistic to a fault.

Chanyeol nods. “Yeah,” he says with a small smile. “Sorry. Don't worry. I'm not depressed or anything like that. Iit's just that 'm a little on edge. I'm used to people threats via tweets or internet comments but this...it feels invasive. They even know where I sit.” He nervously his lips. “Kyungsoo, if you see anything suspicious, don't get all mother-hen and scold them, okay? Leave them alone or call the police. I don't want you to accidentally get hurt because of me.”

D.O, depsite his size, could easily snap a man's neck like a dry twig. But he doesn't point out this fact to Chanyeol since Kyungsoo seems like type of person who couldn't beat the average 12 year old at arm wrestling.

Although he had seen the first bloom of a bruise on Tao's jaw the night they acquired Kyungsoo. D.O had felt a faint sense of pride, knowing that even in this universe, his counterpart would not surrender easily.

Still, he opens his eyes owlishly wide and promises to not take matters into his own hands.

Chanyeol, satisfied with the response, stands up to take his mess back to the kitchen, smiling brightly and asking if he wants the last beer.

D.O declines. Listening to the sounds of Chanyeol stumbling around the kitchen, he wants to hate the overgrown goon. And theoretically, it should be easy. Chanyeol is loud, overtly affectionate, too earnest for someone as cynical as D.O. And yet, he finds himself laughing as Chanyeol expresses his regret over eating all of the snacks.

This assignment is going to be much harder than he initially thought.   

A/N: Thanks for reading! Comments, votes, subs always welcomed.

I posted this on 8/10 because I wanted to do it before I got too busy but I hated the pacing towards the end so I rewrote bits of it. I'm still kind of unsatisifed but it's better than not doing it at all.

Next up is Kris.