Episode 1: The Quartet

word count: 5,771

*
XIUMIN

Kim Minseok. 17. Seongnam High School Senior.

At first glance, Minseok reflected the image of a model student – ironed-out, blinding white uniforn, clean-cut hair, serene expression, and book-worm aura.

But this day he didn’t look it at all.

The right side of his white uniform is stained with drying blood, his hair an unruly mess, knuckles red, bruised, and some patches of skin there peeling off, there was a cut on the corner of his lips and another one at the edge of his left eyebrow.

Minseok stared defiantly at the eyes of their school guidance counsellor. The student’s sharp eyes – black irises were all in him that gave a , the rest of his face, his body – expressionless. He was too used being in this position, always managing to weasel his way out of prospective expulsion---or actually, the school administrators lay him off easy because he was the school’s representative in Tennis Nationals or Mathrathon or whatever competition that was important enough leverage for the school to keep him.

But perhaps, this time was the last time. He was about to finally get kicked out. Sending four boys to the emergency room was a deal-breaker, it seemed.

“Dae is out of harm’s way, Junsoo will undergo operations on his legs, Yongha and Dong are both in coma,” the counsellor updated him a while ago. Minseok inwardly mused on how he didn’t even know the boys’ names. He re-enacted the fight silently in his mind, putting names to the faces that received this particular punch, this particular kick depending on the damage they retained. Junsoo was definitely the one he repeatedly kicked on the shins.

“You are enjoying this,” the counsellor accused of his silence and this is when Minseok fixed her that defiant stare – a stare that hinted yes, in fact I am.

A girl burst suddenly through the door, disrupting the thickening atmosphere. “Ma’am” she breathed out, shaking, her breath ragged as if she ran on her way here which she probably did.

“Ma’am” she repeated, alarmed eyes fixed on the counsellor but stole a quick glance at Minseok. Minseok knew her as one of the girl in his physics class and nothing more.

“Minseok oppa, he is,” the girl continued. “He didn’t do anything wrong. I saw it all.”

Despite the counsellor’s attempt to interrupt, she went on explaining how the four boys provoked Minseok, asking the lone boy if he’s mute, why he wouldn’t speak, why he refused that Minah girl when the latter confessed to him, is it true he turned down quite a number of girls, why are you a Minseok? But you beat up Jinmo nicely last week, shame, we were rooting for him. Why won’t you answer? Do you ing think you’re so superior? And when the group didn’t get a reaction, one of them spit on him. Minseok threw the first punch but whatever he did afterwards was self-defence.

Minseok wanted to laugh, he definitely did more than self-defence – stopping himself only short of murder - but he can’t afford incriminating himself more so he kept quiet. Good thing he has excellent control over facial expressions.

“Minseok oppa doesn’t deserve to be expelled. He wouldn’t be expelled, would he ma’am?” finished the girl.

“No he won’t. Don’t worry Myerin. You can go back to class now.”

Minseok waited for this Myerin to leave - after sputtered response and nervous glances - before he turned to the counsellor and asked, “I won’t be?” There’s no hope in his voice just feigned disbelief.

“No because you will drop out.”

Minseok sat straighter in his seat, interested for the first time in the conversation.

“You’re a smart boy Kim Minseok. You know that aside from expulsion, you’ll face the possibility of jail time, the possibility of being tried as an adult and face longer sentence.”

“I might not be that smart because I haven’t thought of that at all,” he shrugged, refusing to think of that problem just yet. “What difference will dropping out make?”

“It will leave you with a choice. We are going to give you an option.”

“I’m sorry?” The student’s brow raised slightly in confusion. “By we, you meant the school right? You will help me get out of this--clean? What will you get out of helping me?”

“No actually, by we, I meant the South Korean government. Who could pull the right strings better for you?” The usually gentle and caring face of the young counsellor became imposing and conspiratory.

“You’re just a guidance counsellor, I’m just a normal student, what the hell are you talking about?”

“No I’m not just a counsellor---you know you are so much more than an ordinary student--come on, and---I’m talking about South Korea’s Department of Defence and National Security. How would you like to work for us?” She said the last part as she slide a black card down the desk towards Minseok.

It just said the name Kwon Boa and a contact number.

This was a big joke. Minseok was supposed to question this. He should. The name engraved on the marble name plate sitting atop the desk isn’t even Kwon. This was supposed to be absurd, ridiculous, out of nowhere----but---it wasn’t. It makes sense to him somehow. He was waiting for this to happen – for someone to take him out of the hell of foster parents and the hell of high-school. He dreamed about this. His life led up to this. He’s sure.

The feeling of the black card felt natural around his fingers. “Boa?” he asked looking up. “Nice name.”

Boa cocked her head in agreeance. “We can’t discuss anymore here. Call me. Don’t bother coming back to school.”

“Did I already agree to whatever you’re offering?”

“Like you prefer jailtime than this? Please. We know we don’t need to blackmail you. You want this. You want this so bad. You’ve been waiting for this your whole life, haven’t you?”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you too Kwon Boa. I bet you’ve been itching out of your lame fake name.”

Boa laughed and admitted she had been but what made Minseok think which of her name is real or fake?

Minseok didn’t answer, asked instead if he also get a new name when he work for them. “Does it have to be an animal—like boa? I’d like to be a snake too.”

Boa laughed in earnest this time. “Look at you trying to be all tough but getting excited over something as childish as choosing a name. I’ve never seen you with this much emotion. If I only knew, I’d ask you a long time ago-“

“Why didn’t you? You were assigned here my sophomore year. Don’t tell me you’ve been here all this time just because of me.”

“Let’s not get carried away. Didn’t I say we can’t discuss more here,” she said but smiled, hint of how much more she knew but keeping from him. “We don’t recruit underage but it seems you can’t wait. Now go home. And think about what you want for a new name, kiddo.”


*

His eyes point sharply at the edges, the corners becoming more pronounce as he blinks his eyes fully open. He has dark irises, even darker in the dimly lit bedroom. Sliver of light is creeping through the large window. The sun is beginning to rise.

He sits up from the bed, pristine sheets gathering around him.

Again. He was dreaming of his past again and had been for the last couple of weeks. But this time is different, the dream is vivid enough – not just the visual but also the emotions - whatever he was feeling that time - it all comes back to him fresh, as if everything was just yesterday.

It wasn’t. It was 7 years ago.

He's no longer Kim Minseok. He is Jung Xiumin, SMO Agent level 00.

Specialization – Assassination.






KAI


Kai hasn’t been in touch with the feeling of fear for a long time. But as soon as he landed to Korea from Macau – it has been creeping on him – fear...dread....

He bumps on a suited man in the entrance of his apartment building, his hoodie falling to his shoulder to reveal a shock of unruly hair that points in every direction. He does not look back to the cursing of watch where you’re going and slams the side of his fist to the down call button of the elevator. The floor indicator lights up to show the letter P, then 29. 28. 27.

. . .

26

25

He glances hopefully to the other elevator although he knows it’s already past midnight – only one elevator operates.

22

21

He presses the call button again and again. His restless feet are aching to bolt for the stairs but simple calculation says the elevator will be faster because he lives in the ing 29th 

17

16

Come on, come on, come on.

His eyes are glued to the flashing numbers but his awareness extends to his surroundings - feeling, preparing, half-expecting for the enemy, mentally drawing out the gun tucked on his back and hidden behind his jacket. There will be no need for that, yet.

Instead, he draws his phone from his pocket and speed dials. He holds the phone firmly against his ears feeling as if the device is a blackhole him into nothingness. The ringing sound seems far away.

10

9

8

Unattended tone, again. He lets his hand fall to his side and grips his phone, hard, and feels the beginning of a nervous tremor. Foreign feeling – nervousness. But also familiar--like slowly submerging in cold water.

4

3

2

He’s shaking. Tan skin stretching gaunt over bruised knuckles, the veins at the back of his hand bulging from the tight fist he holds around his phone.

UG.

The ping resonates around as the elevator door opens.

His feet move on their own. And then he’s pressing buttons, messing the elevator so it will not stop on any other floors.

A new countdown starts.

A message sent by a number that won’t register, they are not supposed to, sent him running into this. The words flash back stubbornly in his mind. Even with eyes closed or open, it wouldn’t go away, as if warning him, mocking him.

They are coming to kill Sehun. Right now.

The brevity is scary.

The elevator dings and the door opens. He goes out, gun out, and running.

He reaches the door. Locked – nothing is reassuring about that. He fights the urge to furiously knock and beg please don’t let it be too late.

He inserts the key and turns very very slowly. There’s a soft click but it sounded so loud to him. The door swings open. The immediate view is of the hallway. He closes the door silently behind him. Darkness, but not complete - light is coming probably from the kitchen. He becomes a shadow, walking, gliding soundlessly. Four long steps are all it took. He reaches the end of the hallway and not even a breath passed when a body slams into him.

Jumping back to create distance, Kai aims his gun.





SEHUN


Having a gun pointed at you, it isn't new to Sehun. But the fact that is Jongin on the other end, “Whoa," Sehun jumps. "What the f-"

“Sehun!”

He catches an armful of Jongin, his chest colliding loudly, and somewhat painfully, against Jongin's. He's not used to Jongin like this. Scared. Shaking. "What--what’s wrong Jongin? You're scaring me."

“Damn you!” Jongin pulls away and punctuates his words with a punch on Sehun’s shoulder.

"What did I do?"

“I was calling you!"

"You--why?--wait what's going on?" he trails off because Jongin suddenly turns for the bedroom, looking from side to side, gun out, and even Sehun instinctively looks out for – for what, he doesn’t even know. Questions after questions tumble out of his mouth as he follows Jongin around, his questions getting angrier and angrier (better than afraid as Sehun chose not to notice the fear in Jongin’s eyes).

More questions when Jongin opens a secret compartment in the top of the closet. Even more questions when he opens a briefcase of metals – black and silver. Strings of hissed curses when Jongin begins assembling and loading a 45 calibre gun. Dead silence when it becomes apparent whom the gun is for. Sehun just stares at the shining assemblage of metals that Jongin is holding out to him.

“Sehun, I have no time to explain. We have to go now.” Jongin’s voice is firm, back in control. Sehun’s gaze lifts up to meet his eyes – there is something in there that Sehun has never seen before. This is not Jongin, this is Kai.

Sehun takes the gun.

(“My real name is Kim Jongin. I didn’t lie about that. Yes I’m from the Kim Textile Industry but as far as my family is concerned, I am dead. I lied about doing my family’s business. I work for what I believe is a black op for the Department of Defence and Security. In this world I’m known as Kai. I murder, I steal, and I live a double life but----I thought I was serving our country. I was wrong. So I want to be Jongin, just Jongin. This is the only truth you need to know Sehun.)





LU HAN


“Kabooogsshh!!! That’s the bomb by the way, which successfully went off after an unknown delay. I still have no contact with the field agents. And I’m bored out of my ing m--”

“Copy that.”

The earphone goes clack signalling he’s been cut-off.

“Rude,” Luhan shoots at no one.

Inside the helicopter, he can hear fire cackling nearby, probably swallowing the whole bio lab. The rotor blade overhead whirs furiously, ready for takeoff anytime, the pressure making his brown hair flap on his face. He shakes his hair, messes it up in style. As his hands fall back to place, he sighs, rounded eyes blinking back boredom. While his team mates do all the fun, he's stuck to piloting duties no fair. Granted, the last time they dealt with bombs on operations he joked around and tried to stuff a couple down his own pants, but it was a pure display of fearlessness, why doesn't he get a point for that?

The door of the rooftop opens and Xiumin emerges.

“About ing time!” Luhan shouts as he starts readying for take-off.

Xiumin is already seated beside him in the cockpit when Luhan realizes something, “Where’s Jihun?” he asks looking around expecting Jihun to jump out.

“Dead.”

“De – okay, so you joke now huh? Where is he? I want to leave now.”

“I’m not joking. He’s dead. I killed him,” Xiumin says, traces of impatience in his voice, but no joke, no remorse, no regret.

Luhan stares at him--not doubting what he did but wondering why. “And would you,” he starts weakly but forces to be as casual as possible, “for reporting purposes, care to explain why?”

“He tried to stop me from getting the job done so,” Xiumin trails off into non-committal silence.

Xiumin killed Jihun. Jihun is their friend.

Was.

Luhan prevents himself from feeling anything about that. Not now. Positioning the mic of the headset over his mouth, he says in a controlled voice, “Frost is here. Mountaineer is dead. We’re taking off.”

clack

“Copy that.”






The mission was to abduct Dr. Trancedi and steal the SERS-CA virus that he cultured. For Xiumin, that was easy. They breached through the University security system, into the biologists lab and successfully stolen the virus. First part of the mission, complete without any delay.

However, when they arrive at the Trancedi mansion, all the body guards were down and the biologist was missing, signs of struggle all around his room.

(“Well well, it seems we’ve got competition. Further instruction: I want you to wipe all traces of Trancedi’s work.)

So they left the Trancedi mansion on fire.

Xiumin was setting up bomb in the biologist’s university lab when a voice stopped him. Jihun. “Wait. There are other people in here. There are children in the building.”

“Too bad for them then,” Xiumin whispered.

Jihun grabbed his arm, and when Xiumin tried to yank it away, he held it tighter. Dominoes collapsed, first it was "you're not really going to try and stop me, are you?" against "I can't let you," that became swift hands against strong grips, then knuckles against knuckles, gun against gun. Logic against morale.

Wipe all traces of his work. Logic dictates what needs to be done.

*

Sehun screams when the first gunshot hits the windshield on his side of the car, showering him with pieces of broken glass. They are being gun chased by a black Hyundai.

“Are you okay?” Jongin asks while violently swerving and narrowly missing an oncoming car from the opposite lane. Sound of traffic mixes with the sound of gunshots.

“Yes,” Sehun answers even if he cannot feel anything – if he’s hit by shards or bullet, he feels too numb to know. As tan on-field photojournalist, this is not his first time being in the middle of gunfire, but first time being directly in the receiving end.

Bang. Bang. Bang. More shots are fired making Sehun slide down his seat. Jongin curses. Bang Bang. The sound is shrill and whizzing. Deadly – says the back of Sehun’s mind. Bang Bang. The colliding bullets are making the car vibrate, aggravating the furious beating of the journalist’s heart.

They swerve back on the opposite lane desperate to put more distance from the black car. Counter-flow. Sehun tries not to think how he would prefer dying from gunshots than car crash. He looks over at Jongin. This is his world - car chase and gunshots, stealth and death.

Feeling the car ascend, Sehun sits straight feeling a strange ounce of calmness. They finally reached the skyway, less traffic here and Jongin wastes no time to accelerate, not letting go of the accelerator until Sehun feels like they are flying, wind slapping him from the broken window, the lights from the buildings below meshing into lines. Lines of lights are all that Sehun sees and when he’s starting to take the silence and calm for safety, something bumps them from behind, sending him forward, (Jongin curses again), he looks back to see the black Hyundai dangerously close to their tail. He can’t believe it, he thought they are already going so so fast but apparently still not fast enough.

“Hold tight,” Jongin warns.

The car makes a dangerous lurch to the right, a car on the opposite lane blares the horn, long and deafening. Jongin drives the car back to the left, so much to the left that they collided with the Hyundai - Sehun feels the greatest impact yet. Jongin turns the steering wheel to the right then to the left again, hard left again and again, trying to get the Hyundai off the road. Sehun is starting to get dizzy. Then shots are fired again and Sehun swears he felt the air near his cheeks ripple from passing bullets.

The Hyundai is right beside them and its driver is aiming his gun right at Sehun’s face.

“Get down!”

Sehun ducks as Jongin whips out his gun and fires.

Just like that the black car spins, skids and skids around before crashing against the barrier. Sehun catches a glimpse of the driver, bloody face slumped over the steering wheel. He turns to Jongin, looking for a reaction but there is none.How does it feel to kill a man? Sehun suddenly becomes aware of the gun in his own hand. Unused but ready.

*

It’s cold inside the private jet, more because of the fact that it came to Brussels with three people but is coming back to Korea with only two. It keeps Luhan awake. They are used to this - losing some agents, some friends, during operations. Bu the fact that it was Xiumin who killed him –

He asked to be put on the field alongside Xiumin but he was declined. Had he been on Jihun’s position, will he be dead by now?

Luhan turns from his seat. Down the aisle, three seats behind him, Xiumin sleeps, lips slightly parted and letting out even breathes. Xiumin has been on mission for 72 hours straight and exhaustion finally caught up with him. He rarely sleeps, so Luhan takes the opportunity to watch – he looks so peaceful, soft, innocent, even angelic. The irony is both amazing and disturbing.

There’s a reason why Xiumin is the organization’s best agent. He is heartless. Cold.

But even his ruthlessness is calculated. He never gets angry, never raises his voice. He can be infuriatingly calm and it drives Luhan crazy. His kills are done with precision, not brutal but clean. (Xiumin doesn’t like getting blood on himself.)

Luhan can’t help comparing himself to him, not out of envy, just examining their differences. Luhan is reckless, stubborn and doesn’t like hitting the brakes on anything, he spills way too much blood than necessary, he enjoys doing the job more than actually seeing results. He’s always laughing even at un-funny things while Xiumin doesn’t even as much as smile.

He’s so cold that here is a running joke for Xiumin’s assigned codenames during Ops – the popular ones are Silencer, Ice Prince, Snowraven, Skater, Winterwolf, and now he’s Frost. Nobody knows who creates codenames for them but Luhan is hoping for the day Xiumin is codenamed Popsicles.

He chuckles beside himself. It’s only fair because he had a lot of ridiculous codenames like Wondeer, Monkeyboy, and the worst thus far, Yellowbell. Luhan likes embracing the ridiculous but even he has limits.

He had decent codenames too, some are fairly creative. He likes those that reflect his personality and skills – fire and eruption – instability and instant danger.

The best one, and his all time favourite, is codename Supernova.

*

He smells the ocean before he sees it and Jongin wonders, does it always smell like freedom and safety? The car starts its descent. He knows that they have to get out of here fast and move forward--but part of him wishes they can stay here, floating, overlooking the ocean that reflects the brightness of the stars and the moon.

He tugs on Sehun’s free hand and presses his lips against the pale knuckles. Sehun turns to him and Jongin intertwines their fingers together then cradles their joined hands over his lap.

“It’s dangerous to drive with one hand especially at... 150km/hr.”

“Seriously?” Jongin smiles. “After all that, you think I cannot handle this?”

“Oh--oh yeah,” Sehun laughs at the realization and the sound of his laughter eases the heaviness in Jongin’s chest. “Oh my gosh, you are like 1000 times hotter now--so badass.”

“You’re not scared?”

“Scared to death if I’m being honest. But fear will not save me.”

“What will?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You. My hero.”

They laugh together and Jongin tries not to think that it is because of him that Sehun is in danger in the first place.

*

“What the hell Xiumin?” Luhan is backing down the aisle and freaking out (he doesn’t like taking anything lightly). “Close it. Do you want to infect us?”

Xiumin is now awake and lazily examining the small cylinders containing the cultures of SERS-CA.

“You’re stupid,” Xiumin deadpans. Only when he placed all the cylinders back in its black case and closed it, did Luhan stop over-reacting and warily approaches him.

“Isn’t it interesting?” Xiumin looks up at him.

“Getting infected and die? No, I don’t think so.”

Xiumin smirks to himself. “The organization only said this is a lethal virus so we will not ask too much questions. I’m surprised you haven’t caught on.”

“No---I was busy complaining on being put to driving duties again to even speculate on what the job is about,” he sits across Xiumin and casts curious look to the black box. “So what does it really do?”

“Neuro-programming.”

“Owkay? We’re sent half-way across the globe for that? Neuro-programming and also behavioural programming have been around for decades now. What’s new?”

“Yeah it’s been around---but only in theory and anyway I think SERS is for a new field in neuro-programming, something the organization doesn’t have.”

“Uhu. Go on.”

“Have you read Trancedi’s last book?”

“Wha-you mean the one that made the scientific world think he’s gone cuckoo? What’s that The Science of Reincarnation? You think that is true?”

“I don’t know. But it gives the idea what he’s up to – with the viruses. The book’s subjects, the people who are suspected to be reincarnated - they have memories from other lifetime –metamemories as referred as in the book. And Trancedi’s explanation is that the subjects are related to the past owner of the memory - some memories are inherited, imbedded in their DNA. In some situations, the subjects completely believe the metamemories are their own – so much that their families had to explain to them who they really are.

I’m only guessing at this, but I think I’m right anyway, that the virus will be used to carry false memories into the system of the host. Memory-tampering, modification.”

“More like brainwashing version two point O,” Luhan says dramatically. “That sounds so complicated – people will go to such measure? When does death stop being the solution? Hey--you know--now that you’ve mentioned it—I remember what Chanyeol has been complaining about in the tech department.”

“What?”

“Extraction. They’ve been at it for months but still failing. Extracting memories. This can’t be a coincidence – I have a feeling the Organization is up to something really huge this time.”

“Luhan, they’re always up to something huge. You’re just not involved.”

“Yeah yeah. But seems like you aren’t too. On this one at least. They lied to you too, about the virus.”

Minseok gives him a look and yes, Luhan won this time. He smiles triumphantly just as the pilot announces their landing.

*

The boats lined up in the harbour looks like a flock of sleeping animals. Sehun has the sudden urge to take a picture, with the calm night and full moon in the backdrop. One of the boats roars to life and starts sailing to direction of the dock.

“Come on,” Jongin mutters.

They reach the end of the dock and the roaring handsome fishing boat? Speed boat? stops in front of them. A lone figure emerges, his silhouette like a captain of a ship, like a pirate. Sehun really wants to take a picture.

“Well hurry up you guys,” the figure beckons and his voice sounds familiar - a voice Sehun is used to hear singing, isn’t that- is that-

“Yixing?” Sehun calls out as Jongin ushers him to climb up and Yixing reaches out for him. His feet barely hit the floor boat when a gunshot cuts through the silence. Jongin disappears, his name stuck on Sehun’s tongue when he’s pushed down by Yixing to take cover.

More shots hit the side of the boat and then it stops.

Sehun looks up to see the image of three people on the dock, fighting fist against fist, body against body. One of them is Jongin.

One against two.

He’s throwing his fist, his legs, in a speed that is inhuman. It will probably require 1/8000 s shutter speed to capture the motion, a speed meant for birds and planes. One man drops down dead. A punch lands on the side of Jongin’s face and Sehun stands up realizing that Yixing has his arms around him, restraining him.

“Don’t be stupid Sehun,” Yixing breathes against his ears but Sehun, recovering from his daze, is suddenly overwhelmed by the need to move. Yixing sharply twists the both of them to avoid a bullet that comes hurtling past. Yixing pulls out his own gun and Sehun takes the opportunity to jump out of the boat.

“Sehun!” Yixing calls.

Jongin gets briefly distracted by the name costing him a kick at his middle. He grabs the culprit by the face, twists, and the guy drops down to the ground, dead. Both dead.

A gunshot fires.

No. There is another one..

But when he turns what he sees is Sehun standing, his gun pointed at the third man lying on the ground meters away.

Sehun stares at the body in front of him, arm slowly falling on his side. Jongin steps in and deliberately blocks him from the view. Sehun doubles over, “Is he dead?” he whispers against Jongin’s chest.

Jongin doesn’t answer.

Sehun lets himself be dragged into the boat, everything else happens in a dream-like blur. He’s vaguely aware of being seated, not paying attention to anything, but Jongin’s arms anchor him somewhat. He’s starting to relax in his arms when he hears Jongin’s instruction to Yixing, Don’t contact me, I’ll be the one contacting you. His head shoots up, it doesn’t make sense.

“You’re not coming with us?” deep down Sehun was expecting it. I am danger to you Sehun. It still does not stop Sehun to cling to Jongin and beg.

Jongin kisses him, quick and firm, and it tastes so much like goodbye so Sehun leans back in to cover the traces of what felt like a final kiss.

Sehun’s tight embrace feels like don’t go so Jongin pulls away.

“I’ll come back to you I promise.”

*






Gray and orange sneakers look out of place on the shiny and black marble they’re treading on. Xiumin is still dressed in his casual jeans and shirt, his earlier cover as a University student, as he walks through an elegant empty hallway. Back inside the office lobby earlier, his blatant disregard of office dress code turned several heads but once they realized it was Xiumin, they averted their gaze.

He enters a glassroom and the marble changes into deep brown carpet, but with the faint lighting in the room, the brown might as well have been black. He was summoned to go directly to this room, AOP con room, where high-risk and top secret missions are assigned. He frequents this side of the office more than any other agents.

The room is large but empty except for--.

“Director Yang,” Xiumin greets the sharp looking man in a crispy suit seated near the end of the table who acknowledges him with a tight smile. Yang is operations head, the one who briefs agents through top level assignments. He has a stern face and the aura of a lion pacing around its dead prey. Nobody dares to even sigh in his presence. But Xiumin did just that before asking if they are waiting for anybody else.

“Yes. Sit down.”

Xiumin takes a seat opposite him, boredly looking through the tinted glass window. They cannot be seen from the other side which only sees a barren wall, perfect metaphor for what they do – deceit and concealment. The room is mostly illuminated by the screen of laptops perched on the desk. The logo of the organization, SMO, is the screensaver. The elegant letters dance across the screen, shrinks and blows up. At zoom in, it’s apparent that there are glossy images of banknotes inside each letters – like watermarks or white tattoos. Very subtle. The organization has best assassins, con-artists, spies, and thieves, all thinking they are serving the country. SMO is all about the money. Only top agents know the truth.

The door opens and Xiumin raises his eyebrow at Director Yang because before them stands, the President of the organization himself, President Jung. Director Yang makes to stand but President waves him off and takes his seat.

“Ah Xiumin,” he starts, his voice is a thousand years old. Despite old age, he exudes power and authority but also has the air of a gentle grandfather. “It’s been quite long.”

“President,” Xiumin nods in greeting.

“Shall we have something to drink? Scotch, perhaps.”

Director Yang volunteers to fix the drinks leaving the President beaming kindly, and proudly, at Xiumin. Everybody knows Xiumin is treated by the president like a trophy child of the organization so much that he became an adoptive Jung. Jung Xiumin. 

Over their drinks (although Xiumin does not even touch his glass), Xiumin is congratulated for the success of Brussels operations. But Xiumin deflects the complement; he wouldn’t count the operation successful. They lost one agent, and they came back without Trancedi.

“Such high standards, as expected from you. But it’s still successful compared to the other operations, especially the ones in Macau last week and in Bali yesterday---catastrophic. I’m sure you heard and I’m sure that you know these are not coincidences – the enemy seems to always know what we are doing – always one step ahead of us.” The President looks at him with implication.

Xiumin exchanges looks with Director Yang, because between his two superiors, Yang is the more sensible one.

Yang slowly nods at him, “That is why, we have a class A undercover mission for you.”

*






Jongin sighs at the disaster he made in the kitchen. He convinced himself that if he can steal heavily secured items and kill important people, he can certainly cook pasta for his boyfriend. He sighs again. He will just stick to being a secret agent from now on.

There’s the sound of the front door swinging open and Jongin tries to do damage control by immediately admitting all his sins, “I tried making dinner,” he calls to the general direction of the door, “and I think I broke the stove and I burned the bottom of the pan and there’s a red stain on the counter and on the floor and I’m sorry and I love you and I just want to make you dinner because we haven’t seen each other for almost two weeks.”

He’s facing his boyfriend now, whose sharp eyes are boring holes into his face. “I’m sorry,” he repeats. Striding over to his boyfriend and getting a good look at his eyes, he feels that something is off.

“Hyung?” he asks, hands landing tentatively on the other’s sides. “Brussels op that bad?”

“Not as bad as what you did in Macau,” the older mocks and smiles. Jongin hides his pout on the other’s neck and steals some warmth that melts his worries away.

“I missed you hyung,” he mumbles against the other’s skin.

*