Kyungsoo did not speak for much of the afternoon. Instead, with his knees drawn up to his chest, he stared at the empty walls of Jongin’s suite. After all of that hard work, all of that terror and adrenaline that had consumed him, after looking death in the face and coming out alive, Kyungsoo had not done what Jongin had asked of him. He was not able to locate what Jongin desired – a concealment of weapons in the warehouse. 

He had been saved, but the damage had already been done – Kyungsoo had failed. Would that mean his family had already paid ultimate the price for his blunder? It was difficult not knowing: not knowing whether his loved ones, his family, were alive at all or whether he would ever see them again.

“What are you moping about now?” Jongin’s callous voice cut through the silence of the penthouse as he walked into the living room, his dark eyes focused on Kyungsoo. The concern that Jongin previously had for Kyungsoo’s wellbeing disappeared shortly after they had left the warehouse and now, he had reverted back to his normal, cold self.

Letting out a quiet sniff, Kyungsoo closed his eyes. “I failed,” he choked, his voice no more than a whisper. “I didn’t find what you were looking for.”

Jongin’s lips twisted up into a smirk as he took a seat on the couch next to Kyungsoo. “No,” he said quietly. “You didn’t find it. But I did.”

Kyungsoo’s eyes widened in shock. Slowly, he lifted his head to face Jongin. “W-what?” he stammered in bewilderment. Jongin’s smirk grew.

“I found what I wanted – I knew exactly where they were. You were just a decoy. But I couldn’t have done it alone, not without your little distraction, anyway.”

Turning his back to Jongin, Kyungsoo reverted his gaze back to the empty wall. “Oh,” he said quietly. It would have been asking for too much should he have thought Jongin to ever be concerned about him. Of course, Jongin was right – Kyungsoo was nothing more than a decoy, offering himself up as bait.

An amused chuckle escaped Jongin’s lips and he got to his feet. “Did you really think I would come to your aid first?” he asked, his dark eyes glittering with mild interest. When Kyungsoo remained silent, his eyes trained to the wall, Jongin laughed coldly. “Don’t be stupid. But,” he sighed reluctantly. “I could not have done it without you, so you have not entirely failed.”

“But what about the others?” Kyungsoo asked, trying his hardest not to look at Jongin. “The guy you shot today – he wasn’t alone, was he?”

“No,” Jongin replied. “He wasn’t. But that wasn’t an issue. I’ve already sent some of my men into the warehouse – they spared nothing.”

Hesitantly, Kyugnsoo glanced over his shoulder. “Are the others … Dead?” he asked softly, his voice barely audible. He did not want to know of the Sabel Tiger members’ fates, but he could not seem to stop himself from asking.

“Yes,” Jongin replied monotonously, tucking his hands behind his head. “All but one.”

“Why one? Why keep just the one alive?”

Jongin arched his eyebrows lazily and leaned back against the couch, his eyes closing slowly. “Would you have preferred that none survive, Kyungsoo?” he asked teasingly. He knew that, should Kyungsoo of had his way, every Sabel Tiger member would have lived. “I did not realise that you were so coercive. How cold of you.”

“I didn’t mean– “ Kyungsoo began, annoyed by Jongin’s remark, only to be cut off by the other straightening himself up.

“He was kept alive for information. That’s all. Relax, killer.”

 “Don’t call me that,” Kyungsoo growled, his fists balling around the fabric of his trousers, his knuckles slowly turning white.

Jongin’s lips twisted themselves into a sinister grin and he got to his feet, turning away from Kyungsoo. “Last I checked,” he mocked, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “You were in no position to tell me what I can and cannot call you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some information to collect from a certain hostage.”

Kyungsoo watched Jongin cross the room carefully, his eyes narrowed out of confusion and annoyance. “What makes you think that he will be so amenable to tell you anything, Jongin?”

Pausing by the door Jongin looked back over his shoulder, his dark eyes flashing with menace. “That is it exactly – nobody in their right mind would be willing, but when one finds themselves being tortured,” he said lightly, “the information just sort of … Slips out.”

With his heart racing, tiny beads of sweat glistening on his forehead, Kyungsoo searched each floor of the Hyde desperately. Kyungsoo did not know where Jongin was keeping the Sabel Tigers hostage, but what he did know was that he had to find him. Nobody deserved to die, not by these means, anyway.

Kyungsoo’s lungs burned with effort, each gulp of air stung as he fought to maintain his speed. Clutching his side, his faze foggy, he hurried into the hotel basement, the florescent lights overhead flickered dully, the concrete walls damp.

If there was one thing that he was sure of, it was that Jongin would take his time extracting the information from the Sabel Tigers hostage, so Kyungsoo could spare a few wrong turns. But with every miscalculation, every second he delayed, he knew that the hostage was suffering.

Rounding the corner of the basement’s long passageway, Kyungsoo skidded to a halt outside a heavy roller door; the sound that echoed from within the room affirmed that Jongin was inside there. Balling his fists together, Kyungsoo pounded them against the door, screaming; he had to do something to draw Jongin’s attention – and perhaps anger – away from the hostage.

“I didn’t think that you would be interested in watching something like this,” came Jongin’s calm voice from the other side of the roller door, “killer.”

Kyungsoo cringed, he could hear the smirk in Jongin’s voice. “Don’t call me that,” he growled, beating his fists against the door once more. “Jongin, let me in right now!”

“So cruel of you,” Jongin taunted. “To want to watch someone’s suffering.”

Noisily, the roller door retracted, the cacophonous noise seemed to cut right through Kyungsoo, bouncing off of the cold, concrete walls.

 Quickly, Kyungsoo’s eyes scanned the contents of the basement room; it was concrete too, much like the rest, a single fluorescent light hung from the ceiling. A thin coat of mould was the only trace of colour the walls held, matched only by a small pool of sanguine that rested at the base of a stool. Pressed against the farthest wall of the concrete room were three of Jongin’s men, clad in suits, watching.

With his hands bound and head bowed, the Sabel Tigers hostage sat, imbrued and weak. Kyungsoo’s eyes widened with shock at the sight of him and he stepped forward, only to have his path blocked by Jongin.

“But me? I am not quite so cruel,” he said teasingly, holding Kyungsoo back with ease. “I will put him out of his suffering.”

With his free hand, Jongin’s hand dipped into the pocket of his jacket, returning moments later with his revolver. Extending his arm, he pointed it towards the hostage.

“You want to see death that badly, chef?” he snarled, letting go of Kyungsoo. “Well, you’re about to see it firsthand.”

 “No!” Stepping around Jongin, Kyungsoo scrambled in front of the hostage, stretching out his arms protectively. “He did nothing to deserve this sort of punishment!”

Narrowing his eyes dangerously, Jongin didn’t lower his revolver. “Damn it Kyungsoo,” he snarled. “Stay out of it.”

Drawing in a deep breath, Kyungsoo steadied himself, his eyes fixed firmly on Jongin and the gun clutched tightly in his hand. Allowing his arms to drop to his sides, Kyungsoo relaxed his shoulders. “No,” he repeated, his voice low. “I’m not moving. If you want to kill him, you will have to kill me first.”

Tilting his head to the side, Jongin offered Kyungsoo a one shouldered shrug. “No problem,” he said lazily, aiming the barrel of the pistol at Kyungsoo’s chest. “This will only take a second.”

Jongin’s finger wrapped around the trigger of the pistol, his cold gaze fixed on Kyungsoo, of who had closed his eyes in fright – and hesitated.

“That bastard,” he hissed dangerously. Jongin couldn’t do it – he couldn’t shoot him. Crossing the small gap between himself and where Kyungsoo stood, Jongin shoved Kyungsoo out of the way roughly, snorting with satisfaction when hel stumbled forward and fell onto the hard concrete ground. “Stay out of my way, Kyungsoo.”

“Stop!” Kyungsoo pleaded, attempting to scramble on all fours back to the hostage’s side. “Please, Jongin! Don’t do it!”

Turning to the barely conscious hostage, Jongin hooked one hand roughly under their jaw, lifting their head to look at him. With the other hand, Jongin positioned the barrel of the pistol against the hostage’s temple.

“You get to live to see another day. Consider yourself the luckiest person on Earth,” he spat before turning to address his men who waited in silence. “Get this filth out of my sight.”

“Sir!”

Two of the suit clad men stepped forward, seizing the hostage by the shoulders, dragging him from the room, the third remained with his back pressed against the wall, awaiting command. Eyes blazing, Jongin whirled around to face Kyungsoo, the revolver still clutched tightly in a hand that now trembled with rage.

“You,” he hissed, seizing Kyungsoo by the collar of his shirt and dragging him to his feet. Gasping and clawing at Jongin’s hands, Kyungsoo writhed in his grip, trying to free himself. “Do you want to die that badly? Do you want get yourself killed.” Pausing, Jongin clenched his jaw, his whole body shaking with anger. “Why don’t I just save you the trouble and do it myself?”

Releasing his grip from Kyungsoo’s collar, Jongin watched as the apprentice chef buckled over, gasping for air before bringing the barrel of the revolver down over the back of his head. Kyungsoo slumped to the ground, unconscious.

With a long, drawn out sigh, Jongin returned his revolver to the pocket of his jacket, dragging his fingertips through his messy hair. Prodding Kyungsoo’s unconscious body roughly with the toe of his boot, Jongin turned to the last of his men that stood attentively in the farthest corner of the concrete room.

“Bring him back upstairs,” he said warily. When the man started forward obediently, Jongin held up a hand, signalling him to wait. “But be careful. Make sure he gets some ice for his head.”

  With a hand clutched around his side, the bloodied man limped into the boardroom, his face twisted in agony. There, in the middle of the boardroom sat an elderly man, his beard flecked with silver, his elbows resting against the large table lazily.

“Well,” he drawled as the bloodied man drew closer. “I must say, I had hoped for better to survive.”

Gritting his teeth, the man clenched his fists, dried blood and grime caked his skin, cracking as he tensed, but that was the least of his concern. “Sir,” he rasped, his voice quavering. “Jongin – he has a weakness.”

“Weakness?” asked the elderly man as he combed his fingertips through his grey flecked beard thoughtfully. “I very much doubt that.”

“No,” the bloodied man insisted, limping closer to the table. “This could – The Sabel Tigers, we – Kyungsoo.”

“Kyungsoo?” the elderly man asked, his brows arching in realisation. “The nobody?” The one Jongin had refused to introduce? That must have been Kyungsoo; kept close so that Jongin could watch over him – could protect him from harm. Yes, that had to be Kyungsoo.

Getting to his feet, the elderly man’s lips twisted upwards into a sinister smirk. “If we kill Kyungsoo, Jongin will suffer and, with his suffering, Vanguard will surely fall.”

Kyungsoo cringed when he felt something cold press against the top of his head; his whole body ached, his head throbbing. Opening his eyes slowly, Kyungsoo propped himself up on his elbows, the world seeming as though it was spinning.

“Stay still,” an unfamiliar voice grumbled, dabbing at Kyungsoo’s forehead with a melting ice pack, the condensation dribbling down the side of his temple. Gritting his teeth, Kyungsoo squinted, his vision eventually coming back to him.

He was in Jongin’s room – on Jongin’s bed. One of his men, a member from Vanguard stood in front of him, a small ice pack in his hands and an annoyed look on his face. Kyungsoo was willing to bet that he had not planned on taking care of someone, but did not wish to disobey Jongin.

The man took a step back, placing the rapidly melting ice pack on the bedside dresser. Watching him carefully, Kyungsoo’s brow knitted together in confusion. One of the chairs from the kitchen had been moved into the bedroom, Jongin sat atop it, his arms folded in front of his chest, sound asleep.

Following Kyungsoo’s gaze, the Vanguard grunt snorted, rolling his eyes. “Hasn’t left,” he said, moving once more to force Kyungsoo to lie down, shoving him by his shoulder roughly. “Not once. Missed an important meeting this morning because you still hadn’t woken up.”

“Er,” Kyungsoo managed to rasp, his voice husky and head still swimming. Propping himself up on his elbows once more, he tilted his head to the side. “This morning?”

With a roll of his eyes, the Vanguard grunt shoved Kyungsoo back down once more. “You’ve been unconscious for a while – seventeen hours.” Shooting a quick glance towards where Jongin slept, his head to one side, the man continued: “He was really worried  - kept a close eye on you all throughout the night. Only drifted off to sleep about an hour ago.”

Kyungsoo snorted in disbelief, trying to sit upright once more. “Worried?” he growled bitterly. His head throbbed, his entire body ached, all because Jongin had knocked him out. And he was supposed to be worried? “If he was worried, he would have listened to me. If Jongin was worried,”  he added, his tone overcast. “He would have let me go already.”

A dark chuckle reached Kyungsoo’s ears and he froze, the Vanguard grunt wheeling around to greet his superior.

“You should have just stayed unconscious.”

Jongin had awoken.

With his arms folded across his chest and an unreadable expression on his face, Jongin watched Kyungsoo carefully. The other shifted on the couch uncomfortably under Jongin’s hawklike stare; with his eyes cast downwards, Kyungsoo twisted his fingers together, desperately wanting to be anywhere but there.

Perhaps Jongin was right. Maybe he should have stayed unconscious. It would have been easier – at least that way, Jongin would have had time to calm down. But right now, he was still fuming, the results of the previous afternoon replaying at the back of his mind.

Jongin’s knuckles were white, his lips pressed together in a thin, agitated line. He was exhausted, and sleeping in a chair was less than comfortable. But now, the reason for his worry and anger sat in front of him – within arm’s reach. And Kyungsoo wouldn’t even look at him. Jongin ground his teeth together in annoyance.

“Do you know why I am angry?” he began as calmly as possible, straightening himself up in his armchair to get a better look at the apprentice chef. When Kyungsoo made no move to respond or even lift his gaze, Jongin swore loudly. “Dammit, Kyungsoo – look at me! Look at me when I speak to you!”

Reluctantly, Kyungsoo lifted his head, his eyes cold, face expressionless. Tilting his head to the side, he offered Jongin a one shouldered shrug. “No,” he replied darkly. “Why are you angry? Enlighten me.”

A thousand different things that Jongin could have said or done buzzed in his mind; he could yell, he could lose his temper – he could become violent and hurt Kyungsoo again. But he didn’t. Jongin closed his eyes and sighed. Seeing Kyungsoo hurt, because of him, was probably the last thing he wanted.

“Go home, Kyungsoo,” he said calmly, turning to stare out of the window.

Kyungsoo didn’t move. Instead, he sat, frozen on the couch, his eyes wide with shock. Had he heard Jongin correctly? Was he really allowed to leave or would Jongin simply shoot him in the back is he tried?

Kyungsoo’s silence, however, angered Jongin. Getting to his feet, Jongin crossed the small distance between them in a single stride, hoisting Kyungsoo to his feet by the scruff of his shirt. Giving him a harsh shove towards the door, Jongin ce more to the window, his clenched fists trembling.

“Get out of my sight.”

Every monday night without fail, Kyungsoo would curl up on the couch under a thick woollen blanket, a steaming hot cup of tea in his hands and his favourite television show playing in the background. This was something he yearned for whilst under Jongin’s command. With a small smile, Kyungsoo placed his cup of tea on the coffee table, readjusting the soft blanket. Finally, he was home.

Every Monday night without fail, Jongin would be left alone in his penthouse suite. He was alone for most of the week and had grown accustomed to the solitude. Money couldn’t buy friends, nor could it buy happiness. But it was enough to buy Kyungsoo, and that seemed to be enough.