Back in his own home, Jongin paced back and forth in the living room, wondering when things became this different. Was it when Jongdae died? Was it after Jongdae died, when Jongin went to Kyungsoo? Was it before that, when he was sent to kill Himchan? Was it when he had met Kyungsoo? Or maybe he had always felt this way, but he didn't care enough to . . . care.

The difference between what each name brought to him, what each identity entailed and made him feel had become too striking. Kai was the killer, cold blooded but still the one who felt all the adrenaline, the excitement, the power. But Jongin . . . who the hell was he? The mastermind behind all this? Or just a clueless kid, almost an adult, but not quite?

He had always loved being Kai, the transition turning him into someone that people feared. And he enjoyed being Junmyeon, the feeling of being coddled and spoiled by naive people. But now, when he switched between, the differences gave him whiplash. The stories and memories and feelings that came with each personality set were supposed to be mutually exclusive, but it wasn't anymore.

He found himself yearning for Kyungsoo's food, Kyungsoo's warm embrace, Kyungsoo's gentle kisses, Kyungsoo, but he was Jongin and Jongin only had a brother who was dead, a friend who was trying to escape too, and a house full of cousins, but still so empty.

Everything was so dramatic and stupid. The media called him a psychopathic killer, but no, he was just pathetic. People weren't supposed to change this drastically, this quickly. In stories, it would be a sign of bad character development. But he did change this drastically, this quickly, and he wanted a break. A break from all this and-

The door opened and Sehun walked in, forcing Jongin out of his thoughts. “Oh Sehun!” he exclaimed. “Why didn't you answer my calls? Where have you been? I was worried!”

“Umm . . . Hi, Jongin,” Sehun greeted, sliding into the living room. He knew what Jongin was worried about. “I was with Zitao and my phone died. Sorry.”

Jongin sighed. Fidgeting, he asked, “Do you still want that love counseling thing?”

~ ~ ~

The bed felt imbalanced without Jongdae and Jongin finally realized that he was the oldest now and he had to be more mature than Sehun. But he wasn't.

“So . . .”

“I feel like we should talk about your relationship with Kyungsoo instead,” Sehun said with a cheeky smile. Jongin glared at him in response. “Do you like him? Do you love him?”

Two months and three weeks -- almost three months -- shouldn't have been enough for Jongin to fall in love and have an epiphany and want to change his entire life. He didn't even trust Kyungsoo enough to tell him the full truth yet. He didn't even know Kyungsoo that well either.

Hell, did he even understand the concept of love?

Probably not.

He was just a stupid teenager caught in an identity crisis, but it didn't matter. Some people found their soulmates when they were ten. Jongin was eighteen and he cared enough about Kyungsoo that he was questioning his entire life's purpose. Was that love?

It should be.

But he couldn't say all that to Sehun, so he just settled with, “Maybe? I don't know.”

Sehun looked at him, unsatisfied. “That's it?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn't deny that you don't love him. Aww.”

“Yah, Oh Sehun!” Jongin exclaimed, throwing the nearest pillow at the blonde. Sehun caught it easily and threw it back.

Letting the pillow fall, Jongin glared as the other continued, unfazed. “That's so cute. You two are so cute,” Sehun teased. “Serial killer Kai is finally changing his ways, becoming a better person because of true love.”

The disgusting voice he used on the last two words led Jongin to throw the rest of the pillows, feather cushions raining down on Sehun. “I thought we were going to discuss your true love with Tao,” Jongin muttered.

At the mention of Tao's name, Sehun's entire stature changed. He immediately blushed, even though the pinkness did nothing to hide his hickeys. “There's nothing to discuss because we have no secrets,” he said happily.

Jongin made an attempt at quirking an eyebrow. “You told him everything?”

“More like he told me everything,” Sehun replied, nonchalantly picking at a loose thread. “Turns out he's in a gang too. Or was it a cult?” he said smoothly, obviously not telling Jongin that Zitao was one of his family's murderers. And Sehun's savior. 

“A cult?” Jongin screeched. “Oh Sehun, you can date any guy you want-”

“Not any guy!”

“-and you choose a guy who's in a ing cult?”

There's a moment of silence, as if both were waiting for Jongdae's “no swearing.” But there was no third voice and Sehun muttered under his breath, “You're so judgemental and overdramatic.”

“What?!”

“And anyway,” Sehun went on to say, a grin forming on his lips. “Maybe your Kyungsoo's in a cult too. He told me that his nickname's 'Satansoo'.”

“He's not my Kyungsoo,” Jongin corrected indignantly. “And I'm pretty sure you made that up.”

“No!" Sehun protested. "He told me when we were at the noraebang and you were too busy singing badly.”

Jongin heaved a sigh. He was glad Sehun could joke around and make fun of him, helping him pretend that everything was normal, but the younger boy was still so goddamn annoying. “Okay . . .” he said, dragging out the short word and ending with a question. “If we're done discussing cults and . . .”

“Right!” Sehun said brightly. “I have no problems with Zitao, so we can just focus on you.”

“I don't have any problems,” Jongin sputtered, wishing there were still pillows around that he could play with and throw. “Ah, fine,” he said, finally giving in and Sehun's smile began to resemble that of a Cheshire cat's. “It's just . . . I can't kill him, but I can't not kill him. He's so cute and caring and makes me feel differently than all those other stupid people-” He broke off to glower at Sehun, who was trying to hide his snickering. “But I can't just leave him! I have a reputation-”

Sehun interrupted him with an eye roll. “Jongin, you don't have a reputation. The public is scared of you because random people keep dying in horrific ways and no one's going to stop just because you let someone go. And if you've really let this true love change you, then you shouldn't care about your psychopathic serial killer reputation. Seriously, whenever you talk about that, you sound like you're going through a phase. Maybe you're finally over it.”

Jongin stared at the boy (man?) sitting cross-legged in front of him. Since when did Sehun become so wise, he wondered to himself. “I'm older than you!” he said out loud.

Sehun scoffed, face resuming his usual emotionless mask. “I'm right, though. Don't deny it.”

Jongin flopped onto his stomach, burying his face into the bed in response. Through the mattress and blankets piled around his head, he heard Sehun get up and pace around the room. “I got it!”

“What?” the prone man mumbled.

“Take him on a romantic date, confess your feelings and then confess your identity.”

Jongin shot up and stared at his friend. “I can't confess everything,” he whined, pouting. The move felt weird and he realized that he hadn't pouted in a long time. He really had changed.

Sehun looked as if he couldn't deal with the other, but the feeling was mutual. “Then don't. But at least tell him your real name isn't Junmyeon. That's a good place to start.”

Jongin contemplated the idea, disliking the fact that Sehun's advice actually wasn't that bad. “But where would I take him?”

“The beach.”

“But all the beaches around Seoul are crap!” he whined, pouting harder.

Sehun resumed his aimless walk around the room and Jongin's eyes followed him. He suddenly stopped, absently flipping through a magazine. “Then go to the Han River.”

“The Han River?” Jongin echoed. "It's probably full of all your targets' ghosts looking for revenge."

“Beaches are romantic because of the water and stuff, so the Han River shouldn't be that different,” Sehun answered with less confidence than before. "And I'm not telling you to swim in it."

Jongin gave the other a hard long stare before finally relenting. It was easier to try doing whatever Sehun suggested, rather than attempting to deal with the inner turmoil and the clash of everything he thought he was so sure of.  “Fine.”

“Aren't you going to thank me?”

“No. you and get out.”