Chapter 17

“Who was here?” Kyungsoo demanded.

They were closing soon, and there was more or less nobody left in the café. She glared at Kyungsoo, who was waiting idly on the nearest table, chin proper in his hand as he watched them clean up. Junmyeon had learned not to question his constant presence, especially when they all knew he was driving her home. Even Heechul didn’t make any comments about it, though it was probably a courtesy of the fear the killer left in his wake.

“The gloves guy,” Heechul replied.

“Your stalker?” Kyungsoo demanded.

“Jongdae,” Yena corrected irritably. “He’s not a stalker.”

She had yet to tell Kyungsoo about Jongin and the whole situation. She knew she could trust Kyungsoo, but at the same time, it felt as if the less people who knew about it, the safer all of them were. It was tempting, because it would definitely be enough to put down the accusations of stalker once and for all, but it wasn’t a worth risk taking.

Kyungsoo waited as she wiped down the counter. “It’s still sketchy,” he said a matter-of-factly, and Yena went with rolling her eyes at him.

She’d have to tell him about the concert ticket, though, because if—when, really, it was only a matter of time—Kyungsoo saw Jongdae, he’d probably jump to the worst possible conclusion. It would be hard to explain why she even gave the ticket to Jongdae in the first place without Jongin coming in, but she figured she could spin out a couple of excuses.

Fifteen minutes later, she was taking her hair apart from the messy bun it had fallen into, and Kyungsoo walked at a brisk pace in front of her to where his car was parked. He was adamant in driving her home every time her shift ran late, and knowing him, he wouldn’t miss even one day. There had been no room for convincing him.

“Why was he here?” Kyungsoo asked quietly as they sat down and he started the engine. “Did he just show up unannounced again?”

She shook her head. “I asked him to come.”

He shot her a look; a warning. “You asked him to come.”

 “We’re friends.”

“You’re going to have to try harder than that.”

“I invited him to the orchestra concert, and I had to give him the ticket.”

Kyungsoo stomped on the brakes so hard that Yena went hurtling forward, stopped sharply by the safety lock of the seatbelt. “You what?” he demanded, this time louder.

She’d have to choose her next words carefully for the sake of her life. Kyungsoo’s driving was unpredictable as it was. “He lives close to here—that’s why he even came by the café in the first place—so I said we could meet up briefly here if he weren’t busy. So I could give him the ticket.”

“You’re insane,” Kyungsoo groaned, but he pulled out of the parking lot without slamming into anything or sudden stops. “Who put that ridiculous idea in your head? Why would you even do that? You can’t be friends, you barely know each other—”

“Well, we do now,” Yena replied pointedly. “He’s not a stalker.”

She got a warning look in return. “Be careful.”

It was a much more complicated story, but she didn’t want to endanger her cousin or Jongdae, so she kept shut. She could endure a bit of Kyungsoo’s nagging, since she’d gone through it for an awfully long time already.

To her surprise, he didn’t say anything else. They drove on for silence for a while, then, “How old is he?”

She blinked. “Twenty four.”

“Do you know what he does?”

Jongdae had never told her, and it had never hit her to ask. It was probably a relatively high position, because every time she saw him he was wearing clothing that looked like it could probably buy her entire apartment, and he did live in the high-end part of the city. And owned two apartments.

“No,” she admitted.

“Do you know his friends? Siblings? Family? Look, I know you don’t like me saying this, but it’s still weird. Think of the chances.”

“He said he was in Beijing for a business trip. And like I said, it’s not like he could’ve stalked me in Beijing. Even if, let’s say, he knows my exact schedule, I was at Xiyuan station by accident. I should’ve gotten off at the one before. And he was there before me, and he was talking to someone else, so there’s no way he stalked me then. I know for a fact that he didn’t get on my train, so it’s not like he knew what stop I got off. It’s just a huge coincidence.”

Kyungsoo pressed his lips together. “It does sound unlikely,” he admitted. “But in too many ways.”

He was right, and Yena knew. And she also knew that there were too many things she didn’t know about Kim Jongdae, but for the moment, she chose to trust him. Because he had been kind every time she met him, because he hadn’t done a thing close to what a stalker (and even Yoona’s stalker) had done, and most of all, because she really had no other choice.

Kyungsoo didn’t understand, as much as she wished she could tell him everything. So she offered her a tentative, “I’ll be careful,” and hoped she was right in trusting Jongdae.

***

Jongdae hoped that Jongin was alive back in his old apartment, but he wanted some time to himself, especially when it came to figuring out what was to be done about Jongin and getting the Sicari off his tail. He needed to spin a really believable story, and Jongdae wasn’t sure that he had the skills—or the resources—to do so. Or, to be perfectly honest, the imagination.

He lay on the couch and stared at the ceiling until his head hurt. Jongin had abandoned everything, destroyed every trace of him back in his old apartments, and she was pretty sure he didn’t carry anything of sentiment with him that he would give up. The only up side was that there was no silver-haired man demanding chocolate milk and fried chicken—really, man could not be used to describe Jongin and he figured his hair was no longer silver—but he still felt irritated. Would the Sicari believe him if he bought a random trinket and spun up a story with Jongin? It wouldn’t be believable, he knew. In order to shake them completely off his tail, Jongdae needed something from Jongin that the Sicari knew he wouldn’t willingly part with, or proof of his dead body. He had gotten too involved with Yena to even consider actually killing Jongin, and Jongdae knew that he wouldn’t be able to stomach it even if he tried. A stranger was one thing. Someone he was acquainted to, someone he ate meals with—he couldn’t.

Secretary Jo wouldn’t give him more information. There was nothing he could do but wait, and hope it wouldn’t be too long.

Idly, he drew out Yena’s concert ticket from his pocket. It was elegantly designed, gold decorating the rim, the time and place written in cursive, the background a picture of the orchestra. She played the cello, Jongdae remembered. He wouldn’t forget the way she’d stumbled down the stairs, the huge instrument strapped to her back, at Xiyuan station.

Yet another coincidence on the list of ever-growing ones.

He thought about it for a long time until he had tired himself out, the simply thinking more brought on a headache. Then, still gazing at the ceiling, Jongdae fell asleep on the couch.

***

He knew he had to go back to the apartment some day, but Jongdae had been dreading it for a while. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with Kim Jongin, and neither was he a step closer to figuring out what they were supposed to do. It was a nightmare. Yena’s concert was two days away, and his own deadline trickled closer and closer.

The apartment was in slightly better shape than Jongdae had imagined when he unlocked the door. He had dropped by to get Jongin a new phone in the hope that it would keep him distracted enough before he tore down the house.

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