Chanyeol has about thirty minutes to secure the target. Truth be told, he was actually given two hours, according to Junmyeon. He’d be damned if his procrastination didn’t get the best of him; which in this case, it very well might. He scans the area: tall, burgundy stands idle stiffly around the large ballroom with champagne stems sitting atop their glass surface pieces. Flitting amongst one another were the guests of the party, each dressed in starkly colour-contrasting gowns and tuxedos. Chanyeol absentmindedly fidgets with the smooth polyester of his jacket. He often had the tendency of assuming he had the side of blind luck, because despite his tall figure and prominent features, he always managed to get the job done, without attracting any unwanted attention at best. However, tonight’s job might be harder to accomplish than he thought. Wasting one and a half hours of his designated timeframe did nothing to help. 

“Quick question,” he mutters under his breath, well aware that Sehun can hear him through the tiny bluetooth inserted in his left ear. Chanyeol called it disconcerting, while Sehun replied that with a bark of a laugh, feigning hurt that Chanyeol would rather have literally anyone else but him to do comms. “How am I supposed to find the target if the only data you have provided me is his name?” 

“Because,” Sehun drawls the word out. Chanyeol can hear the crunch of chips between mouthfuls. “That’s literally all the intel I can gather? Are you trying to imply that I am intentionally undermining the mission? Also, are you only looking at the dossier now?” 

Chanyeol sighs. “Five minutes ago. And yeah, as you can tell, I’m officially screwed. Junmyeon can just kill me now.” 

He swears he can hear Sehun’s grin from the other end of the line. Insolent . “Look, I don’t do your job. But maybe ask around, y’ know? Mingle.” 

Chanyeol sighs. He already knows the course of action even before Sehun put common sense into words. That was the only thing he could do from this point. He supposes he’s lucky the target was in fact the host of this almost borque in its lavish fashion, embellished dinner party. The downside, well, was that the target has decided to maintain a Gatsby persona; having known not to attend any of parties nor showing his face in the public lens. He’s enjoyed the party enough, but now the loud noises and screeching laughter of people are making him very claustrophobic. Not to mention the countdown to his impending doom; which also stood for Junmyeon’s wrath. The diamonds on the chandeliers cut the light too sharply for Chanyeol’s liking, and he’s surprisingly lost the appetite for the array of hors d'oeuvres dotting the plates carried by primly brisk staff. 

“Do you think anyone else here knows where Kim Jongin is?” Chanyeol says lowly, settling to lean against a polished marbled pillar. It seemed almost impossible to scan the area. People were either dancing to the 20’s-inspired live band, or entertaining themselves with petty small talk and sweetened cocktails. Though the theme was akin to fine dining, it strangely reminded him of the Día de los Muerto festivals he had to filter through in Mexico. Loud, extravagant, private. Chanyeol can’t even bet on whether the man was in the very same building as his own party was being held. 

“Oh, he’s here alright,” a voice replies, making Chanyeol turn abruptly in surprise (which he managed to hide successfully behind a mask of nonchalance). A man, just a little over his shoulder, glances back at him, the corner of his lip turned upwards slightly in a friendly, albeit knowing, smile. Glassy skin, gentle eyes that slope into crescents, a sharp jawline that is uncharacteristic from his otherwise soft features. He looked like the pretty boys Chanyeol only saw in those cheesy rom-coms Jongdae forces him to watch. A hand gently toying with a champagne stem and the other folded across his vest, he adds, “A once in a lifetime opportunity to meet the famous party planner, if I’ll be honest.” 

Hair dyed to an ashy brown, styled smartly to suit a certain flair he wore on his sleeves. Chanyeol maintains their shared gaze, slightly thankful inside that someone who knew about Jongin had approached him first. “Really, now? I’m such a big fan of the mystery man,” Chanyeol plays along, whilst remaining courteous yet keeping his distance. Ignoring Sehun’s scoff in his ear, he shakes the offered hand of his company. For what he lacks in height, the man certainly makes it up with an overflowing charisma. 

“Isn’t everyone?” He laughs; it is soft, polite, almost shy — Chanyeol could mistake it for flirting. He’d indulge if he weren’t in a deadly fight with time. 

“He’s so into you,” Sehun comments, snickering. “Send me a picture. Kyungsoo didn’t manage to sneak in some cameras.” Chanyeol resists the urge to crush the little device pocketed in his earlobe, taking a champagne stem offered by mister Baby Brown Eyes. Forcing himself to relax his shoulders, Chanyeol’s eyes flicker to the gaudy gold-speckled clock hanging on the wall, almost as high as the ceiling itself. Fifteen minutes to get to the drop point with Kim Jongin. He supposes Junmyeon will buffer in at least five minutes extra from previous experiences with him being the field agent. He’d easily estimate twenty minutes from the buffer timing. 

Chanyeol lifts the champagne to his lips cautiously, sipping the sweet bubbly. “And how would someone like yourself know where the elusive Kim Jongin is?” 

Mister Baby Brown Eyes grins, carrying an odd air of innocence. He seemed so out of place in this opulent setting, where everyone whispered pretty lies and carried stabbing scars on their backs. In short, the only fresh look of sanguinity in a sea of misery. “Let’s say I have many connections. You seem like a pretty decent guy, I’m sure Jongin would love your company.” Chanyeol smells the minty scent of his cologne and his pressed suit as he leans in. “And between you and me here, he has an exclusive afterparty. You can be my plus one.” 

This was all too good to be true. Sehun lets out a low whistle. “Looks like you’ve hit the jackpot, hyung.” He isn’t wrong. This man must be in Jongin’s inner circle. It was too conveniently easy, though, even for blind luck standards. The live band picks up its pace, from a slow jazz beat to a swing-like crescendo. The crowd livens, scattering and gathering like flocks of birds in a trance, a few people squeezing past Chanyeol and bumping his shoulders. He scowls, shuffling his weight nearer to his equally annoyed company. In the midst of it, they accidentally knock each other at their sides. He turns away from Chanyeol in a sheepish pink, eyes darting away in an embarrassed ‘sorry’. Noticing, Chanyeol lifts an eyebrow, both intrigued and slightly amused. 

“I’m Seokjin,” Chanyeol blurts out indifferently, using his alias. He can’t afford any loose ends, nor any slip ups. 'Kim Seokjin.” 

“Baekhyun. Byun Baekhyun,” he replies, lips curling into a slow smile. “You have a really nice name, Kim Seokjin. And I don’t give that compliment so easily.” 

“He likes you! I’m calling it right now,” Sehun guffaws in his ear, the sound of him clapping almost deafens Chanyeol, who tries not to grimace. “Oh, man. You’re gonna have to break this poor guy’s heart by tonight, hyung.” 

Chanyeol dips his head, pretending to be flattered. “You’re one to talk, Byun Baekhyun-ssi. Unique name.” 

“I know. It makes me less forgettable,” the latter beams, in a soft child-like delight. Again, Chanyeol thinks, how out of place. He pauses, turning to look at clock. Chanyeol mirrors his actions. Ten minutes. “Looks like the afterparty’s starting soon.” Baekhyun adds, giving an expectant look. 

Now that there was a change of plans, the estimated timeframe could no longer suffice. The rendezvous had to be at least an hour later; for Chanyeol to effectively convince (or rather, more of coerce) Kim Jongin to follow him into the drop ship. He had to tell Sehun immediately, and not with someone’s attention transfixed on him. So much for procrastinating. He wouldn’t have had the job done on time anyway. 

“Is the afterparty far?” 

“Well, yes, I—“ 

“I need to use the restroom. Excuse me for a second,” Chanyeol says quickly, as politely and calmly as his head could wrap around. Baekhyun pauses, before nodding silently, mouthing a hopeful ‘I’ll be right here’. Chanyeol gives him an assuring nod and smile, before dissolving into the crowd. With Sehun’s teasing playing at the back of his mind, the face of Byun Baekhyun flashes across Chanyeol’s many thoughts. Pretty boy, he thinks again, moving through the gaps of the throngs of people, not my type. Even so, Chanyeol shrugs internally, he’s going to be a huge help. He walks towards the hallway that exited the ballroom; the floor lined with a rich claret carpet and the walls replaced with huge mirrors that towered towards the chandelier ceiling. The sound of music and chatter diminishes as he retreats further and further away from the party scene, until it is entirely quiet. He looks around quickly, confirming that no one had seen him, before pushing open the glossy dark wood door with its gold-plated doorknob. Immediately, he checks the stalls, ensuring that they were all empty. 

“Sehun,” Chanyeol says into his comm urgently. 

“I’m here.” 

“Tell Junmyeon that I still need about another hour at most. Tell him there’s been a change in the course of action.” 

“He’s not gonna be happy,” Sehun’s voice crackles at the static. “You’re also saying this really last minute.” 

“Yeah, but its not like I don’t produce results. I’ll get the job done.“ Chanyeol inspects the urinals, an eyebrow arching. Marbled urinals, really? 

Sehun sighs, groaning to himself for a few moments, before his voice perks up instantly. “Oh, you know what, speak of the devil. Junmyeon has his comm on. I’m connecting the both of you.” He says in a sing-song tune. 

“Sehun.” Chanyeol warns. “Sehun, I swear to G-“ 

“Park Chanyeol.” A stern voice cuts him off. “Don’t bother. He’s already told me everything.” 

Hands find his head, ruffling his carefully styled hair. “Yes, that’s why I’m saying, just give me more time.”

“Thirty minutes. I’m trying my best here as well. If we don’t get out fast enough his guards are going to suspect something and secure the perimeter. The drop ship isn’t exactly the quietest, you know.” 

“But this time it’s different. I have a reason to stick around this dump—” Chanyeol retorts, but gets stopped short at the lights. They flicker once, then twice, before repeating this weird ritual in an irregular manner. Junmyeon’s voice fades from his ears. 

“…Which is why I chose you to- Chanyeol, are you listening?” Junmyeon’s exasperation is clear. 

Chanyeol remains still, frozen in place. He stares at them, perplexed, tension hanging by a tread, until he hears a loud crack and all the lights spontaneously combust all together, shrouding Chanyeol’s surroundings in pitch blackness. Panic immediately injects itself in his heart, but he forces himself to keep his wits together. The first thought that runs through his mind: the notorious mafia that was rising rapidly from the underground scene had come to mess with their plans. Plausible, he decides, but the chances of that happening were smaller than a mustard seed. The security here was extremely tight. Chanyeol was able to infiltrate due to Kyungsoo gathering intel on all the party guests before picking one that wasn’t particularly well-known and only invited out of curtesy. With Sehun hacking into their system and changing the guest’s face to Park Chanyeol’s, the real Kim Seokjin was probably lying unconscious near the quarry where Chanyeol had left him. Poor soul. 

“What was that?” Junmyeon’s voice is static. The connection is weakening. “Chanyeol, don’t tell me you’re already in a gun fight.” 

“No,” he replies softly, feeling around the air until his hands grasp onto the cold sink. “There’s been a blackout.” 

“,” Junmyeon’s voice cuts off and then back on. “This… bull… calling backup… Jongdae… be arriving in…” 

Chanyeol is about to snatch the device out of his ear when the entrance door slams open with a loud bang. Chanyeol’s breath gets hitched in his throat, paralysed. He can’t see anything. The rest of the building must have short-circuited as well. Remembering that he had a façade to maintain, he says shakily, “H-hello? Who’s that? Did the whole place shut down or someth-“ 

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He doesn’t get to. He is stopped short by what he can guess is a fist colliding with his cheek. Chanyeol reels backwards, grimacing from the hard blow and the sore tautness of his skin. A familiar metallic taste fills his tastebuds. Blood. That punch must’ve split his lip right open. Holding a hand to his face, Chanyeol squints, trying make out the figure of his perpetrator, but to no avail. He doesn’t bother keeping up the act anymore. Judging by the power and certainty of the blow, they know exactly who Chanyeol is. It is pitch black, and in short, he can’t see . Whoever landed that punch either had night-vision goggles or exceptionally adept instincts, and so Chanyeol had to rely on his own. Bracing himself, he can barely make out the outline of the person as they go for a lower jab at his stomach. Chanyeol blocks it just in time, countering by punching them at the side of the head. A lucky shot, if he might admit. His attacker grunts in pain, but Chanyeol only has a second of victory when he loses his balance with a swipe from the legs. Unfair, he thinks wryly. He’d miss that completely if only he could see anything. Landing on his back, he feels the wind knocked out from his ribcage in a breath, head throbbing from hitting the marble floor. Chanyeol groans in agony, struggling to get up. However, he’s shoved back down to the floor by a weight pressing forcefully on his stomach. To be more accurate, his perpetrator’s foot. 

Chanyeol hears a sigh, and then the click of cocking a gun. “I could’ve killed you easily, you know.” 

That voice. Chanyeol’s eyes widen in disbelief. It can’t be. At that moment, the lights flicker back on in a beat. Before Chanyeol, with a foot pressing painfully on his abdomen, were baby brown eyes, now cold and distant. Glassy skin, sharp jawline, ashy brown hair; slick with sweat. The ghost of a smirk dashes across Baekhyun’s lips as he aims the gun squarely. 

“Now I’m really unforgettable, aren’t I?”