Two empty soju bottles sat on the low table in front of him, green glass glinting in the dim light of his basement apartment. The glass in front of him was half full. It was a tumbler, not a shot glass. He couldn’t be bothered messing around with pouring all those shots. He wanted to get drunk. Fast. He stared at the last half-bottle of clear alcohol in the tumbler and tried to decide whether if he drank it, he’d throw it back up before it got into his system. As it turned out, drinking one and a half bottles of cheap soju at that pace was somewhat nauseating.

“Chen?”

Chen looked up blearily at Xiumin's voice. His friend was eyeing him dubiously from where he was sitting cross-legged on the other side of the table. “You know, usually when a friend asks you if you want to drink together, that means you actually drink together, not one person drinks two bottles of soju in ten minutes flat while the other is only on their third shot.”

Chen looked back down at his glass. He picked it up, but Xiumin grabbed his hand and forced the glass back down onto the table. “Steady on, man. Give it a few minutes.”

“I’ll be fine.” Chen tried to pick up his glass again, but Xiumin held it down firmly with a palm over the top.

“What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“Liar. You never drink like this.”

Chen sighed. The alcohol was rapidly seeping into his system, surrounding everything with slightly blurry haloes. But why wasn’t it working? Why wasn’t it making it stop hurting?

“Chen...” Xiumin got up, came around the table and sat down beside him. He put a hand on his arm and looked closely into his face. “Tao told me what they’re saying. Is it true? Did you really kill a cop?”

A twist of pain inside his chest. “No.”

“Then who did?”

“I don’t know.” Chen put his elbows on the table and dropped his head into his hands. “There was a sniper up on the hill. I don’t know if it was one of Suho’s guys or someone else.”

Xiumin frowned. “Why would Suho shoot a cop?”

“I don’t know. Nothing makes sense.” Chen went for his drink again. Xiumin let him lift the glass this time, but Chen only managed to swallow a mouthful before his whole body gave a massive shudder. He put the glass back down, sweat prickling at his forehead as his stomach tried to crawl up his throat.

“Yeah, you’ve had enough.” Xiumin dragged the glass away from him and put a hand on his back cautiously. "Look, if you're gonna hurl, tell me, okay? I don't want to have to clean up after you."

Chen swallowed, shivering miserably. “I’m gonna find out,” he said. “Whoever shot that cop is framing me. I need to find out why.”

“You’re really upset about this,” Xiumin said. “Why? It’s not like you knew the guy.”

Chen was silent.

“Did you know the guy?”

The alcohol in him wanted him to say yes. He wanted to tell Xiumin that he’d known Baekhyun since they were children, wanted to tell him how they’d been friends, no, more than friends. He wanted to tell Xiumin how Baekhyun had looked at him like he was actually worth something, and what it had felt like to kiss him. He wanted to tell Xiumin how he had left Baekhyun, and how he’d seen the raw pain of that betrayal in his eyes the moment before he died.

But he couldn’t tell Xiumin any of that. Xiumin was his best friend, but Chen could never be truly honest with him.

“No," he said. "It’s just...annoying. Frustrating. Someone out there has an agenda I don't understand.”

“What about Irene?”

Chen looked at him, eyes narrowing. Xiumin held up his hands.

“Enough with the death stare. You know it’s possible.”

“It was Jwi who stabbed you. He could have gotten the information from somewhere else.”

“Dabin was one of Irene’s girls, and Jwi used her to get to me. I'm sure Irene gave Dabin to him.” Xiumin clenched his fists. “I bet she doesn’t even care that Dabin died.”

“Xiumin, that's not conclusive. Jwi attacked you to get Bakwi out. Irene has no reason to want him free. She doesn’t deal with his people at all. Jwi is the one who killed Dabin. Why don’t you focus on him?”

“I’ll kill the rat,” Xiumin growled. “I’ll kill him but I’m sure Irene was behind him.”

“Please, Xiumin.” Chen was starting to feel dizzy. He put his hand on his friend’s arm. “Leave it. Irene’s family to me.”

Xiumin scowled, but nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But if I get any other hints that she’s out to get us, I’m not gonna hold back.”

“Suho was trying to get me arrested,” Chen said. His voice was slurring now. “Why d’you think he’d do that?”

“Who knows why that crazy bastard does anything?” Xiumin said bitterly. “I’d have been far happier if he’d stayed safely dead.”

“Crazy bastard,” Chen agreed. He folded his arms and put his head down on them. “You know, he got me arrested once before.”

“What, really?”

“Yeah. Maybe he thinks it’s funny or something. But he did me a favour really.”

“How is getting you arrested doing you a favour?”

Chen rolled his head to the side and gave Xiumin a bleary smile. “'Cos it was in jail that I first met my best friend.” He sat up and draped an arm around Xiumin’s shoulders, pointing an unsteady finger into his face. “And that’s you. Xiu-min. Why'd you pick a name so hard to pronounce anyway? I like Minseok better.”

“Oh boy. Here we go.” Xiumin shoved his pointing hand away, grinning. “Here comes the fearsome and ruthless Chen, whose name even hardened criminals fear to speak -"

“Hug?”

Xiumin rolled his eyes, but obligingly put his arms around Chen. Chen rested his head on Xiumin's shoulder and closed his eyes.

“Lovely Minseok. Love you so much...”

Xiumin was laughing. Chen could feel his muscled body shake with it. “You are so ing drunk.”

The world was swinging away from him like a ball on the end of a string. Chen closed his eyes and let the darkness take him.

---

He dreamed.

No. He remembered.

He was running. His breath was sharp and loud, and the rubber soles of his sneakers pounded against the concrete. His heart pounded and his lungs burned. The black bag hanging from his left arm was heavy and banged against his legs with every stride. The alleyway was long and twisted, and he was tiring, but he had to get to the end of it no matter what –

A shout behind him urged his legs into a sudden surge. His regular panting breaths changed to frantic gasps. He couldn’t hold this pace much longer. He threw a glance over his shoulder and silently cursed. They were much closer than he’d thought, but here was the end of the alley –

Chen sprinted out and into the road. A van roared up beside him and the driver wound down the window without slowing down. Chen ran alongside the moving vehicle, the shouts of the cops behind him ringing in his ears. With a burst of effort, he leaped onto the side of the van, curling his fingers under the top of the open window and clinging on like a limpet.

“Let me in!” he yelled through the window.

“Throw the bag in first!” Suho shouted back.

Chen’s arm muscles were burning. Suho was speeding up, leaving the cops who were chasing on foot behind. He worked the bag off his left arm and tossed it through the window.

“Thanks, Chen!” Suho gave him a mocking grin and started to wind the window up.

“What are you doing?” Chen shrieked. The window bit at his fingers and he yelled. Suho jerked the steering wheel and Chen lost his grip, falling off the side of the van. The momentum as he hit the road tumbled him over and over, arms and legs tangling, until he finally rolled to a stop. Gasping and half-stunned, he lay still in the road for a moment, gathering his senses, before forcing himself up onto his elbows. He stared down the road, watching the van, and Suho, disappear around the bend.

“Stay where you are!” The voice of the leading cop brought him back to his immediate situation. He started to scramble to his feet, but was knocked straight back down by the flying impact of the cop tackling him. He yelled as bruises layered upon bruises.

“Don’t even think about fighting!” The cop wrenched his arms behind his back and he felt, and heard, the snap of cold metal around his wrists. He was hauled to his feet and spun around. They were of a height, eyes level. Chen stared into thin, handsome features, pale skin flushed bright along the cheekbones with the effort of the chase. He knew this one. Park Jeongsu.

“Kim Jongdae!” Jeongsu was furious. He grabbed Chen’s shoulders and walked him backwards until he came up against a wall with a smack. His handcuffed wrists clanked painfully behind him. “After all the chances I gave you! When are you going to learn?”

Chen tasted blood. He’d bitten his lip hard enough to bleed, though whether he'd done it falling off the van or when Jeongsu had tackled him, he didn’t know. He turned his head aside and spat the blood onto the concrete.

“It’s none of your business what I do,” he told Jeongsu. “Why do you even care?”

Jeongsu gave him a shake. “Because Irene cares about you! Not that you deserve it. Are you going to worry her like this forever? After all she’s done for you?”

Chen scowled furiously. He hated Jeongsu saying this kind of thing.

“She’s not my mother, and you’re not my father! You’re not even her boyfriend anymore, so you’ve got no right to tell me what to do!” he yelled. “Why don’t you just leave me alone?”

Jeongsu took in a breath, blew it out. “Jongdae, when are you going to grow up and see what you’re doing? Why are you still working for the guy who killed your mother?”

Chen stared at him. “What are you talking about? My mother died of an overdose. Nobody killed her.”

“Suho,” Jeongsu said grimly. “I know you’re running drugs for him. I know you’ve been doing it since you were six years old, before you even knew what your errands were. But Jongdae, who do you think supplied your mother with drugs? Who do you think made her an addict? What do you think was in all those bags you brought from Suho to your mother, in return for a bit of pocket money?”

Chen's insides felt l