Seungwan returned to Jongdae’s basement apartment with the mood ring glowing amber on her finger. She’d stopped on the way to buy food, having found none in the apartment. She wasn’t sure when Jongdae would be back, but Minseok and Luhan, at least, would need to eat. She hung the two carrier bags of fresh ingredients on her left arm so she had her right free to tap in the code. 0506, the unforgettable number only convincing her more than ever that she was right about Jongdae.

The basement wasn’t much lighter by day than by night, the tiny, high windows with their misted glass allowing little light into the room. She flipped the low-wattage lightbulb on and glanced around. Jongdae wasn’t back, and her two charges were both still asleep, Minseok flat on his back on the bed with his injured arm across his chest, and Luhan huddled into the opposite corner. A blanket pulled right over his head hid him from view.

She put her bags of vegetables in the tiny kitchen area and walked over to the bed to check on Minseok. Still pale, but he was breathing easily and his face had relaxed in sleep, the wrinkle of pain between his eyebrows smoothed out. Seeing him like this, she thought he couldn’t be any older than Jongdae. She wondered what his history was, and how he had come to be part of this world. Was his story as tragic as Jongdae’s? As Luhan’s?

She was back in the kitchen quietly chopping vegetables to make a soup when she heard the electronic noise of the door lock opening. She glanced up to see Jongdae coming down the stairs. The lethal grace she’d noticed in him the first time she saw him was so ingrained that even here, in his own home, he moved with absolute silence. He looked at her, and his eyes were like dark, ragged holes. He hadn’t slept.

“They’re asleep,” she whispered, nodding her head into the room. Jongdae went over to look at Minseok. His face was unreadable as he gazed down at his injured friend. Seungwan put the last of the vegetables into the boiling water, turned it down to a simmer and put the lid on the pan. Then she went over to Jongdae.

“Your turn,” she said quietly. Jongdae glanced at her, eyebrows pinching. Seungwan gave him a reassuring smile and moved her fingers to touch his chest. He flinched a little and glanced down to where his shirt had stuck to the bloodied cut.

“It’s nothing. I’ll deal with it,” he said wearily, but Seungwan shook her head and took his arm. There were no chairs in the basement and Luhan was asleep on all the cushions, so she pushed him to the coffee table and made him sit on it, then turned back to get the medical kit from beside the bed. When she turned back, she saw that Jongdae was apparently too tired to argue with her. He’d taken off his jacket and was now ing his shirt. It had stuck quite badly to the cut. Seungwan was about to tell him she’d get a wet cloth and try to sponge it off, but before she could say anything Jongdae simply yanked the shirt off the wound. There was a dull ripping sound as the blood-stiffened fabric came away. Seungwan gasped, but Jongdae’s face didn’t change despite the fresh blood that immediately welled up in the cut and began to slowly ooze down his chest.

She shook off her shock and hurried to sit at his side. The cut was long, going right along his rib, and a couple of centimetres wide at the widest point. She hesitated. Jongdae glanced down at his chest and then at her, reading her expression.

“It doesn’t need stitching,” he said. “Just clean and cover it.”

“It’ll scar,” Seungwan said doubtfully. Pulling the edges of the cut together would mean the scar would be thinner and less messy. Jongdae gave a soft laugh, and she looked at him, surprised.

“What’s one more to add to the collection?” Despite the laugh, there was no humour in his eyes.

Seungwan looked at his torso properly then. He was lean to the point of thinness, but she could see the wiry strength in his slender muscles, like a dancer’s strength. But everywhere she looked she found scars. Old, new, white, red, flat, puckered, simple slashes and knotted, jagged tears. Her eyes sought the area on his right side where he’d been bleeding the second time he came into her store, and found a purple eye-shaped scar there. She’d never seen a stab wound before, but it was obvious that was what it was.

“You’ve been hurt so much,” she whispered. Jongdae didn’t reply, but their eyes met, and if Seungwan’s were full of sadness, Jongdae’s were deep and ancient with years upon years of pain. She could barely tear herself away from those eyes. But she did. She took the broad plastic irrigation syringe and slid a fresh ampoule of antiseptic solution into it, the way she’d watched him do for Minseok last night, and began to wash the cut clean. He didn’t flinch, but goosebumps rose up on his skin as the cold liquid mixed with blood slid down his torso. He picked up one of the towels she’d brought over and caught the liquid with it. They were silent as she concentrated on covering the long wound with gauze and taping it securely down. When the cut was finally covered, she finally looked at his face again. He was still watching her.

“All done,” she said, and smiled at him as brightly as she could. The depth of unhappiness she saw in him was making her want to cry. Despite all the things she knew of him, he reminded her so strongly of a lost, hurt child that before she knew what she was doing she’d put both arms around him. Seeing him so unhappy was a torment she couldn’t bear any longer. He stiffened, and for a moment she was afraid he’d push her away, but instead he relaxed a little into her arms, and his head went onto her shoulder. She couldn’t see his face, but she could feel the slight shudder in his breath, the warmth of his scarred body.

“You did well,” she murmured. All her heart was bent on allaying the pain that ran far deeper than the cut on his chest. His head moved a little. A shake. Was he denying it? She held him tighter. “You did,” she repeated, a little more firmly. “You went into a death trap to save your friend, and you came out with him alive, and got Luhan out as well. That’s doing well in my books.”

There were no more movements or words from him, but neither did he pull away. She wondered how long it had been since someone held him. Since he allowed someone to hold him. Chanyeol’s warning repeated in her memory - don’t get too close - but she pushed the thought away. It didn’t apply to Jongdae. Drug lord he might be, but he was a person first of all, and he was hurting, and she couldn’t bear to see it.

Eventually he pulled back, not much, just enough so that they could look at each other. She gazed into his face and saw that the ragged look of pain had turned to something softer. His hand came up to caress her hair.

“You grew up well, Shon Seungwan,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“So did you, Kim Jongdae,” she replied, and this time when she smiled at him, she got a smile back. It was small, barely even there, but she saw it touch his eyes and spill light into them, and a little spark of joy kindled deep inside her.

As if moved by a mutual knowing, their faces came closer. Their lips brushed, then met. Seungwan closed her eyes as the new little spark inside her chest expanded outward in a rush, flooding her whole body. His lips were so soft. He kissed so gently. She clung to his bare shoulders, and his hand was on her head, around her back, holding her like she was something precious and delicate. They breathed, and he sighed towards her ear, the warmth of his breath a soft caress. She rubbed her head into the hollow of his throat, and he held her close to him, pressed his lips against her hair, laid his head on hers. Seungwan found that being in Jongdae’s arms wasn’t like the hot, heady lust Irene’s lesson had filled her with. It was something softer. Something deeper and more true. They didn’t speak. There didn’t seem reason to. Their hearts spoke to each other more deeply than words could.

Motion from the bed recalled them, and they pulled slowly apart. A look passed between them, a shared smile. Seungwan stood up to check on the soup, and Jongdae went to Minseok, who was grimacing as he began to wake up. She stirred the soup, tasted it, added a little salt. The voices of Jongdae and Minseok speaking in the background was like low music, and her body felt full of song.

---

Chanyeol could tell his father was startled to see him, but he covered it quickly. He got up from his desk and greeted Chanyeol with a welcoming smile as he moved around it. A politician’s smile, Chanyeol thought, unable to find a smile or polite words of greeting to send back in response. He stood silently, his mind flooding with all the evidence in Baekhyun’s file. His father had already sent the flustered secretary who had been unable to stop Chanyeol from barging in to bring tea. Now he gestured to the couches around the long low table in the middle of the room, indicating that Chanyeol should sit, before moving to take the single leather chair that made up the head of the arrangement.

“What brings you here?” his father asked.

Chanyeol forced himself to sit. He braced his arms on his knees and stared at the familiar face. Once, he’d thought he knew his father. Time and again, the man had proven to him that he knew nothing more than a smiling facade. As he battled his emotions into some form of control, the smile that looked so trustworthy faded. “Are you alright, son?”

His father had the nerve to act concerned about him. Chanyeol bit back the acid response that wanted to spit itself from his t