18

Minho drew the brim of his hat lower over his face to hide his features in its shadows, wary of the curious glances from other bank patrons towards himself and his companions. It wasn’t a common sight to see three men of this ethnic background in a town like this, and they were regarded with a sort of rude curiosity as if they were exotic creatures in a menagerie. Unfortunately, this continued attention would make their appearances relatively easy to recall at a later time, and considering these people could become potential witnesses to a robbery, it was less than ideal.

“Number twenty-six, please,” called the teller at the leftmost station at the bank counter.

“That’s me,” Kibum said under his breath to Minho, flashing the paper ticket he’d pulled from the dispenser by the door. “God, I wasn’t expecting so many ing people. Hopefully they’ll clear out quickly. Are you ready?”

Minho nodded and reached under his jacket to finger the length of thick chain he had wrapped around his waist. He could see Taemin’s hand in his pocket clutching the padlock that went with it.

“Go. Don’t be an idiot,” Minho said.

Kibum rolled his eyes and began to saunter away, “Don’t worry,” he called over his shoulder. “I’m not you.”

“Jackass,” muttered Minho under his breath. He placed his hand gently on Taemin’s wrist and gave a small squeeze. “Wait for everyone to exit, then follow my lead, alright? Are you doing okay?”

Taemin shrugged. “I’m fine. I do like this all the time. I’m worried about you, Minho. I’m worried about everything that comes after this—if there even is an after.”

They still hadn’t come to a decision of what to do with the money. That pair of notes had ed with all their heads, and an uncomfortable anxiety sat like lead in all their stomachs, swelling overwhelmingly no matter which path they pointed themselves toward. They would need to hide out from the law in the wilderness after this anyway, so this mess could be untangled once the robbery was concluded. 

That was, of course, assuming they even managed to steal anything at all. The key-holding manager was nowhere in sight, and there weren’t any ways to slip into the back that wouldn’t set off immediate panic. This was Plan D or E that they were running now, and it was impossible to wait a day more. Their indecision over where their loyalties lay had them stall this heist to the last possible moment.

“Have you been granted any of that danger-induced clarity yet?” asked Minho. He watched as Kibum passed a note over the counter, and the teller began to read it, his face falling with every word. “You’ve been awful quiet about all this the past few days.”

“I don’t know if I even have anything worthwhile to contribute, Minho. I don’t trust either of them—Minseok or Aloysius—but I also don’t know them like you. Whatever path you choose, I’ll walk beside you, and if there’s danger at the end of that path, I’ll cut down whoever dares raise a hand against you. I’ve already made my choice of what I want, and that’s you.”

“Taemin…” Minho began, but the intensity at which his gaze was met chased the rest of the words from his mouth. He felt dizzy, overwhelmed with the urge to bring their lips together until his lungs were aching for air.

Taemin’s hand rested on his thigh. He turned their bodies together. He his lips.

“Do I scare you?” asked Taemin in a whisper.

Minho’s cheeks tingled. “I find you absolutely terrifying,” he answered in the same quiet pitch. He reached up, cupping Taemin’s jaw with his hand. He ran his thumb underneath Taemin’s chin and tugged slightly, parting his mouth.

A hand bell was rung aggressively, and the spell that hypnotized them both dissipated into nothing. Minho instinctively clutched his pistol and turned to the source of the noise. Taemin jumped to his feet, and Minho yanked him back down to the bench.

“Not yet,” he warned. “Stay until they’re gone.”

“Attention! Attention!” called the teller that Kibum had passed the note to. “The bank must close immediately due to an internal emergency. Please make your way to the doors in an orderly fashion. I apologize sincerely for the inconvenience.”

The other tellers wore expressions of extreme confusion and were unable to assuage the grumbles of the upset bank patrons. When they glanced towards the speaking teller for guidance, he jerked his head towards the door, begging them silently to leave as well. 

Kibum said something to the man, and he raised his hands above the counter timidly. With the way Kibum’s hand was at his waist, drawing his coat aside, Minho figured he was making a show of his gun.

The townspeople and the handful of wary bank employees passed Minho and Taemin, muttering complaints and concerns under their breaths. As the last of them made their way to the exit and out onto the dusty street, Minho and Taemin rose from the bench and followed closely behind. Minho grabbed the door and held it firmly shut to deter anyone with a delayed inquisitiveness from coming back inside. Taemin’s hands clutched at Minho’s waist to help unravel the length of chain that was hidden from sight underneath his vest. Once it was free, they looped the chain multiple times through the handles of the door, then fastened it securely with the heavy padlock Taemin had stowed in his pocket. The metal clanked as Minho jiggled the doors, testing their handiwork.

“We’re good,” he called across the bank to Kibum in Korean. He placed his hand at Taemin’s lower back, guiding him in the direction of the teller. Taemin pulled out his gun as they walked, spinning the barrel of the revolver to ensure all chambers were loaded.

“There is absolutely no intention of my associate using that weapon on you,” Kibum began in his perfectly accented English. “That is, of course, if you would do us the kindness of cooperating. Let’s start with you opening up that door, shall we?”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir,” stammered the teller. “B—bank personnel only. That’s the policy.

Kibum withdrew his pistol from the holster and set it on the counter, his pointer finger the trigger. He made a sad pout and said, “Surely you can make an exception just this once.” His thumb cocked back the hammer. “Your life may depend on it.”

Taemin had no idea what Kibum was saying, but the threat was understood without a shared language. He raised his own gun towards the man and put on an encouraging smile.

The teller his dry lips. Sweat began to pool on his balding head and dripped down his cheeks. The collar of his shirt was ringed dark with his panic.

“I—I suppose,” he stuttered again. “Just this once, I suppose.” From his vest pocket he extracted a hefty key ring. He moved towards the iron-barred door that separated the more secure areas of the bank from the general public, and began fumbling through his options. “Not this one,” he muttered, trying a key that was obviously too small. “Not this one…”

“He’s stalling,” Taemin said to Minho in Korean. “Should I shoot him?”

“No!” both Minho and Kibum said at once. Startled, the teller dropped his keys.

“I wasn’t going to kill him or anything!” clarified Taemin grumpily. “Just shoot him in the foot or something, get him to hurry it along.”

“Taemin’s right, though,” said Kibum. “He is ing with us. The last five keys he tried were clearly for safety deposit boxes, and he knows that.”

Minho rolled his eyes and moved closer to the door. He grabbed a bar and said in English, “If you aren’t going to be useful, I guess there’s no reason to keep you alive, huh?”

He cocked his own gun, aiming it at the ceiling, but didn’t fire off a warning shot for the same reason he stopped Taemin. Once bullets started flying, it’d be obvious what was happening inside this bank. They needed as much time as they could get.

The teller, who was already on all fours on the ground struggling to pick up his keys, abandoned them to crawl away in terror. Presumably, he sheltered underneath a desk, but he scurried out of sight so quickly that they couldn’t be sure.

With a sigh, Minho squatted low to the ground, reached through the bars, and grabbed the keys. A quick glance at the keyhole eliminated all but three options, and the second he tried had the door whining on its hinges as it fell open.

“After you,” said Minho with a grin, holding the door open wide for Taemin in a gentlemanly fashion. 

“‘Spose I should go first,” said Taemin, but he took a step closer to Minho and holstered his gun. “Less chance of you stumbling into danger.”

“Oh my god,” complained Kibum. “Is he going to—Are you two—Yep, there it is.”

Taemin grabbed Minho by the collar and stood up on the tips of his toes to bring their mouths together in a gentle yet passionate kiss.

He smiled up at Minho. “Now I’m ready to rob a bank,” he said.

With a disgusted expression, Kibum broke between them. He placed his hands on both their chests and shoved them apart.

“I don’t have a problem with your homoual awakening, Minho,” said Kibum, “I mean—we all saw it coming. I thought you were in love with me for a second there…”

Minho almost burst out laughing at the offended expression on Taemin’s face, but he held it together and did his best to look affected by Kibum’s scolding.

He continued, “But this isn’t the time or place, alright? Both of you keep your ing lips to yourself ‘til we’re free and clear of this place. I don’t need you two distracted making goddamn goo-goo eyes at—”

A horrible choked scream interrupted Kibum as the teller rounded the corner at a full sprint. He held something metallic clutched in his hand, and the unknown sharp object buried itself deep right below Kibum’s collar bone.

“What the ?” hollered Kibum. “He just stabbed me. What the ?”

His hands went to the wound that was slowly seeping crimson. He was smart enough not to pull out the improvised weapon—a letter opener, by the looks of it.

With a practiced toss, Minho flipped his gun in the air to clutch it by the barrel. A sickening crack echoed through the empty lobby of the bank as the heavy handle of the pistol connected with the teller’s temple. He slumped to the ground in a heap.

“,” Minho muttered.  He poked the man once w