Choi Junhong is a full six years younger than Yongguk.

Sometimes, Yongguk wonders why he listens to Himchan's ideas.

"He's in high school!" Yongguk protested to his partner when he found out. "Why the hell are we recruiting a high schooler?"

"Drop out," Himchan replied, as if that explains everything. "He's better than a lot of professional thieves, too."

Yongguk snorted at the use of "professional" to describe "thieves", but he didn't protest anymore.

One of Himchan's "friends" let slip a couple days ago that he'd heard that Choi Junhong was going to attempt an art gallery robbery.

"Nothing big, of course," Byun Baekhyun had said. They'd been in one of those bars that tried to be classy as hell to avoid the sullying label 'bar' but still managed to be just as loud and raucous as any normal run-of-the-mill bar. Turns out rich drunks act the same as middle-class drunks, Himchan'd reflected. Baekhyun told him to go himself (he wasn't a very nice drunk); he had money to burn and he rather liked the fancy glasses, thankyouverymuch. "Just one of those little stupid neighborhood-run charity things. If you ask me, he's got the right idea."

Byun Baekhyun was one of those people who knew everything about everyone, had a veritable fortune, and still associated with criminals on the down-low. He was also quite securely in dealings with a different gang, so Himchan hadn't even thought to ask to work with him. Yongguk probably wouldn't approve of him, either.

"This his normal type of dealing?" Himchan'd asked him.

Baekhyun'd shook his head. "No way. He's normally way more showy - you know, banks and actual museums and stuff. Come to think of it, I think he has a grudge against the woman who's running this. Some in the same line of work as his mother or something."

Himchan didn't really care about the particulars. He'd seen this as their best chance of getting through to the young thief.

"Are you sure we really need him?" Yongguk asked, and Himchan nodded.

"Either we get him or someone else does, and I don't want to see him working for anyone else."

"Or with," Yongguk added. He didn't believe in laws.

"Or with," Himchan amended, because he didn't really either.

Two minutes after entering the art gallery, Yongguk had already been severely reminded of exactly why he avoided such social gatherings.

It was held in some empty wing of some regional art museum. There were paintings, all looking rather like the result of a toddler's temper tantrum near several large buckets of paint. There were bright, intricate chandeliers hanging overhead, which Yongguk swore were made out of plastic and made odd clunk noises whenever the little dangling pieces hit each other. There were sharply-dressed waiters with plastic smiles and tarnished metal dishes that contained perfect flutes of champagne, which Yongguk wrinkled his nose at. He didn't consider champagne to be alcohol - it was too bubbly and sweet and resembled soda more than anything.

Himchan, on the other hand, seemed right in his element.

"You're actually drinking this?" Yongguk asked when he saw Himchan's half-empty champagne flute.

Himchan shrugged. "It's alcohol and it's sweet. It's like soda, but better."

Yongguk shook his head. "It's not proper alcohol. It's fruity."

"No, wine's fruity," Himchan objected.

The lights went out.

"I take that back," Himchan sighed. "Apparently the lights don't agree with me."

The previous murmur of people politely discussing artwork was quickly degenerating into a cacophony of confusion. "What happened?" someone - a male, most likely - yelled.

"The lights went off, !"

"How?"

There was a shrill shriek, which elicited several more. Yongguk was jostled as several people ran into him, trying to get away from the source of the scream.

Something that sounded suspiciously like a gunshot drove the room even further into a frenzy.

"Are you Yongguk?" someone whispered into his ear suddenly. Surprised, he reached for his gun, only to remember that he'd left it outside and it was probably Himchan asking.

"Yeah," he replied, lowering his voice. "Is this the kid?"

Someone roughly pushed him to the side, towards the voice that was presumably Himchan. He stumbled, felt himself crash against another body that also roughly pushed him aside, and regained his feet just as another gunshot went off.

"Whoever it is, I think he's firing blanks," Presumably-Himchan replied. "You think we can get to him?"

Yongguk nodded, tried to avoid falling down yet again, and realized Himchan couldn't see his nodding. "Yeah, before he drives these people insane."

"What?" Definitely-Himchan asked. The majority of people in the room were screaming now.

"Yes!" Yongguk yelled. "Go where people aren't going; people near the gunshot will be able to tell where it's coming from!"

He heard something vaguely like "well that's helpful" from Himchan's general direction, but ignored it and started to try and push past the writhing throng of people.

There's another gunshot. This time, Yongguk can pinpoint the approximate distance, and struggled through the tide of people towards that spot. He breaks through into a small clearing and s around blindly, hoping to grab metal or cloth - detachedly, he hopes that the only person in the vicinity is the young thief and he isn't unknowingly molesting someone's grandmother.

His hand closes open something that feels rather like a cape. He tugs on it, hard, and feels rather than sees the owner of the cloak topple backwards. Someone in front of him grunts.

"Next time, don't bring him down on top of me, okay?" Yongguk hears someone that sounds like Himchan yell.

"Sorry," he calls. He doesn't sound apologetic even to his own ears.

He's still holding on to the cloak, so he can tell when the thief tries to scramble back upright. He tugs again, and he hears another grunt.

"Did you not hear me the first time?" Himchan yells, sounding quite annoyed.

A door bursts open - someone apparently found the emergency exit - and the fire alarm starts to blare. The screams increase in intensity, but there's some meager light from outside that's trickling into the room and now it's just a tidal wave of people flooding the emergency exit.

The thief makes one last struggle to escape, but Yongguk jumps on him and pins him down.

"What the hell?" the thief protests, but Yongguk ignores him and looks to the shadowy outline of Himchan instead.

"There's sirens," he says. "We should take this outside, away from here."

Yongguk nods his agreement. "You got a car?"

He can't see, but he can hear the smirk in Himchan's voice. "What do you think?"

For a high schooler, Choi Junhong is insanely tall.

He's taller than Himchan and pushing Yongguk's height, which annoys Yongguk somewhat. He rather likes looking down at people while intimidating them, and it doesn't work so well when they're the same height and six years younger.

It doesn't help that Junhong probably could do with some good intimidation. He's outnumbered, two to one, facing two named, known criminals, and yet he still stands there with a lopsided smirk on his face.

Come on, he says without saying it. I can take you on.

Yongguk doesn't answer him.

"You're Choi Junhong?" he asks instead. His hand drifts towards his belt - two guns, cartridges, pepper spray, taser. He hopes he won't actually use any of them.

The kid his head to one side. He's still smirking, but his eyes aren't. Eyes, Yongguk thinks - you don't need any fancy lie detectors or personality quizzes if you can look at someone's eyes. Like Himchan's - excited and warm and not quite sane. Like his - solid and sharp and obsidian. Like this kid's - wary and cautious and maybe just a little scared.

"So what if I am?" the kid asks. His voice is still high, still youthful - it carries to cockiness well, but it also carries vulnerability.

"We're not here to harm you," Yongguk says, because that's the only thing he can think of that's suitable soothing. He doesn't think "join our ing gang or die" will sound too good to the kid.

Beside him, Himchan sighs and mutters something under his breath.

The kid laughs dryly and rolls his eyes. "Why thank you," he says, and he squints at them. "You police? You gonna say you're here to help me?"

Yongguk opened his mouth, and then closed it, because that had been what he'd been planning to say.

"Forget it," the kid says. "I ain't doing anything wrong, mister. I'm just minding my own business. It's a Saturday night, ya know. Can't a kid get out once in a while?"

"We're not police," Himchan replies. His voice is smooth, charming - it's the way he talks to people when he wants something from them, Yongguk knows. It's the way he convinces bystanders that nothing happened, nothing will happen, nothing's happening. It's the way he soothes victims before putting a bullet straight through their brain, barely even glancing at the grey matter that leaks out. It's the only thing about Kim Himchan that still scares his partner.

The kid isn't completely dumb, so he recognizes the danger in the voice. He drops the smirk - just like that, he looks three years younger, looks more vulnerable, more lost.

"Then what are you?" he asks. His voice is strong, still cocksure - the smirk isn't on his lips but seems to have traveled into his voice. "And why the hell have you kidnapped me?"

Himchan just kind of stares at him. "You really thought we were police even though we kidnapped you?"

The kid makes a kind of spastic shrugging motion. "I dunno what the police do, ya know. You're just dressed in black and that guy - " he points to Yongguk "- was saying normal police stuff, so..." He trails off, and ends with another spastic shrug.

Himchan glances behind him, at Yongguk, so Yongguk steps forward. "We want you to work with us," he says, because why not.

The kid gawks at him. "You mean for you?" he asks.

Sometimes, Yongguk really hates the unvoiced laws of the criminal world.

"No, I mean with us."

They're in a park, one of those little open spaces that litter a city, with a small run-down little playscape for children and old wooden benches for adults. The two roads that line this park are silent; Yongguk can see lights in the distance, see traffic lights and the red flash of brakes and hear the sound of cars rushing against the wind. The buildings here are bare; some are closed, boarded up, with a "For Rent" hanging lopsidedly.

Only he will notice them, he thinks; no one else comes out here long enough to see the sign, to consider renting out the place. It's too shabby, too out of the way.

Perhaps he can talk to Himchan about setting up a place here.

The kid shifts his weight, leaning on his right foot now. "Can't we sit down or something?" he asks.

"Suit yourself," Himchan replies, and the kid immediately shuffles to the left and plops down on a bench.

"This is going to give me splinters," he mutters. Both older men ignore him.

In the distance, someone honks a horn. There's a squeal of brakes, but Yongguk doesn't hear the sound of impact.

"So, what's your story?" Junhong asks. "You wanted a thief and I was the closest you could find? Awful lot of trouble to go through to get one guy, right?"

Nothing compared to Himchan, Yongguk thinks, but says, "Yeah, pretty much," instead.

"Oh." Junhong's face falls a little. He'd probably been hoping for a more grandiose explanation - perhaps that he was better than anyone else, that he would be more useful.

"You gonna join?"

Junhong doesn't answer.

There's a slight breeze. It's not cold, but it's cool enough that Yongguk has the urge to pull his jacket around him a little tighter. The wind rustles through leaves on the nearby trees, whistles through the long grass that carpet the ground. No one mows the grass here because no one comes.

"What are you offering me," the kid asks finally, except it doesn't sound like a question.

Himchan answers anyways. "Protection, for one - you'll have two people to back you up instead of having to watch your own back. More jobs, for another - you'll still be a freelancer, but now you can work on some murders, too. Homicide pays well."

The kid blinks. "Can I do espionage?" and suddenly his voice is quieter, more pensive.

"If you're good at it," Himchan tells him. His voice is quieter, too - softer, but not smooth or dangerous - it seems warm, maternal almost. His smile is soft, too - like that of a stranger after a toddler offers her a balloon because she'd "looked sad". Yongguk thinks, for the first time, that perhaps Himchan could make a good father.

If it wasn't for the whole criminal thing, of course.

Junhong swallows visibly. Then he nods, and with that, his eyes harden and the vulnerability fades. He's a cocky kid again.

Good, Yongguk thinks, because vulnerability has no place in the underground.

woo second chapter done

basically this was word-vomit/rambling because my idea did the flop and then rolled around in mud a bit

i was just there like "wtf idea" and it was like "lol nope"

so yeah

next chapter may be two weeks from now because exams yay