September 2013
Slumped on the plastic chair is an insouciant man, clad in a ironed uniform decorated with polished brooches and flashy medals. There are earphones in his ear that blast melodic beats to lull him to sleep. He's drifting out of consciousness when nimble fingers yank a wire from his ear. A rush of excited voices disturbs his head and he wearily looks up. The sun momentarily blinds him before he's greeted with a blank expression.

"What?" He grumbles.

The man, appearance of a boy really, stares at him silently.

"Jongin." They exchange no more than single phrases.

He sighs, surrendering, turns off his music player and shifts upright, though his shoulder seem to portray a certain hunch to them. The shadow doesn't waver in his gaze, constant but passive. It's like he's sending a telepathic paragraph, embedded in his large round eyes, introduction sentence and all. Jongin knows better than to repeat his question. He understands what he's saying, or not saying in this case.

"This is your ceremony. You should at least stay awake for it." He finally comments, taking the seat beside him, "Or at least entertain me. All these old people are making me fall asleep. Don't they have better music to play?"

Jonging lets slip a smirk at the rash remarks. Only he, Do Kyungsoo, could be so frivolous in the presence of so many big-shot authoritative figures. He would probably lecture the president if he saw fit. Smoothly, Jongin slides an arm around and leans in like he's about tell him some naughty little secret. 

"Entertain you? I don't think your form of entertainment is acceptable in such public places." Jongin teases against his ear and watches in amusement as Kyungsoo's pale skin flushes five different shades of red.

"W-wh-what? I wasn't talking about-!" He quips, thoroughly flustered, "that's not what I meant."

 He twists his body and pushes Jongin's away, batting furiously while the boy grinned from ear to ear. 

"Yeah, yeah. Here you go." He dismisses the assault and places an earbud in his companion's ear.

They sit side by side, shoulders brushing faintly, enjoying and interpreting the music as each pleases, and watch the platonic smiles of people giving early congratulations. Jongin's getting some form of rookie award in the force but he really doesn't care. This was all just formalities and an excuse to flaunt the power of the police. Since he was dragged into it, he pulled Kyungsoo along too.

"I could've been working on my business report right about now." Kyungsoo says distantly, not meaning to whine.

"Is that really what you're thinking right now?"

After a short thoughtful  pause. "Yes."

"Worknerd."

"Jongin." He says it like it's the biggest insult in the universe.

Jongin nudges his shoulder playfully with a sly smile dancing on his lips. His gaze rests on the softening expression of the other's face as he becomes dazed in deep thought. This is the secondary reason for pulling Kyungsoo into attending- a good chance to get the work-a-holic some rest. Suddenly, another figure comes up in front of them, also sporting a blue uniform with various medals that really gave the wearer no more merit than a badge. Only a tip of his head indicates Jongin's acknowledgement of the visitor whose light auburn hair covers a small forehead and fringes on  accented dark brown eyes, rimmed black. 

"Hey, Jongin. Is this the guy you're always talking about?" The fellow cop chirps.

"Yup. The one and only." He replies dryly.

He faces Kyungsoo and gushes, "Squishysoo! Nice to meet you. I'm Baekhyun. I work in the fifth division, same team as Officer Kim."

Kyungsoo shoots a glare at Jongin, which he graciously receives, before turning and offering his hand.

"Kyungsoo. Nice to meet you."

"The ceremony is quite exciting, no? There will be new recruits introduced too. Has he told you yet? That he'll be training some of them? We all decided that the best Rookie cop should be the mentor." His chatter fills the air as Kyungsoo listens. 

"I've been doing this job for about five years." Jongin chides, "I don't see why I'm being awarded a Rookie title."

Kyungsoo elbows his side, hitting a vulnerable spot, and gives a small smile to the antsy Baekhyun who finds every excuse to leave immediately. Jongin sputters a snort at his workmate's awkward exit and Kyungsoo shoots him a pointed look.

"He was trying to be nice." He raises his voice at the word trying, "and Squishysoo? Really? Out of all the things you call me, that's what you introduce me as to your colleagues?"

The lecture goes nowhere and Jongin leans a weary yet lighthearted head on slender shoulders. Kyungsoo stiffens, much to his enjoyment, and he closes his eyes, letting the music fill him again. The scent of detergent wafting from Kyungsoo's soft grey sweater wafts up his nose and reminds him of his recently washed bedsheets. 

"How about we ditch this whole thing and go home?" He mumbles sleepily.

"That'd be rude." Kyungsoo reasons although not sounding against the prospect.

"Who cares? I'm already the of the force." He grunts. 

"Better not prove that even further."

They continue the gentle bickering until Jongin's breathing slows and Kyungsoo softly shakes his shoulders. Upon the silent response, he relaxs into the chair, bearing Jongin's weight. Finally, the tanner boy slips into a semi-conscious state, the rise and fall of another's chest the only reminder of the physical world. The other half of his mind replays flashes and blurs of him and Kyungsoo that make his ears tingle.

Three years ago, he met the shorter boy accidentally, caught in the crossfire of a shoot-out with a group of robbers. The fifth division was called to civilians to safety and Jongin was shot in the leg after bumping into the running the college boy. Compelled to care for him, Kyungsoo soon became a constant in his life, with his orderly mannerism contrasting Jongin's aloof approach. With each meeting, one was always slightly more indebted to the other; neither liked the idea of owing somebody, making room for future promises and plans. It only took a couple more meetings before they decided that their relationship had grown past platonic dues.

Suddenly, the shoulder jerks his head off and he stumbles awake, dimly recognizing the voice commencing the start of the ceremony. He rubs an eye, glancing at people scattering to get to their seats. Kyungsoo grabs his arm and pulls him up to stand. As per every ceremony, the national anthem blares over speakers, crackled yet clear. The afternoon sun is stifling, the wool itching and stickingto the nape of his neck. The shadows are moving and playing tricks on him through sleepy eyes. His annoyance is splayed across his face while Kyungsoo feigns interest in the procession, cocking his head from left to right trying to see. The small beads of sweat forming on his eyebrows betray him and tells Jongin that the boy is as agitated as he was. Baekhyun stands on his other side with obvious excitement. 

Before the entrance finishes, there is a loud crack of metal splitting the air and a poignant stench of gun powder and smoke. Everybody ducks instinctively. Everyone minus two people, but nobody really notices this. Eyes scan the overhead and ears wait in anticipation for a second round. There is an eerie split second of silence that beckons the incoming onslaught of panic and screams. Chaos erupts all around him, people trampling over hundred dollar shoes to escape the scene and whatever impending danger follows. Jongin's about to pull Kyungsoo to a low run when he feels a body sag against him. He collapses along with it but pays little mind. He's too busy looking. Too busy to notice the obvious. Straining his neck for glimpses between the frantic people, he quickly searches the masses for the small nervous figure. There's blinding desperation and muffled agony coursing through his heart when the round face with matching saucer-like eyes are nowhere to be found. The body on his lap is gripping him pleadingly and he turns with quick eyes to tell it that he'll be right back, already getting ready to search on foot.

He pauses. His eyes remain fixated on the face underneath his but he refuses to put two and two together. Thought is a sentence read midway, unwilling to learn what happens next. 

Black hair, limp with sweat, sticks to a paling face and the whole body shudders as small lips grasp for breath. Jongin draws his hand away and stares at him through bloody fingers. He stares and stares and closes his eyes and stares. Because his greatest fear is playing out right in front of him. A life is slipping from his grasp, a life that's painfully close to his. Reality comes crashing at once. He grabs the boy and shakes him, dreading the weakened response,  to keep the boy awake.  The dull grey sweater Kyungsoo loves to wear 24/7 is splattered with the sticky red, seeping from a wound that Jongin only now realizes he's putting pressure on. 

"J-Jong..." Kyungsoo chokes, shivering in his arms, and he's murmuring urgent promises to calm him down. 

"Shhh. It's okay. It's okay. Stay with me, okay?"

"Jongin..."

Kyungsoo clutches harder and in a breath through gritted teeth. Jongin's trying to not notice the copious amounts of blood springing from under his hand or the dropping temperature on the skin or the white creeping up his face. He's trying not to remember the nightmares he sometimes has or what comes next. 

"Yah! Kyungsoo!?" Hot tears well up and sting his eyes when they're no longer reflected back. 

The signs lead to shock. That's not a great sign. Baekhyun's there as well, watching with horror stricken expressions. Gathering his wits before him, he scrambles closer and training kicks in, first aid instructions rushing out his mouth. Jongin's attentive now, attempting to ignore the thrashing in his ribs and the singing in his ears to comprehend what could possibly save Kyungsoo. 

He snaps his head up. The picture looks wrong, slightly off. He can't understand the uneven feeling or why it's robbing him of his attention. It's off-putting. A single black speck in a giant mirage of colors, a frame hanging a millimeter off. He tries to pinpoint it, squinting harder and letting his guts guide his eyes. There's a flash of unfamiliar black clothing in his peripheral, someone who looks so strangely out of place Jongin can't believe he never noticed the man before. He gently places Kyungsoo on the grass before springing from his position and sprinting. Baekhyun's calls fall on deaf ears because Jongin can't hear anything other than blood and madness. 

He jumps before the shooter can react, successfully tackling him to the ground. The fall is course and hard. He feels the impact jostle his brain and for the first time, he is level with the shooter. The sight makes him hesitate momentarily. He's young. But it was definitely him. He was too calm. Too prepared. In the back of Jongin's mind, a portion of his sanity lives and reminds him of his duty as a cop. He shouldn't kill. He should arrest. There is justice to be done. Courts and trials to go through.

There are no thoughts, no calculated plans, behind his actions. Just a series of punches and adrenaline. He finds himself on top of the young man. Baekhyun is still yelling his name but he doesn't think of anything other than the skinny boy pinned to the ground. He imprints the face to his memory, the coldhearted shooter's face, but it's not coldhearted. It's warm and smooth and normal and the eyes remind him all too much of somebody else. They egg him on, provocative and fueling. A chill overcomes him and any responsibilities he harbored are thrown out, in it's place frenzied fury.  In one swift movement, he plucks the gun originally meant as an accessory from it's pouch and trains it against the boy's head. But the shooter is fast, stronger than his physique lets on, and the bang goes off an inch from it's mark. The struggle for the gun resumes, one relying on anger and one relying on survival to win. 

Because Jongin wouldn't let him survive this. Not in one piece at least. Not when the innocent Kyungsoo's bleeding out into the world. He squeezes the trigger a second time. The thirst for blood is momentarily satisfied when the bullet grazes a shoulder and a loud groan his heard. A hiss of yes springs to his conscience. 

All of a sudden, chairs are thrown in the air as a car barrels through the lawn. Plastic flies into the air with an unlucky few trampled under tires. His reaction is the same as any other spectator. Surprised at the commotion, his hold loosens and the young man shoves him off. Jongin's head hits the edge of a seat, a splitting headache erupts as his vision swims. Still holding the gun, he fires off at the silver car, aching to hit something to hinder the escape. Nothing connects. Within seconds, the hooded shooter clad in black vanishes without a single trace other than the wreckage littering the lawn. 

Shaking his head from the impact, he wobbles back to Kyungsoo. There is the sound of blaring sirens of ambulance and police in the distance. Baekhyun's shooting him panicked looks as nimble hands feel for a pulse. His fingers are no longer distinctive on Kyungsoo's chest, whose rise and fall diminishes each time. A gag comes up Jongin's throat as he takes in the small frame in the crook of his arm. The fiery adrenaline and bursting anger abate to lightheaded panic and a fear of the worst. He's streaming hot wet tears again; apparently not having any shortage of it. Kyungsoo would've wiped the drops away, calling him a big crybaby. He would've and their four year age difference. 

Because Kyungsoo rarely shed tears and Jongin only liked pretending that he was the older one. 

His face is misshapen with ugly wracking sobs coming from it. He can't really tell if he's being gentle. The shaking is getting the best of him. There is this sinking notion that he is grasping onto delicate strands of glass that could snap at a moments notice and leave him stranded. Right then. Right there.

----------

October 2011

As a cop, work sometimes leeches onto him. It barges in on his personal life. Generally, Jongin is okay with it; he knew what he signed up for. Nonetheless, he resents the notion when it interferes with his dinner plans; Kyungsoo's cooking was the type you'd wait in line for. It's day...what is it? 10? After having first jumped into the line of fire. The boy was shocked, to no surprise, but refused to simply run away. In that moment, Jongin resented his stubbornness yet marveled at the blind courage of a student. Hours later, he was nurturing Jongin back to health- day one. Then they met at the convenience store a couple blocks away from Jongin's house, with a new promise of coffee for the exceptional care Kyungsoo had given him-day two of meeting. Day five, he discovered with some punishment that the boy's eyes could widen even further when scalding hot chocolate spilled on his pants. And now, they are at dinner. Their tenth meeting.

"I don't mind, really. It's probably something important." He gestures to the vibrating phone tethering on the table, "Maybe some killer is on the loose, slitting the necks of everyone he sees with all the guts flowing out. Then I'd have to live with the guilt. Wouldn't want that to forever be a dinner topic."

Jongin's spoon clatters to the table and he gawks at his eating companion, who resumes eating like the picture of perfect innocence, before grunting and reaching over to his cell. Sometimes, he wonders why Kyungsoo's going into business. More creative roles would suit him better. His phone is flashing the symbol for a new text and he unlocks it with chagrin when the sender is identifiably his superior.

From: Supervisor Chanyeol
To: Agent Kim

Obtained access to suspicious individuals. Monitor. Maintain silence and record. http://xlkslbccdtks.access.exo
IP: 12887794
Access ASAP

Fixated on the screen, he scrambles to retrieve his laptop, specially commissioned by the force, from the bag dangling off his chair. This laptop was immediately connected to the main screen at headquarters so they could always see what he fiddled with. Jongin always preferred this side of his job to field work. He plays with the numbers in his head while inputting the address given. Immediately, a series of code placated the screen. Jongin jumps in response, fingers flying over the keys like a spider winding it's prey. The sound of every keystroke makes his heart beat a second faster than the last; he is satisfyingly breaking through the multiple traps and firewalls set up. Swiftly, the grand finale, he presses the enter key and sends his own assortment of numbers and letters that probed the information his way in an unspoken affair with the computer. The site presented a blue screen with two parallel bars across the middle. 

Triumph. Jongin found himself exclaiming aloud. 

"What's that?" Kyungsoo breathes beside his ear and a shiver runs down Jongin's spine at the proximity.

"A login page."

In all his excitement, he didn't realize Kyungsoo had emptied his plate and moved to peer over his shoulder, arm placed beside the computer. He stretches his arms, prepping them for whatever needed to happen next. His phone vibrates with a telltale sign. Another text message. 

From: Supervisor Chanyeol
To: Agent Kim

Assume identity of suspect Zhang Yixing.
ID: Lay
Pass: 64839119572

He quirks an eyebrow at the questionable ID. In the months of research and operations towards cracking the EXO gang, the one rule that seemed to be apparent in all its assassins was the need for the alias to start with the letter D. Any other alias indicated a higher title. Why, Jongin had no idea, but it made the group sound  comically insane with its immense death count and cotton candy aliases. It seemed to him that nearly every killing was somehow orchestrated by an assassin hired from EXO. It was nerve wrecking for the force. How much could they investigate without digging up some large scale political scandal? How deep their connections extend, Jongin never knew either. His superiors could very well be working for them.

After a few clicks, he's met with a blank chat box where two others are already signed in. He reads Kris and Suho. Big names.

Kyungsoo's leaning in closer and Jongin swears the clock is not the source of that loud ticking anymore. 

"Who are they?" He whispers. 

"You ever heard of EXO? The ones who assassinated the mayor's wife a few years ago?" Kyungsoo nods tentatively, "Well, meet the leaders."

"Oh." And Jongin notes the flash of surprise in his face.

A few minutes tick by, the boys unanimated in their staring position to the point it irritated their eyes. The elder finally breaks the tense stillness as he stands upright and gives Jongin a questionable look. 

"Do they know you're there?" Kyungsoo asks in barely a mutter. 

"Yes and no." He replies, continuing only when a blank expression comes up, "what I pretty much did was tap into one of their computers and tricked the server into thinking I was a part of it. It's like being an eyelash on someone's face. To the people in red, like this Kris person, I don't exist. I'm a part of the server. But to whoever will chat with him, I'm Lay."

He knows he's barely making any sense, especially when it comes to explaining hacking. Jongin watches the reaction. The face tells it all. His eyes are squinted and his mouth is in a line as he tries to comprehend.

"Ho-"

Cut off by a definite ding from the computer, they turn simultaneously to the screen and eye the username dotted in green that just appeared. And Jongin nearly chokes on the stagnant air in his throat. Deer. It's a well-known name in the underworld, giving jittery nerves at the mere mention of it, and has often been the suspect of multiple unsolvable murders. To encounter this person brought shivers racing up his arm, even digitally. Once, an unlucky witness was carted away from the crime scene shrieking nothing but the word. He was later dubbed insane and put in a center where he grumbled the alias for twenty four hours. Jongin remembers the attempt at an interview, the clouded eyes and quivering lips, all too well.

Suddenly, Jongin wants to hide in a corner. Safe and away from this wild beast that he just found himself poking. He is a great hacker, probably the best technical agent in the force. But he could've made a slip-up or forgot to cover his tracks and who knows what could be sent his way. What sort of end he might see at the hands of the assassin called Deer?

However, none of the people remark on his presence; his work is perfect. He steadily watches the conversation, grimacing at the mentions of targets and killing. It's too normal. Too next door-neighbor dinner planning. In the background, Kyungsoo's tense, holding a hidden breath, becoming considerably paler. Yet he can't tear his attention away from the blaring white screen. Jongin should be telling him not to look, to block his view, close the laptop and break whatever trance it has them under. No, he shouldn't be letting him see this. Because this is an exchange between killers and Kyungsoo is just a college student. A college student that cries while watching soap operas and fusses over Jongin's wrinkled shirts.

Ignoring his internal berating, he rereads the words over and over again. The words don't sink in until the third time. 
 
Kris: Fraternizing with incorrect individuals. 
 
Deer: I see.

Suho: 5 billion. A suitable amount. 

Something snaps in him. He slams the laptop shut with unidentifiable acid bubbling in the pit of his stomach and a lightness in the back of his head. An apprehensive stare travels up his arm, setting blazes to his cheeks. Confused at his own outburst, he stalks off with the laptop at his side. Moments later, a little head pokes into his bedroom.

"Hey. You okay?" He whispers. 

Jongin rubs his face aggressively before thinking of an answer. 

"Yes." He sits on his bed, arms loose against strong knees, "No? I don't even- That was weird...Yes."

Kyungsoo nods and invites himself in. He locks onto the laptop lying on the table, staring it down as if daring it to try something. He sits down and taps a calming repetitive one two one two with his foot. The dull thumps become a safety blanket, making Jongin close his eyes with newfound drowsiness; human heat and melodic humming taming the raised hairs on his neck. Whatever previous agitation subsides and he joins in the little beat with his own rhythm. His head rocks to the beat, slowly accepting the gentle sultriness of Kyungsoo's voice lulling the tension away. A small paradise forms in his mind, the hills and valleys mimicking the intonation of the smooth voice, the light tune drifting in the waters. 

"Jongin?" Kyungsoo stops abruptly, a memory flinging them back to the world of dangers and harsh realities.

"Hm?" His eyes flutter open and he rotates his head to face him. 

Kyungsoo is pursing his lips, an action Jongin attributes as trying to hold back commentary. This never really works with Kyungsoo and he blurts it out. 

 "Your pasta's getting cold."

----------

September 2013
Jongin finds no solace in others' pitiful attempts at social sympathy. It grinds against him and sets his teeth on edge whenever people push fleeting touches and unsalted tears onto him. More often than not, he swats away friendly hands. But he doesnt even react when Baekhyun is holding him up by the arms. Because right now, he's playing that part in the movie when the music crescendoes and people know what happened just by watching him crumbling crumbling crumbling.

He flies through the five stages, getting the order jumbled up. After begging the world and the fickle God, using a voice from a childish tantrum, he flits back and forth somewhere between anger and depression. Acceptance? Skipped that.

He experiences denial for a fraction of a second; living with Kyungsoo meant facts are facts and nothing changed that. All doubt is thrown out the window when he crashes and collapses beside the bed (or operating table or coffin but right now, bed sounds nicer). Where he would basks in the casual silence of Kyungsoo, familiar and warm like sunlight, there is nothing but grinding coldness. It pierces the air and stabs his skin, raking it over and over again until Jongin is reaching out to slap him, to make him move and shyly smile, and end the stillness.

"Why don't you say something?" Baekhyun offers meekly in the background while surgeons shamelessly bow out. 

His throat constricts as he clings angrily, desperately to the hot metal frame. He refuses to speak. To admit. He can barely breathe. They had melded their hearts together with every matching breath. And now, half of it feels shredded with the gaping hole in Kyungsoo's chest and the eyes that won't open. His vision swims, mind spinning, but by sheer will power, he's maintaining some form of consciousness. He remains fixated on the ever paling features that dims like sunset.

His stomach constricts, there is pounding in his head and he creeps a hand out slowly.

Don't touch him! A familiar voice screams.

He keeps going.

You'll taint him! It screeches again. 

It's too familiar to make him stop. 

Stop!

He doesn't. Because it's what he does every time he's scared-reaches out. For people he trusts to reach back.

YOU KILLED HIM.

For a person who can't reach back anymore. 

"I-I'm sorry!" He squeaks it out with the strangled high voice of a beaten child. 

He doesn't say it to anybody in particular. Nobody can hear it. 

Suddenly he feels the trickle of tears steadily pouring out and the pathetic whimpering coming from his throat. Before he touches cold skin, Baekhyun's hand is on his shoulders, patting his shaking back, and Jongin retracts. He doesn't know why Baekhyun is still here and it gives him mixed feelings. He's self conscience again and tries to keep himself together but he resigns to ugly crying in front of Baekhyun. Baekhyun. The guy he really just tolerates. 

Because it hurts. It really hurts. It really f***ing hurts. 

----------

September 2013
Somehow, he's functional enough to be driving. Then again, that's just his opinion.

Two days after, Baekhyun visits with news that the force is actively hunting down the killer. Using the description Jongin supplied, they confirmed his worst suspicions. Deer. The damn killer must've found out about Jongin's eavesdropping and Kyungsoo was simply in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

With the wrong person, he grimly reminded himself. 

"It's today, right?" Baekhyun eyes the all black apparel meekly. 

Jongin can only dignify the question with a solemn nod, not removing his gaze from the grooves in the hardwood floor. They silently fidget in his living room; Baekhyun not knowing what to say and Jongin not want wanting to say anything. If Baekhyun thought this whole ordeal would make them more than co-workers, he was sorely mistaken. 

"Uh..." He stands up abruptly, "can I use your washroom?"

He nudges his head in the general direction and the officer scurries away. Jongin continues to stare at his house. It's filled with Kyungsoo, every inch somehow touched by the wide-eyed boy, yet it's also so unbelievably empty. For the first time, he realizes the coldness of the room without its owner. He's always been a modern type of guy, sleek and simple with a type of detachment to color. Then Kyungsoo stumbled in, complaining about the lack of personality in the place, and proceeded to add a plant here or picture frame there. He was grateful for the additions, it meant Kyungsoo was there, but now it seemed pointless in the face of decaying life.

He catches a glint of metal on his black end table and pauses. Temptation plays in his ears. A breath hitches.

Baekhyun's keys.

Without a second thought, he grabs the keys and bolts for the door, uncaring if he's heard as he clumsily stumbles into his shoes. In seconds, he's fumbling with the driver door of a police issued SUV. When he finally pulls out of his driveway, he spares a shifty glance back like a thief in his getaway; which he kind of was considering his leave from duty. He sees nothing and drives away with little guilt. 

He expects himself to be hazed with the anger and loss sitting in the pit of his stomach, to perhaps launch himself at something invisible and create a mark on the untouchable world. But the rush of cars whizzing by and the steady purr of the engine gives him a newfound high instead, reigniting old blood that had dampened when he put on a uniform. The surge runs him over with purpose and Jongin clings to it for dear life. He scours the streets looking for God knows what. An outlet. A challenge. Something that tests his patience. 

The police radio crackles a few words about a black car stolen by somebody not in his right mind. Jongin ignores. 

Half an hour into the ride, his adrenaline simmers and conscience creeps back in. Jongin's about to give up and return home, maybe buying bubble tea to apologize, when he sees a blond head of hair in a silver sedan. Immediately, the fire in his heart is rekindled, remembering all those days he tasted asphalt and rubber 24/7. Days of sweaty palms, delirious laughter, and daredevil tricks along with rather feisty competition flash by his mind. He's acting on impulse when he hears himself press the horn and yell through the window.

"Yo Sehun! Haven't seen you around!" He's sounding a lot better than he anticipated. Almost. Happy. 

Sehun gives him a soft smile, as if he knows why Jongin's really there. 

"S'up Kai?"

He pushes the response to the corners of his mind. No. Not yet. 

Kai and Sehun have known each other vaguely for seven years and Jongin somewhat took a liking to the guy. They met on the track and he was more than impressed with the kid who managed to beat him to the finish, albeit only a split second win. Sehun's sharp features and soft skin were a welcome surprise as well. 

So, no, Jongin decides, he's not going to breakdown in front of him. Not yet. 

"I'll tell you later." And Jongin really does plan to. Sehun's a memory that he's not scared of. 

"Are you busy?" He calls over the engine. 

"I'm waiting for someone." Sehun yells back. 

Somehow, he knows the answer before it reaches his ears. The rejection sounds long winded, a phrase he's been waiting to hear since long ago. More than once, Jongin had contemplated asking him out during one of their lunch meets. That is until Sehun mentions his availability one day along the lines of 'my guy's an idiot' and Kai stops calling him up. This is before a certain small black haired, wide eyed college student of course.

He tilts his head down in acknowledgement and faces the road once more, hoping that his face hasn't betrayed too much to the public. He's two stoplights away when the police radio bursts out a string of rushed reports. He manages to catch one coherent word before ripping the radio from it's holder and holding it to his ear. 

"This is Officer Tao. I repeat! Subject Deer has been spotted leaving EXOtea Cafe in Garosu-gil. He has boarded a silver sedan, license plate Seoul 12-heo-7794. All units to Garosu-gil. Subject may be armed." The frantic voice stops with a click. 

Jongin stares at the radio in his hand, shocked at the tune fate is playing for him, until annoyed blaring fills his ears from the cars behind him. Immediately, he drops the radio and spins his car through the intersection in a u-turn, forsaking every law he's upheld for the last three years of service. There is an unknown force pulling him forward, pressing down on the gas pedal as his eyes scan the vehicles furiously. His heart almost bursts out of his chest when a silver sedan pulls into an adjoining street but tears his stare away when he sees two toddlers laughing in the backseat. Seconds later, Jongin's passing through the cafe and curses aloud at the familiar scene. This is where he met Sehun a few seconds ago. Briefly, he's worried for the younger man but Sehun wouldn't possibly get himself into trouble with an assassin. 

Faster and faster, the car whines underneath his command and he grips the wheel in a death hold. All of the anger bubbles again, threatening to spill over at any sight of silver. He reaches over to the glove compartment and fishes out what he expects every police car to have. Jongin doesn't do a lot of field work in the force. He's seen a lot of the action but hasn't done much himself. However, the gun is comfortable in his grip now and not at all as heavy as it used to be. He doesn't question it's weight, to engrossed in searching for a target.

He spots another sedan ahead and races up to catch it at the red light. Midway, he recognizes the blond head in the driver seat again and forces himself to calm down.

The boy next to him must be his boyfriend, he thought absently. 

Jongin's pulse quickens as he approaches the couple. He plans to plaster a smile on his face to greet them as he passes by. The gun is hidden behind his thigh, near the shift, so it's out of sight from the window but still easily accessible. Jongin stops, takes a deep breaths for composure, and turns his head. 

Ba-thump.

A black sweater. A heartbeat. 

A black sweater with two decorative accents on its hood. Distant screeches of panic from two days prior. 

Ba-thump. 

In a flash, Jongin's hand is poised automatically with the gun back in hand. When he reached for it is unknown to him. It's trained perfectly for a death wish. His blood pounds in his ears to the point that it's almost distracting. 

The cop ceremony floods back into memory, filled with boring conversation and the smell of gunpowder. He starts seeing the red around him, around Kyungsoo, and the ripe smell of death as he clutched the dying boy. He sees the boy in a black hoodie that walked away unaffected. The two scenes torture him mercilessly at night. More images pour before his eyes as the sweater is lowered and Jongin gets his second look at the killer. The round face with pale soft skin that doesn't befit his murderous title and wide eyes that could pass off as innocent. 

Yes, those eyes. Those warm eyes that remind him all too much of Kyungsoo. And Kyungsoo closing them. And Kyungsoo dying. And Kyungsoo dead. And...

That bastard. 

There's a loud bang followed by a symphony of screaming, filling his ears. It takes a while for him to realize that he's pushed the trigger and damn it, he's missed. The sedan screeches away and Jongin's still dazed as he retracts his hand from the window to put the pieces together. 

Silver car. Sehun. Sehun's car. Sehun's boyfriend. Black sweater. Killer. Deer. Sehun's boyfriend.

The hilt of the gun clatters against the steering wheel and he feels like strangling himself with it. He doesn't know how, but his shriveled heart is being twisted even more.

Kyungsoo's suddenly there, sitting on the passenger seat and quiet. But he knows what he'd say. How he'd quirk a pretty eyebrow and silently chastise him. Because how could he be looking for something else other than Kyungsoo? It'd been two days. He deserved this for trying to escape. Kyungsoo's shaking his head in disbelief now. Because how could he be breaking so many laws he'd swore to uphold? Of all things, shooting a gun in the middle of the streets? And to top it off, how could he miss!? The man was right there!

Jongin punches the gas, looking through bleary eyes for any signs of the silver car. Nevertheless, he knew a bit about Sehun. He knows where to look.

Kyungsoo refuses to get off the passenger seat, stubborn as he always is. Jongin lets him stay because he needs to remember what he's doing and not to fall for any of the racer's tricks. 

----------

Jongin finds them faster than he anticipated; outside Sehun's presumed apartment with duffel bags in hand. He spots them first but the assassin has quick reflexes and ducks them both out of his line of fire. Another row of bullets exits the chamber and scratches silver paint while they scramble into the car. As keys jam into ignition holes, Kai locks onto Sehun's determined eyes. A surge of excitement ignites in the pits of his stomach and races all over him, leaving a tingling sensation in it's wake. They blink and the connection is severed.

The feeling is familiar. Dusty roads and cheering crowds whisper in the background. He bruises his lower lip. The chase is on. 

Sehun's fast but Jongin's fueled by blood and gunpowder. Every turn and daredevil trick surpasses the last and he catches himself silently applauding the younger driver. Nonetheless, the bullets that ricochet off the hood anchors him to his mission. The car tilts heavily to the left and Jongin can feel himself on the precipice of catastrophe, but the car rights itself and he presses down harder. Sehun swerves into an alley. He follows, mere minutes behind. 

Metal grates against his ear, sparks fly in the window, debris smack into the windshield but his eyes are trained straight ahead. The alley narrows and he feels the resistance screaming through the car. Jongin grits his teeth and pumps the accelerator but the silver sedan noticeably gains distance. He swears aloud and pounds the steering wheel. The tires hiss on the asphalt aimlessly. Temper boiling over, with a frustrated cry Jongin rams the pedal and the car jolts forward, side view mirrors snapping off cleanly. Urgency seeps into his hands and he senses his hold loosening. The car whines but complies. 

Turning a corner, he spots the silver sedan once more, halted in front of a dead end. Trapped. His stomach flips with anticipated victory but he wont be sure till that man is dead. He has to die. Or else Kyungsoo will still visit him when he closes his eyes. Distinctly, Jongin hears the screech of rubber and the roar of the engines and his heart quickens.

Before his eyes, the silver car shifts, rotating, melting  into the side of a building. 10. 30. 45 degrees. No way, his mind thinks, yet his car's already reacting, racing forward. 60. 70. Steam wafts up from the earth and the screech of tires are melding together. His throat catches because he can't believe this is happening. 80. 90 degrees. Jongin's car is seconds away, going at 100 mph.

His reflexes have dulled in the past two days. The cars never connect and all he catches is a glimpse of the killer's heartless triumph before ramming into a slab of concrete. He doesn't close his eyes.

The impact is expected. The pain, nothing compared to the gaping hole in his chest. He blacks out temporarily, violent force jammed into his neck and chest simultaneously. The police issued car is built well; his vitals are still intact. Something is digging into his ankle and he's pretty certain that it's bent at a strange angle. Picking himself gently, he wrenches the warped door open and sidles out. His ribs are broken too. But again. Bearable.

Jongin limps and winces. Limps and curses. He begrudgingly looks back. The destroyed car looks like a crushed pop can, a mess of metal and sharp edges. There's a small pocket of space where he emerged from that's dotted with red. He's bleeding. Huh. When did that happen? He muses. 

The area is nearly deserted, no spectators or wandering witnesses. Jongin sees the same black SUV model as his car heading his way and instinctively, he jostles himself to the middle of road with his hands raised high (as high as his injuries allow). Dumbstruck, an officer steps out and rushes to him with concern plastered across an elfish face. Jongin barely recognizes the man but apparently, Jongin's more famous than he thinks. 

"Officer Kai! What are you doing here?" He glances at Jongin's demented limb with a grimace, "what happened? Are you okay?"

"C-Car..." Jongin hasn't heard his own voice in a while and it's hoarseness shocks him.

"Did officer Baekhyun tell you that we spotted the suspect for the ceremony case? Our sources told us they passed by here."

"Sorry." Pushing through, a stinging sensation shoots up his leg and he nearly doubles over, "I-I need to borr-borrow your car."

"What?" The officer stops fussing over Jongin's state to stare back agape. His seemingly tired eyes swirl a mixture of confusion and understanding. 

"Car." He seethes, determined. 

Momentarily, there is a flicker of hesitation in the man's eyes, but he briskly nods and anchors an arm around Jongin's waist. They limp their way to the driver's seat with soft grunts. Once situated, Jongin revs the engine and finally gets a direct read on the officer.

"Go get him." It's a hoarse voice, breathy, laced with innocence and tinted by an accent. 

"Thanks," Jongin nods before pressing the gas once more, "Tao."

----------
In all honesty, Jongin never saw it coming.

The telltale sign of the silver car sends his blood boiling again and he hounds them down like rabid dogs. There are only a few roads that lead out of town, which is where Jongin assumes Sehun and that murderer are headed. The thought of letting them slip through his fingers grates on his nerves and he presses down on the pedal with even more urgency. His lungs are screaming bloody murder with every haphazard breath and he has to push the jarring pain to the back of his mind along with the continuous stabs shooting up his leg. The pain seems to never end, triple what he's supposed to feel since he's not used to it.

Because the last time he'd been remotely injured was when he first met Kyungsoo and the time between then and now had too much happiness stored. 

Regardless, he inches closer and closer to his target. Somewhere distantly, he's vaguely impressed by his own mental focus.

Sehun's heading, as expected, out of the city, out of police territory. There's a stretch of empty fields beyond them as they pass the final city. Briefly, Jongin wonders if the isolation's a good thing and presses down on the accelerator. 

They're about to cross an intersection when the impossible happens. A truck barrels into the car in front of him, indefinitely crushing the driver side, and Jongin can't react fast enough. He's traveling at insanely high speeds, too wound up in grief and anger, and still recovering from several counts of shock - he really shouldn't be behind a wheel. He rams into the back of the truck, causing it to skid sideways a good meter or two before lurching to a stop with a screech. But of course, he doesn't see any of this. 

Because he really shouldn't have been behind a wheel. 

----------

He's alive. Barely. Sadly. 

His heart refuses to give for some reason that's utterly lost on him at this point. He doesn't attempt to looking around or call for help. The crash replays vividly behind his shut eyes. There's no way either of them could've survived that. For a brief moment, Jongin borders on sympathy but a flash of home-cooked meals, freshly washed sheets and colorful picture frames drive the thought out.

They deserved it. He deserved it.

He wants to see him. 

Still unsatisfied, Jongin musters up the energy to leave the destroyed vehicle. It's a harder task than he anticipated with the airbag's pinning him to his seat. Weakly fumbling at the seatbelt digging into his neck, he manages to slip unceremoniously out the broken door. His legs are mush underneath his weight so he simply collapses with a load groan.

It's now that his senses are registering. The asphalt feels like coal and there's a distinct smell of burnt rubber that stains the fresh air of open fields. Everything hurts hurts hurts. There's a thick streak of blood flowing from a glass wound on his forehead and he's pretty sure his arm's bent at a weird angle. The silence of nowhere is peaked with the creaking of bent metal. The truck looms over him, menacing and broken at the same time.

Where the hell did this thing come from?

Shifting his hazy gaze agonizingly slowly, his eyes settle on a body that's lying haphazardly beside the demented sedan. The bright blonde contrasts against the black asphalt so brightly that he almost has to squint. But he doesn't need to see. He would recognize that physique anywhere, having once imagined what I'd be like to hold him close. 

Sehun. 

Something akin to guilt prickles at his stomach. Sehun was a kid still. Just a daring kid. Just like...

Another car arrives at the scene. It's a sleek black with tinted windows and expensive plates. A figure emerges dressed to match in a black suit so dark it's like a void.  The man picks his away across the debris of metal easily and approaches the unmoving body. Jongin waits for the usual case of confusion, realization and panic to appear but it doesn't. The man gives a disapproving side glance at Sehun before he walks just slightly out of Jongin's line of sight to the other side of the wreckage. Now, Jongin's just curious. 

"He's dead."

The stranger deadpans and Jongin barely catches it at this distance but he does and his heart just stops. 

Even this disoriented, Jongin knows.

Jongin knows and it's impossible.

Because how can Jongin know when he saw the life seep out right before his eyes?

"He's dead."

Death must love playing mocking games with him because it's the same voice. Low. Sultry. Breathy at the beginning.

But it's not. It's too serious. Too deadly. Too indifferent. Too cold. Too not-a-college-student.

There's an imperceptible click, a hushed name, and Jongin jumps with a gasp stuck in his throat. Because that muted sound's familiar too.

Several minutes later, the man emerges from behind with an air of undefined beauty. A fallen angel. He makes his way to his car until the third body finally catches his eye. He stops and meets the mixed look on the cop's face. 

There're several things Jongin could think to display on his face. Confusion. Shock. Anger. Betrayal. 

"Jongin."

Love. 

No more than single phrases. 

Because it's him.