AHHHHHHHHH!! I haven't updated in forever and I do apologize. 

I know I said Kris was going to be next but I had a huge block which I kept trying to get over. I finally decided it, and went ahead of Yifan's chapter. Hopefully, there won't be a huge delay for the next chapter. 

Anyways.

Please enjoy.

Ninth Thread - Yifan

The smell of spicy rice cakes nearly convinces Yifan to stop for a bite, reminding him how much he's missed Korea, but he manages to keep walking. He needs to be more strategic about his route if he's going to lose the potential tail that's been following him for two blocks.

While some might call him paranoid, Yifan did not survive five years on the run from an inscrutable international organiztion as well as his own government by being complacent. The tinest lapse in vigilance could make all the difference between living freely for another day and, most likely, torture and execution at the young age of 27.

He abruptly turns and joins a massive throng of people making their way down to one of Seoul's many underground subway stations and shopping centers. He ducks his head in order to blend in with the crowd which thins once it reaches the bottom of the concrete steps.

He turns left for the shops while the commuters continue toward the trains. Small boutiques line both sides of the hall, each blasting their own soundtrack of pop music to entice consumers and differentiate themselves from the hundreds of other stores selling similar goods.

Yifan picks a less populated stores with only one entrance so he can keep track of those coming and leaving. One of the shop workers, a young woman, asks if he needs any help. “Just browsing,” he tells her. She takes a step back but keeps a close watch as he picks out a few jackets, draping them over the crook of his arm.

One his way to the register, he grabs a black baseball hat and nestles it with the rest of his purchases. He leans sideways against the counter, glancing over at the single entry and exit point.

“That will be 100,000 won,” the cashier informs him.

He reluctantly hands over two 50,000 won bills and makes a note to resupply on cash. Yifan hasn't had a credit card in years. He walks out with the bag full of his new clothes and scans the shopping center.

A couple hold hands while cooing over matching sweater sets. Female high school students try on various cat-eared headbands. A group of foreign tourists try to decipher the sizes on some dresses. Nobody suspicious. Still, Yifan knows that tails aren't mustached men with the collars of their trenchcoat turned up, pretending to read the newspaper. For a successful surveillance operation, men and women of all different ages and appearances are needed to avoid detection.

He finds a bathroom and slips into one of the stalls. He waits for the other lone patron to finish his business and leave before pulling out the jackets he bought. He quickly sheds his own coat and slips on dark blue, polyester baseball jacket, making sure that it is pulled down to cover the gun tucked into the back of his waistband. Over that, he puts in a black raincoat which he purposely bought in a size too large. He puts the hat into his pockets, trashes his old coat (he really liked that coat) and exits the bathroom with his head down.

He doesn't feel that tingle, the raising of hairs on the back of neck, of being observed but he knows that the situation is still far too precarious to let his guard down.

Yifan resurfaces the way he went down, pushing against the stream of patrons. He takes a left turn at the top of the stairs and continues his evening.

He's just crossed a bridge into a less crowded part of the district when the sensation returns. It could have been nothing more than just a breeze or his nervous system resetting but he's been doing this long enough to know the difference and for the first time, he's excited.

He calmly walks over to a table selling girly accessories: earrings, rings, hairpins, and compact mirrors in bubblegum pink casing. He picks up one of the mirrors and unfolds it, pretending to be fascinated by the mechanism of the hinge. He sets the mirror in the palm of his hand and lifts the reflective surface so that it is level with his eyes. As surreptiously as possible, he adjusts the angle of reflection in order to examine his surroundings. Most people pass by so quickly that they aren't much more than blurs but he catches one clear glimpse of someone he knows. Someone he has been looking forward to seeing for half of a decade.

He sets down the mirror and keeps walking. From what little he knows about the tail, it'll be difficult to shake him. Not without drastic measures.

Yifan abruptly changes course and goes down a small side street that leads towards a more residential area. The road is deserted, save for a few stray cats. He comes to a crossroad and pauses. A pharmacy, a coffee shop, a low-rise apartment building, and convenience store sits on each of the corners.

After a moment of contemplation, he chooses the convenience store.

Besides the cashier – a high school girl by the looks of her skin and hairstyle – the only other customer is already paying for his things by the time Yifan goes inside. She bids the customer a bored farewell and gives Yifan an appraising look before turning back to her cell phone.

Yifan easily spots the cameras and moves so that they don't catch his face. He makes his way through the aisles and stops at the health and wellness section. The convenience store doesn't have wide selection of face masks, the kind that people wear in the delusional hope of warding off illnesses. He slides a pack off its hook and tears open the packaging.

The plastic crinkles loudly as it rips and from the front counter, the cashier calls, “excuse me, sir. What are you doing?”

He ignores her and fixes the elastic loops around his ear, covering his nose and mouth with the rectangle of black fabric. He walks toward the front of the store and pulls the gun from his waistband.

The cashier's eyes widen and she shrinks back against the cigarettes, half of a scream falling from her lips, but Yifan lifts the barrel of the gun high over her head and pulls the trigger, twice.

The lens of the CCTV camera explodes and the cashier shrieks, covering her head with her arms to protect herself from fragments of plastic and glass.

Seconds later, the door swings open and the very person who had been tailing him barrels through, eyes wild and nearly popping out of his head, gun in hand and pointed forward.

“Rookie mistake, Tao,” Yifan says in Mandarin, the barrel of his own gun trained on the other man's chest. “Hasn't that organization of yours taught you anything?”

“Yifan,” says Tao, breathless and almost reverant in his disbelief.

The bell above the door chimes and a customer enters, disturbing their confrontation. He appears to be a grown man but the mask covering his nose and mouth has the snout of a tiger, complete with whiskers, printed on the white fabric expanse. “Excuse me,” he pardons and marches through the space between them.

Yifan reaches out a long arm and grabs the back of the tiger's jacket.

“What are you doing?” the tiger protests and tries to pull away but he suddenly stills, seeing the weapon in both of their hands.

Yifan yanks him backwards and positions him between himself and Tao and wraps an arm around his throat to him him in place. He extends the arm with the gun and rests his elbow on the tiger's shoulder.

“I never took you for a coward, Yifan,” says Tao, grip on his gun visibly tightening. “Using civilians as shields is pretty low.”

“Tao, you're just pissed because you're a terrible agent.”

The tiger begins to shake, the peril of his situation finally sinking in. Yifan's gun vibrates from the trembling.

“Hey, calm down,” he soothes in Korean. “He's not going to shoot you. Do you know why? Because he doesn't exist. Which isn't to say that he isn't real. Obviously he's real. But he's a shadow and shadows can't kill people or else they're not shadows anymore but something else entirely.”

“Shut up, Yifan,” says Tao. He lifts his gun so that the tradjectory of the bullet lines up between Yifan's eyes. “I should blow your ing head off.”

“And risk shooting this innocent bystander?” Yifan raises an eyebrow. “Don't you want to know what I've been doing for these past five years?”

“I know what you've been doing. Running, hiding like a rat.”

Yifan laughs. “Well, you're not completely wrong. When you don't know what you're up against, sometimes its best to keep a low profile. But I've learned a lot since then. I've been traveling: Shanghai, Beijing, Bangkok, Tokyo, places in India, Pakistan, Spain, Italy...and this little town outside of Gwangju. Quaint place.”

Tao expresses no sign of surprise or confusion. His face is perfectly impassive, inordinately schooled, and Yifan feels pleased, vindicated. He knows he's on the right track.

“Miss,” Yifan directs at the cashier. “Are the police on their way?”

It takes a moment for her to respond, “Y-yes.”

Tao has the chance to tie up a loose end that has been unraveling for five years (because Yifan knows that's what he is: an unresolved issue). But a shadow only becomes more visible when light shines upon it and Tao is trying to remain unseen.

Yifan watches in amusement as the struggle plays itself out on Tao's face. “Go ahead. Get out of here, Tao,” he says. “I won't shoot you in the back. I still have so many things I'd like to ask you.”

Tao curses. He lowers his gun. “Showing yourself was a huge mistake. But I'm glad you're alive. I'm going to personally kill you.”

Yifan smiles behind his mask. “What an honor.”

Tao pulls his hood over his head and exits the convenience store.

Yifan waits a few moments before shoving the tiger forward, forcing him against the counter. He moves the arm from his throat and folds him over the fake granite surface. He presses the barrel of his gun to the tiger's head.

The cashier covers a cry with her hands and slides to the ground, pulling packs of cigarettes down in the process.

“I'd appreciate it if you two kept anything incriminating to yourselves,” says Yifan. “The less you think you know, the better. Otherwise, we will be seeing each other again and even though I'm sure you're both charming people, I don't want that and neither do you. Are we in agreement?”

The cashier nods fervently.

Yifan leans forward, pushing his weight against the tiger. “What about you?”

“Yes,” he says. “Yes.”

“Good.” Yifan straightens up. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry about all of this.”

He leaves before he can see their reaction. He returns the gun back to its original position in the waistband. He pulls off the raincoat and trashes it in a dumpster before disappearing.

*

Xiumin races to the police station, wiping away the sweat that drips into his eyes. He skids to a stop at the front desk and looks around, eyes moving too quickly for his brain to keep up.

“Can I help you?” the officer at the front desk asks.

“I'm...” Xiumin catches his breath. “I'm looking for my friend. He was a witness to a robbery. His name is Lu Han.”

“Oh, the convenience store one? He'll be out in a second.”

Xiumin thanks him and takes a seat in a hard plastic chair. His skin crawls with anxiety and he can't get rid of the knot in his chest. But when he sees Lu Han being escorted by a police officer, he immediately conceals all trace of his panic and assumes his role as a pillar. It's one of his greatest strengths, as well as Minseok's as well: someone who can be counted on.

“We'll call you if we have any more questions,” the officer tells Lu Han before patting him on the arm and walking away.

Lu Han looks a bit lost but nods. He looks arount and spots Xiumin immediately. “Minseok, thank god.”

Xiumin almost topples over when Lu Han grasps him in a tight hug. “You're okay,” he says in an effort to convince himself as much as Lu Han. “It's over now. I'll take you home.” He untangles himself and leads him outside. They walk side by side in silence.

“Minseok,” Lu Han says quietly a few blocks from the police station. “I...I didn't exactly tell the truth.”

Xiumin stops. “Tell the truth to who?” He faces Lu Han and frowns. “The police?”

Lu Han's eyes dart around nervously. He leans down and whispers, “it wasn't a robbery.”

“Then why did you say it was?”

“Because I didn't know what else to say. But it wasn't a robbery because they didn't steal anything. And the way they were talking...” Lu Han bites his lip. “It was strange, as if they spies or something. I don't think they would have talked like that if they knew I was also Chinese.”

“Spies? What would Chinese spies be doing in a convenience store?” Xiumin tries to smile. “Are you sure you aren't being paranoid?”

“I don't know.” Lu Han sounds as if he's about to cry. “Maybe. But I know their names. I don't want to but I do and it's all I can think about. Their ing names. I feel like if I don't tell somebody, I'm going to go crazy.” He grabs Xiumin's hands and looks into his eyes. “Minseok, can you keep a secret?”

Xiumin nods.

A few moments later, he wishes he hadn't because he realizes that Lu Han has stumbled onto something completely out of his depth. Something that Xiumin isn't sure he can protect him from. But he can't unhear their names, the names that spin around Lu Han's empty, pretty head., that could disclose in another moment of weakness to the wrong person.

“One was named Tao. The other was named Yifan.”

A/N: Thanks for reading. Comments, votes, subs always appreciated. 

Also, I started another story during my block with this one.

http://www.asianfanfics.com/story/view/843591/i-m-not-that-girl-chansoo-exo-baeksoo-fairytaleau

It's kind of Chansoo and Baeksoo, both pairings I actually prefer over Kaisoo but Kaisoo worked for this fic so I went with it. 

Anyways, check it out if you have time,

Thanks!