can i keep you (2/3) [for jinxbynature]
part one
“Hyung?”
Sehun nearly missed the quiet voice calling him, so meek it was that Baekhyun had sounded. “What is it,” he asked, turning slightly so that he could look at the man snuggling flushed against his side more easily.
“I was just wondering,” the younger said, hesitant for a second before plowing on. “How come you never want to talk about yourself?”
The smile Sehun had been wearing - the kind that naturally took over his face whenever he so much as heard Baekhyun through the flimsy walls separating their units - slipped away from his mouth in an instant. “Wh- Why’d you ask?”
Baekhyun reached down to fiddle with Sehun’s fingers. “It’s just that you know pretty much all there is about me, but you’ve told me next to nothing about you. Apart from your name.” He chewed on his lips as he picked nervously on a scab across one of Sehun’s knuckles. “I noticed that every time I ask you about… well, you, you kind of shut me out.” He meets Sehun’s gaze, eyes betraying his insecurities as he exploded into a rant. “Do you- Are you not… sure of me or something, because if you aren’t you better tell me now before I have my hopes up that we are more than just… I don’t even know, really, what are we even, cuddly neighbours? But yeah, please tell me, so that I could reprogramme my head or someth-“
It was all Sehun could do to placate him with a gentle press of his lips against Baekhyun’s rapidly moving ones. “Baby, please calm down,” he murmured into his mouth. “I’ve been sure of you since day one.”
“Doesn’t feel like it,” Baekhyun said, small face retreating from the cup of Sehun’s hands to look up at the man.
The hurt on the boy’s face rendered Sehun weak. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t noticed it racing fleetingly across Baekhyun’s features all those times he had swerved around one of his so where are you from or tell me more about your family questions. But Baekhyun was never this direct about it, always recovering so quickly with a smile that Sehun had managed to convince himself that it wasn’t anything that was that important to the boy.
Until now.
“Baby,” he began, an arm encircled tight around Baekhyun’s waist to keep him from moving further away. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just… it’s hard for me to talk about myself. ”
“But hyung,” Baekhyun pressed on, entwining their fingers back together, “why?”
Sehun took a deep breath before answering. “I’m miserable. Was miserable.” He ran a fingertip down the side of the boy’s pretty face as if to say, not since I met you, but he kept his eyes averted from Baekhyun’s searching ones as he says, “I don’t want to burden you with my problems.”
The other threw him a wan smile, the edges of it lined with exasperation. “But don’t I do that to you all the time? Hyung. You’ve become so important to me.” Baekhyun squeezed Sehun’s hand with both of his. “Let me be the same to you. What are you so afraid of? That I’m gonna find something about you that I won’t like?” He ducked to force himself into Sehun’s line of vision. “Because if that’s the problem, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I’m pretty sure that won’t ever happen.”
And he really did want to let it all out.
Sehun wanted so much to let Baekhyun know about his family or lack thereof. How he only had his mum ever since he could remember, and how so many years after her death he still missed her every night as he waited for sleep to seep in. He wanted to talk about his most precious memories, as scarce as they were, and have Baekhyun share his hopes and dreams. He wanted to let the guy know about his job and how much he enjoyed doing what he does, how much gratification he received from it.
Of course, he wanted to talk about Jongin and Yixing too, and the other men who’d loved and left him after, but-
“Unless you have a body in your basement or something,” Baekhyun added, chuckling to himself like it was an appropriate statement to make. “That’s definitely a deal breaker.”
Shit.
Sehun laughed shrilly at the sick joke, the million voices in his mind screaming shit shit shit shit shit at him as he heard himself lie to Baekhyun through gritted teeth in answer to the boy’s questions for the rest of the night.
See, a year ago, he had made sure he wasn’t left again. He made someone stay.
This was exactly what he was scared of. Baekhyun had hit the nail right on the head.
Because Minseok’s body was still there, down in the hidden workshop beneath Sehun’s living room floor.
He didn’t mean to do it.
Minseok had just made him so sad. And angry.
They’d met when Minseok’s father had died. He came in during the consultation in his business suit, small and petite but commanding, garnering the sort of attention usually reserved for men twice his size.
Minseok was pretty, his china doll-like features delicate and dainty. But he was also stoic, face rarely displaying anything, thoughts and feelings well concealed behind that porcelain skin.
Sehun’s attraction to Minseok had been instantaneous, from the very first time their locked gazes over the discussion table full of funeral package pamphlets, neither one really listening to Joonmyeon’s explanations.
Nonetheless, nothing happened until much later.
At the time the home was full capacity. His days were fully occupied with other clients. Sehun had been forced to work on Minseok’s father at night.
Minseok was insistent that he should be there throughout the whole process, coming in after work in his silk shirt and slacks, watching over Sehun like a hawk as he worked. The guy was a perfectionist, one who was a stickler for details. He made sure that every single strand of freshly-dyed black hair fell just right on his father’s head.
As the week went by they gradually got used to each other’s company, dancing around the unspoken sexual tension hanging thick in the air between them. Minseok became more relaxed.
The night before the funeral service he opened up about how his father was like, all the while looking on at the man’s rigid figure propped on the table. Sehun could see something in his eyes as he did, an emotion he could not decipher.
He glanced at Minseok’s father as he toyed around for the brush he needed for the next layer of make-up, studying his features. Sehun fancied himself a good judge of character, after years in this line of work. He thought, as he traced the frown lines on his forehead and around his eyes, that perhaps the man must have been very strict when he was alive, uptight and constraining. The sort with - for lack of a better description - a stick up his arse.
Sehun wondered if some of it had rubbed off on his son, and if that was the reason why, despite how young he was, he had been so brisk and professional-like at first.
But Sehun was allowed to wonder for only a minute, because the next thing he remembered was Minseok lunging at him, shoving his tongue forcefully into his mouth.
The guy kept on pushing him until his back hit the metal table, the coldness of it seeping through his workshirt and into the skin just above his tailbone. Sehun’s fingers brushed against cold flesh as he lifted a hand to tug Minseok in closer by his nape.
It should be disgusting. The fact that they were about to fuck here. But by then Minseok’s hand had been too far gone into his pants, and Sehun too far gone in his head to think clearly.
They spent the night on the floor of Sehun’s workroom. The next morning Minseok got dressed, Sehun observing in fascination as he deliberately pulled his clothes on slowly, the fabric of his shirt stretching taut over his shoulder blades.
“Didn’t you say you’d only let me fuck a guy over your dead body”, Minseok said quietly, mouth twisting into a smirk. “Well. There you go.”
Only then did Sehun understand what it was he’d seen in the way Minseok had looked at his father the night before. It was still there then, as he continued staring, eyes never leaving the man’s face.
It was resentment. Defiance.
A challenge.
Minseok was sick. Sehun had never felt so horrified before.
Not to mention, so used.
He stayed away during the wake, only emerging out of his little workroom for cleaning-up once he’d been sure all guests had gone home.
For a while he forgot about Minseok
But he came back some time later, asking for a date. Sehun didn’t know what it was that compelled him to say yes. He hadn’t been able to get that image of Minseok sneering at his dead father’s body out of his head. And yet, as the guy stood there in a thick white sweater, looking at him with all manners of hope etched into his features, Sehun caved.
He was just too cute.
As the days of their budding relationship turn into weeks and months, Sehun fell for him hard. It was difficult not to.
The older man was sweet when he wanted to be. He made it a habit to pick Sehun up from the funeral home in the evenings; took him for expensive dinners in upmarket establishments; sent him flowers for the most trivial excuses, like their hundredth-day anniversary or just because. He always considered their age difference seriously, too, calling Sehun every other hour to make sure he had eaten his lunch and dinner and supper.
And the sex, oh god, the sex.
It was amazing, yes. Minseok was a wonderful lover. He had kinks so bizarre Sehun had almost wanted to call it quits more than once; but only almost, because the ways in which Minseok took care of him out of bed was nothing compared to how it was in it.
No matter how great the sex was, Sehun’s favourite part of it all was the way Minseok looked at him as they came down from their highs afterwards, serene and gorgeous in the dark, the intensity of his affection searing right through and into Sehun’s heart.
Somehow, somewhere, Sehun forgot that Minseok was sick. Sick sick sick. And no matter how much Sehun tried to bury this facet of Minseok in the past, it came back to haunt him with a vengeance.
Because when Minseok didn’t deign to be sweet, he was horrible.
He was horrible, in the way he called Sehun despicable names in sudden bursts of hostility. The way he screamed profanities into Sehun’s face until the younger could do nothing but cower in the corner. The way his hand swung around so freely, so easily, to land a hit on Sehun’s cheek or chest or anywhere it could reach.
But the worst was the way his beautiful face contorted into something ugly and monstrous in his fits of fury, so full of hate that Sehun could not stand it.
And oh, how sad it made him. How angry.
Sehun couldn’t see beyond the red invading his vision that fateful night where Minseok came to his house in foul temper, string of vile words hurled towards him as the smaller man cornered him against the stove, his hand pushed dangerously close to the burning stove.
He didn’t realize that he’d driven a knife through Minseok’s guts until the he felt warm thick liquid gushing out to slick over his hand, Minseok’s almond-shaped eyes round in utmost shock and saturated with anguish before life slipped out of them indefinitely.
Honestly. He really didn’t mean to do it.
There were some things about Baekhyun that Sehun didn’t particularly love.
He hated the fact that his neighbour was naturally flirty with anything with legs. He hated it when Baekhyun was far too loud in the mornings, voice at maximum volume even before he was truly wide awake. He hated how Baekhyun gushed over his best friend during their dinner dates, when Sehun thought that the guy’s brain should be focused on no else but him. If he had to listen about how awesome a Chanyeol was one more time he kill somebody.
Again.
But he could overlook these minor details. It wasn’t a problem at all, to sweep them under the carpet and ignore they exist because the fact of the matter was, Sehun had simply fallen in love with everything else about Baekhyun.
He loved the fact that Baekhyun was confident. Sure, he could become flustered and much too giggly for his own good when complimented, or when Sehun stared him down like that; but he had guts. That was undeniable. Sehun couldn’t fathom how one would choose a profession that entailed the scrutiny of a bar full of people on a nightly basis in the first place. Through the few times Sehun had managed to squeeze into the bar on time to watch Baekhyun perform, however, he’d been repeatedly amazed at how much of a personality flip the Baekhyun he knew as his will-they-or-won’t-they-neighbour experienced on stage. Sehun had seen fire in his eyes as he stepped on stage and began singing. It didn’t matter if it was an original, or one of the classics from the golden era he loved so much. He belted them out in that unique trill of his, the texture of the finest grains of gravel coursing through warm molasses, and did so without giving a single fuck at the occasional boos and hollers from the rowdy crowd as long as he got to play his damn piano and sing his heart out.
He loved Baekhyun’s voice itself. He loved how it coloured his spoken words as much as he loved it through the crooning of a song. He loved the way it always cracked at the end of his whimpers when their kisses turned into frantic groping. But most of all, Sehun loved how it sounded around Baekhyun’s laugh. It made it all the more unique. The first time Sehun had (unintentionally, as such was the only way Sehun would have been able to come across as humorous) made Baekhyun laugh so hard the guy had completely let go and let one rip, the sound almost scared him. It was an odd cross between a braying donkey and a very sick, dying old man. It should be unattractive. Baekhyun’s laughter showed through his whole face, in the crinkles around his eyes, the upturning of his nose, the slackening of his jaw. And it should be unattractive, it really should. But Sehun had fallen too deep and too much to be repelled. If anything, he was already far too mesmerized to reprogram his head into not thinking that that scrunched-up face belonged on something lesser than an angel.
He loved that Baekhyun gave him space. After their conversation about Sehun’s apparent lack of enthusiasm to disclose anything about himself, he’d half expected the smaller to keep pestering, for him to persist in barraging through the walls Sehun had built around his person. But Baekhyun didn’t. He was patient. He allowed Sehun to knock those walls down on his own, layer by excruciating layer, always with a smile and a hug and something more ready for him upon emerging at the other end. Sehun knew that, more than anything, Baekhyun was curious as to why he had never invited him over. But he’d grown to know Sehun so well, the latter noted. Baekhyun could read the defiance in his gestures, in those rounded shoulders, and in the sudden stillness of his expressions on his face. He would never push any further. He’d simply curl back around Sehun instead as they settled for an evening of classic movies, any tension forgiven and forgotten, and for that Sehun was grateful.
But he loved most, just how accepted Baekhyun had made him feel when the beans were finally spilled about what his job ensued.
It was not intentional. He still had had reservations about telling the younger that he - to put it bluntly - toyed with dead bodies all day long as a means for a living, when Baekhyun had walked past the storefront one afternoon by chance to see Sehun by the display window, putting up signs for the house’s latest funeral package offers. They had stood there gaping at each other through the frosted glass for what seemed like an eternity for Sehun, neither one really moving.
Then Baekhyun disappeared around the bend.
Sehun’s blood ran cold, mind running to thinking that the worst-case scenario he’d thought up in such a situation had become a reality. Baekhyun thought he was a freak. The next thing he knew Baekhyun would be avoiding him and pretending he didn’t exist and taking his stupid music-note doorbell down and repacking his stupid stuff back into those boxes and moving out and Sehun would never see him again-
He snapped out of it when he heard instead, that same dying-donkey laugh reverberating across the otherwise morbidly quiet place, followed by the polite chortle Sehun recognized as Joonmyeon’s. He emerged through the curtains leading back into the main parlor cautiously after a while, not knowing what to expect. He found Baekhyun there, talking to his boss as if it was the most normal reaction to have after discovering something as monumental about your maybe-boyfriend. It surprised him even more that when Baekhyun turned around to see him, the guy simply smiled that brilliant smile and tugged on his hand to pull him closer.
“This was your big secret, huh, hyung?” Baekhyun whispered to him as Joonmyeon left them alone. “It isn’t so bad, now, is it? Could have told me.”
There was nothing in his tone that resembled disgust or judgment; only acceptance and stupid-fondness-adoration soaked so thoroughly into it that Sehun could have cried.
“And it’s still not technically a corpse in your own basement, so,” Baekhyun went on in good (but twisted) humour, “we’re all good.”
The fact that there was indeed one there, locked up and rotting away, slipped Sehun’s mind for a brief second as Baekhyun tiptoed to join their lips together chastely. I need to keep him, Sehun resolved with utmost determination, pulling the other back in for a longer, less innocent kiss before he could pull away. I need to..
His mind flitted back to his crime, and suddenly, a voice he hadn’t heard in ages went off in his head. Should have gotten rid of Minseok when I said so, it said. You can’t let him find out. Get rid of him. The sooner the better.
It was all Sehun could do, nod and agree. It was right after all. He couldn’t ever let Baekhyun find out. He loved too many things about Baekhyun to allow him to.
He loved Baekhyun too much.
What a bizarre sensation it was, that sensation of knowing you’ve taken a life.
The day after went on as if nothing had changed. Sehun stopped by the coffee shop around the corner on his way to work, as usual. He attended to his clients meticulously, as usual. Zitao had annoyed him, as usual. He ate and drank and pissed, as usual.
But he was afraid to go home. That was not as usual.
His guilt came to him at random, idle moments of the day.
In the form of brief images of Minseok’s face, his lifeless body flat on his back on the floor, blood flowing out of the gash and into the cracks in the kitchen tiles. It came in the memory of what the first thought that popped up in his head was, through an almost sinister voice invading his brain telling him that he had to hide him, hide this whole thing.
It was there as he was wiping a female client down, in images of himself lugging Minseok down to the basement, a trail of red left in their wake. It was there as he was applying foundation and blush to her sallow cheeks, in momentary flashes of his own shaky hands shoving papers and tools away from his personal worktable only to replace them with Minseok. It was there as he pulled a raven-coloured wig over the woman’s white hair, in how he remembered his body had gone into autopilot, his feet moving back to the kitchen on its own accord.
Leave the body for now, that voice said. Leave it until it’s cold, as cold as it could be, it repeated to him as he scrubbed, scrubbed, scrubbed at everything he could reach. That’s when you know how best to deal with it anyway.
And that was how, the guilt was still there by the day’s end, renewed afresh as he hovered over the stiff naked form of what used to be Minseok.
But the longer he stared at his dead lover, the prettier he seemed, just like this.
He looked so calm. It was as if he was looking at Minseok for the first time. He’d never seen him so at peace, so cute, so devoid of any of that malice that had so often graced his features, that had made him ugly.
Make him go away.
Sehun jumped at the voice’s sudden intrusion, but it didn’t stop there.
You know you have to.
He shook his head in protest.
What, the voice demanded, quiet and dangerous. Don’t be an idiot. Be rid of him, and we never have to speak about it ever again.
“No.” Sehun surprised himself with the amount of defiance he had then, as his fingers fluttered down the side of Minseok’s face, ice cold against the warmth of their tips. “Let me keep him.”
Shutting out the voice’s enraged screams, Sehun got to work. He turned the radio on, swaying slightly as he hummed to Sinatra, hands busy preparing the syringes of formalin that he would need.
When the first needle pierced through Minseok’s skin, Sehun leaned down to softly kiss those parted lips, even as his own were busy mouthing the words of the song filling up the dark room.
So, softly as I leave you there, he sang along, another needle making its way in. As I leave you there.
He had foreseen meeting Chanyeol at one of Baekhyun’s gigs. It was bound to happen eventually, given how very much aware he had been made by the younger that the man was indeed his most dearest friend, one he’d known since they’d commiserated over being stuck in those awful boxers they tried to pass off as gym shorts in elementary.
Sehun just never expected to have already met Chanyeol before. And under much less ideal circumstances.
To him, Chanyeol was Detective Park.
There was no mistaking the glint of threat that succeeded the spark of recognition in his eyes as he shook Sehun’s hands.
“Nice to meet you,” Chanyeol said after an uneasy silence. “So you’re the guy Baekhyun won’t shut up about.”
Sehun’s heart swelled up at that revelation, glancing at the blushing Baekhyun next to him. It was a sight to behold, and for a moment he forgot the situation he was in; but when he met Chanyeol’s glare again, the clamping up of his throat was so palpable he almost couldn’t breathe. “Yes,” he squeaked timidly. “I suppose I am.”
“Interesting,” Chanyeol mumbled, before silence fell upon them again. The three stood there in the middle of the bar, unspoken questions hanging heavy in the atmosphere between.
It was Baekhyun who pierced through it first. “Is something the matter?” He was frowning, worry coming to surface on his features, and Sehun sensed his own panic bubbling over. It was worse when he looked at Chanyeol and could see the underlying malice there, the almost sadistic twist to his deceptively harmless grin as he continued staring at Sehun, as if to say to him that I could ruin you. I could open my mouth and ruin you.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” Chanyeol drawled instead. He reached around to pat Sehun on the back as if they’d been friends for years, letting the hand go lax on his shoulder for far too long afterwards, ignoring the obvious recoil of Sehun’s body wanting to move away from it. “Nothing’s the matter.”
Baekhyun was nothing if not perceptive, clearly having noticed his almost-lover’s discomfort from Chanyeol’s touch. He opened his mouth to protest, but was abruptly cut off by the manager telling him to get ready on stage.
“You run along now,” Chanyeol said when he saw Baekhyun’s hesitance to leave. “We’ll get along just fine. I mean,” he went on, the grin on his mouth expanding almost eerily as he turned to Sehun. “I feel like we’ve known each other for ages already. Don’t you feel the same way, Sehun-ah?”
Sehun thought that the ‘good cop, bad cop’ routine he’d so often seen in the movies meant that good cops actually do exist.
After going through rounds and rounds of merciless interrogations he was starting to believe that that had just been wishful thinking on his part. It was horrible, the way they were treated like criminals from day one.
Chanyeol was especially ruthless.
He walked into the funeral home unannounced one morning. Joonmyeon and Zitao were surprised, caught unawares as to why the police were suddenly camping outside the business. Sehun, on the other hand, had been more or less expecting someone from the police would come-a-knocking. He’d known it, had felt the mixture of dread and a flurry of what could only be described as misplaced anticipation brewing within.
It’d been days since Minseok’s disappearance was announced, his pretty face splashed all over the ‘missing’ sections of dailies.
Sehun was sure that nobody could have been privy to their relationship. They were impeccably careful about it. They had kept it under wraps, meeting only once it was dark, leaving before light. Neither even had the other’s phone number.
Nonetheless, he figured the cops wouldn’t be complete crap. Minseok had had his chauffeur drop him off a couple of blocks away from the funeral home every other night for several months. It wasn’t difficult to put two and two together and take a jab at guessing where he most likely had been frequenting.
But he definitely did not expect the detective to latch onto him right off the bat. He didn’t understand the interest, and why he would have more reasons to doubt his innocence over his colleagues. Heck, there wasn’t any reason to suspect any of them, period.
Those few weeks that the premises were swarmed with officers involved in the investigation stretched so far it felt like a couple of years instead, Sehun’s nerves worn thinner and thinner as the days went by. He was enough of a nervous wreck from all on his own. With Chanyeol breathing down his neck he was constantly tethering on the edge of a breakdown.
“See, this is why you’re on top of my list.”
“What?”
“You.” Chanyeol offered in an offhanded manner that could have only been achieved through years of experience on the job. “On top of my list.”
That didn’t make sense. “What,” Sehun repeated, the delirious butterflies in his stomach multiplying by the second. “List of what?”
Bingo, the expression Chanyeol’s face morphed into said jeeringly. Walked right into that one, didn’t you? He took another drag from his cigarette before leaning towards Sehun, ash floating down towards the concrete floor of the dark interrogation room. “Why Mr. Oh, I- wait, let’s make this more comfortable, shall we… Sehun-ah?”
Wisps of putrid smoke escaped his mouth as he spoke, the condescension accompanying his voice even fouler. Sehun felt helpless. All he could do was nod.
“Good fella,” Chanyeol cooed, so self-satisfied Sehun’s skin crawled. “Now, I think you know exactly what list it is that I’m referring to.” He paused as if he was an actor trying to add some dramatic effect to a badly-written play. “The suspect list, of course.” Another pause, and then words that froze the blood in Sehun’s veins spilled out of his mouth. “You’re it. You’re our killer.”
“I- What-“
“You killed Kim,” the detective said, as easily as if he was saying something trivial like fried chicken is nice. “I just don’t know how yet.”
“How- Why,” Sehun stammered in response, bile rising up his esophagus. “What makes you say that?”
“Because in the end it’s always the unassuming ones. Like you. Quiet workaholic loners that are completely clean. Not a smidgen on their record. I’ve got it all figured it out.”
Chanyeol stood up to walk around the table, settling his ass on its edge near Sehun, too close for comfort. Sehun could literally feel the wave of heat radiating from the man’s body.
“The waiter from the coffee shop around the corner said Kim’s been coming in like clockwork every couple of days for four months. Then he heads in the direction of the funeral home once it’s dark. And what other place on this street opens after hours, but yours?”
Sehun gulped visibly. “That’s not true,” he choked out. “You know it’s not. He could have headed anywhere.”
“Okay. Maybe I exaggerated for effect,” Chanyeol barraged on, unfazed. “But the funeral home’s the only place he had any connection to. His father’s service was held there recently, am I right. So where else would a man like Kim Minseok, uptight and methodical as fuck, head to, but somewhere familiar. Your colleagues said you were the one who’d been closing shop recently too. So… who else could it be, but you? You have all the means necessary. Look at your job, for god’s sakes! You must know a lot about dead people, how to handle them. How to hide them. How to get rid of them. Don’t you?”
The man looked like he expected an answer. Sehun wanted to say something, but his throat could only form a helpless whimper.
“Of course, no one else agrees with me. They wouldn’t give me the damn warrant I need to prove my point.” His voice went even deeper as he reiterated his conviction of Sehun’s guilt. “But there’s no doubt in my mind that you killed Kim.”
“Shut up,” Sehun finally managed to eke out. “Just shut up.” He hated how small and shaky he sounded.
Chanyeol absolutely rejoiced in it. The way he laughed at him was almost maniacal. “That’s all you can say? Not even, oh I don’t know, a denial?”
“B-But-“
“B-But what,” Chanyeol stuttered in imitation, tone full of mockery. “But what, Sehun-ah? But what?”
The ringing of a bell from out of nowhere signaled a stop to the interrogation session. Sehun heaved a sigh of relief, as subtly as he could, rubbing at his face only for his palm to come away damp with sweat.
When his eyes met Chanyeol’s once more, the man was smirking at him. He took a last drag out of his cigarette, nearly burnt close to the top, stubbing it on the metal tabletop before standing up and heading to the door.
“Make no mistake; we’re not done here yet. I know I’m right. I’m good at what I do.” With his hand on the knob, he turned around to face Sehun a final time, the smirk from before transforming into an eerie smile hanging off his lips. “And I’ll get you.”
part three
“Hyung?”
Sehun nearly missed the quiet voice calling him, so meek it was that Baekhyun had sounded. “What is it,” he asked, turning slightly so that he could look at the man snuggling flushed against his side more easily.
“I was just wondering,” the younger said, hesitant for a second before plowing on. “How come you never want to talk about yourself?”
The smile Sehun had been wearing - the kind that naturally took over his face whenever he so much as heard Baekhyun through the flimsy walls separating their units - slipped away from his mouth in an instant. “Wh- Why’d you ask?”
Baekhyun reached down to fiddle with Sehun’s fingers. “It’s just that you know pretty much all there is about me, but you’ve told me next to nothing about you. Apart from your name.” He chewed on his lips as he picked nervously on a scab across one of Sehun’s knuckles. “I noticed that every time I ask you about… well, you, you kind of shut me out.” He meets Sehun’s gaze, eyes betraying his insecurities as he exploded into a rant. “Do you- Are you not… sure of me or something, because if you aren’t you better tell me now before I have my hopes up that we are more than just… I don’t even know, really, what are we even, cuddly neighbours? But yeah, please tell me, so that I could reprogramme my head or someth-“
It was all Sehun could do to placate him with a gentle press of his lips against Baekhyun’s rapidly moving ones. “Baby, please calm down,” he murmured into his mouth. “I’ve been sure of you since day one.”
“Doesn’t feel like it,” Baekhyun said, small face retreating from the cup of Sehun’s hands to look up at the man.
The hurt on the boy’s face rendered Sehun weak. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t noticed it racing fleetingly across Baekhyun’s features all those times he had swerved around one of his so where are you from or tell me more about your family questions. But Baekhyun was never this direct about it, always recovering so quickly with a smile that Sehun had managed to convince himself that it wasn’t anything that was that important to the boy.
Until now.
“Baby,” he began, an arm encircled tight around Baekhyun’s waist to keep him from moving further away. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I just… it’s hard for me to talk about myself. ”
“But hyung,” Baekhyun pressed on, entwining their fingers back together, “why?”
Sehun took a deep breath before answering. “I’m miserable. Was miserable.” He ran a fingertip down the side of the boy’s pretty face as if to say, not since I met you, but he kept his eyes averted from Baekhyun’s searching ones as he says, “I don’t want to burden you with my problems.”
The other threw him a wan smile, the edges of it lined with exasperation. “But don’t I do that to you all the time? Hyung. You’ve become so important to me.” Baekhyun squeezed Sehun’s hand with both of his. “Let me be the same to you. What are you so afraid of? That I’m gonna find something about you that I won’t like?” He ducked to force himself into Sehun’s line of vision. “Because if that’s the problem, you have absolutely nothing to worry about. I’m pretty sure that won’t ever happen.”
And he really did want to let it all out.
Sehun wanted so much to let Baekhyun know about his family or lack thereof. How he only had his mum ever since he could remember, and how so many years after her death he still missed her every night as he waited for sleep to seep in. He wanted to talk about his most precious memories, as scarce as they were, and have Baekhyun share his hopes and dreams. He wanted to let the guy know about his job and how much he enjoyed doing what he does, how much gratification he received from it.
Of course, he wanted to talk about Jongin and Yixing too, and the other men who’d loved and left him after, but-
“Unless you have a body in your basement or something,” Baekhyun added, chuckling to himself like it was an appropriate statement to make. “That’s definitely a deal breaker.”
Shit.
Sehun laughed shrilly at the sick joke, the million voices in his mind screaming shit shit shit shit shit at him as he heard himself lie to Baekhyun through gritted teeth in answer to the boy’s questions for the rest of the night.
See, a year ago, he had made sure he wasn’t left again. He made someone stay.
This was exactly what he was scared of. Baekhyun had hit the nail right on the head.
Because Minseok’s body was still there, down in the hidden workshop beneath Sehun’s living room floor.
He didn’t mean to do it.
Minseok had just made him so sad. And angry.
They’d met when Minseok’s father had died. He came in during the consultation in his business suit, small and petite but commanding, garnering the sort of attention usually reserved for men twice his size.
Minseok was pretty, his china doll-like features delicate and dainty. But he was also stoic, face rarely displaying anything, thoughts and feelings well concealed behind that porcelain skin.
Sehun’s attraction to Minseok had been instantaneous, from the very first time their locked gazes over the discussion table full of funeral package pamphlets, neither one really listening to Joonmyeon’s explanations.
Nonetheless, nothing happened until much later.
At the time the home was full capacity. His days were fully occupied with other clients. Sehun had been forced to work on Minseok’s father at night.
Minseok was insistent that he should be there throughout the whole process, coming in after work in his silk shirt and slacks, watching over Sehun like a hawk as he worked. The guy was a perfectionist, one who was a stickler for details. He made sure that every single strand of freshly-dyed black hair fell just right on his father’s head.
As the week went by they gradually got used to each other’s company, dancing around the unspoken sexual tension hanging thick in the air between them. Minseok became more relaxed.
The night before the funeral service he opened up about how his father was like, all the while looking on at the man’s rigid figure propped on the table. Sehun could see something in his eyes as he did, an emotion he could not decipher.
He glanced at Minseok’s father as he toyed around for the brush he needed for the next layer of make-up, studying his features. Sehun fancied himself a good judge of character, after years in this line of work. He thought, as he traced the frown lines on his forehead and around his eyes, that perhaps the man must have been very strict when he was alive, uptight and constraining. The sort with - for lack of a better description - a stick up his arse.
Sehun wondered if some of it had rubbed off on his son, and if that was the reason why, despite how young he was, he had been so brisk and professional-like at first.
But Sehun was allowed to wonder for only a minute, because the next thing he remembered was Minseok lunging at him, shoving his tongue forcefully into his mouth.
The guy kept on pushing him until his back hit the metal table, the coldness of it seeping through his workshirt and into the skin just above his tailbone. Sehun’s fingers brushed against cold flesh as he lifted a hand to tug Minseok in closer by his nape.
It should be disgusting. The fact that they were about to fuck here. But by then Minseok’s hand had been too far gone into his pants, and Sehun too far gone in his head to think clearly.
They spent the night on the floor of Sehun’s workroom. The next morning Minseok got dressed, Sehun observing in fascination as he deliberately pulled his clothes on slowly, the fabric of his shirt stretching taut over his shoulder blades.
“Didn’t you say you’d only let me fuck a guy over your dead body”, Minseok said quietly, mouth twisting into a smirk. “Well. There you go.”
Only then did Sehun understand what it was he’d seen in the way Minseok had looked at his father the night before. It was still there then, as he continued staring, eyes never leaving the man’s face.
It was resentment. Defiance.
A challenge.
Minseok was sick. Sehun had never felt so horrified before.
Not to mention, so used.
He stayed away during the wake, only emerging out of his little workroom for cleaning-up once he’d been sure all guests had gone home.
For a while he forgot about Minseok
But he came back some time later, asking for a date. Sehun didn’t know what it was that compelled him to say yes. He hadn’t been able to get that image of Minseok sneering at his dead father’s body out of his head. And yet, as the guy stood there in a thick white sweater, looking at him with all manners of hope etched into his features, Sehun caved.
He was just too cute.
As the days of their budding relationship turn into weeks and months, Sehun fell for him hard. It was difficult not to.
The older man was sweet when he wanted to be. He made it a habit to pick Sehun up from the funeral home in the evenings; took him for expensive dinners in upmarket establishments; sent him flowers for the most trivial excuses, like their hundredth-day anniversary or just because. He always considered their age difference seriously, too, calling Sehun every other hour to make sure he had eaten his lunch and dinner and supper.
And the sex, oh god, the sex.
It was amazing, yes. Minseok was a wonderful lover. He had kinks so bizarre Sehun had almost wanted to call it quits more than once; but only almost, because the ways in which Minseok took care of him out of bed was nothing compared to how it was in it.
No matter how great the sex was, Sehun’s favourite part of it all was the way Minseok looked at him as they came down from their highs afterwards, serene and gorgeous in the dark, the intensity of his affection searing right through and into Sehun’s heart.
Somehow, somewhere, Sehun forgot that Minseok was sick. Sick sick sick. And no matter how much Sehun tried to bury this facet of Minseok in the past, it came back to haunt him with a vengeance.
Because when Minseok didn’t deign to be sweet, he was horrible.
He was horrible, in the way he called Sehun despicable names in sudden bursts of hostility. The way he screamed profanities into Sehun’s face until the younger could do nothing but cower in the corner. The way his hand swung around so freely, so easily, to land a hit on Sehun’s cheek or chest or anywhere it could reach.
But the worst was the way his beautiful face contorted into something ugly and monstrous in his fits of fury, so full of hate that Sehun could not stand it.
And oh, how sad it made him. How angry.
Sehun couldn’t see beyond the red invading his vision that fateful night where Minseok came to his house in foul temper, string of vile words hurled towards him as the smaller man cornered him against the stove, his hand pushed dangerously close to the burning stove.
He didn’t realize that he’d driven a knife through Minseok’s guts until the he felt warm thick liquid gushing out to slick over his hand, Minseok’s almond-shaped eyes round in utmost shock and saturated with anguish before life slipped out of them indefinitely.
Honestly. He really didn’t mean to do it.
There were some things about Baekhyun that Sehun didn’t particularly love.
He hated the fact that his neighbour was naturally flirty with anything with legs. He hated it when Baekhyun was far too loud in the mornings, voice at maximum volume even before he was truly wide awake. He hated how Baekhyun gushed over his best friend during their dinner dates, when Sehun thought that the guy’s brain should be focused on no else but him. If he had to listen about how awesome a Chanyeol was one more time he kill somebody.
Again.
But he could overlook these minor details. It wasn’t a problem at all, to sweep them under the carpet and ignore they exist because the fact of the matter was, Sehun had simply fallen in love with everything else about Baekhyun.
He loved the fact that Baekhyun was confident. Sure, he could become flustered and much too giggly for his own good when complimented, or when Sehun stared him down like that; but he had guts. That was undeniable. Sehun couldn’t fathom how one would choose a profession that entailed the scrutiny of a bar full of people on a nightly basis in the first place. Through the few times Sehun had managed to squeeze into the bar on time to watch Baekhyun perform, however, he’d been repeatedly amazed at how much of a personality flip the Baekhyun he knew as his will-they-or-won’t-they-neighbour experienced on stage. Sehun had seen fire in his eyes as he stepped on stage and began singing. It didn’t matter if it was an original, or one of the classics from the golden era he loved so much. He belted them out in that unique trill of his, the texture of the finest grains of gravel coursing through warm molasses, and did so without giving a single fuck at the occasional boos and hollers from the rowdy crowd as long as he got to play his damn piano and sing his heart out.
He loved Baekhyun’s voice itself. He loved how it coloured his spoken words as much as he loved it through the crooning of a song. He loved the way it always cracked at the end of his whimpers when their kisses turned into frantic groping. But most of all, Sehun loved how it sounded around Baekhyun’s laugh. It made it all the more unique. The first time Sehun had (unintentionally, as such was the only way Sehun would have been able to come across as humorous) made Baekhyun laugh so hard the guy had completely let go and let one rip, the sound almost scared him. It was an odd cross between a braying donkey and a very sick, dying old man. It should be unattractive. Baekhyun’s laughter showed through his whole face, in the crinkles around his eyes, the upturning of his nose, the slackening of his jaw. And it should be unattractive, it really should. But Sehun had fallen too deep and too much to be repelled. If anything, he was already far too mesmerized to reprogram his head into not thinking that that scrunched-up face belonged on something lesser than an angel.
He loved that Baekhyun gave him space. After their conversation about Sehun’s apparent lack of enthusiasm to disclose anything about himself, he’d half expected the smaller to keep pestering, for him to persist in barraging through the walls Sehun had built around his person. But Baekhyun didn’t. He was patient. He allowed Sehun to knock those walls down on his own, layer by excruciating layer, always with a smile and a hug and something more ready for him upon emerging at the other end. Sehun knew that, more than anything, Baekhyun was curious as to why he had never invited him over. But he’d grown to know Sehun so well, the latter noted. Baekhyun could read the defiance in his gestures, in those rounded shoulders, and in the sudden stillness of his expressions on his face. He would never push any further. He’d simply curl back around Sehun instead as they settled for an evening of classic movies, any tension forgiven and forgotten, and for that Sehun was grateful.
But he loved most, just how accepted Baekhyun had made him feel when the beans were finally spilled about what his job ensued.
It was not intentional. He still had had reservations about telling the younger that he - to put it bluntly - toyed with dead bodies all day long as a means for a living, when Baekhyun had walked past the storefront one afternoon by chance to see Sehun by the display window, putting up signs for the house’s latest funeral package offers. They had stood there gaping at each other through the frosted glass for what seemed like an eternity for Sehun, neither one really moving.
Then Baekhyun disappeared around the bend.
Sehun’s blood ran cold, mind running to thinking that the worst-case scenario he’d thought up in such a situation had become a reality. Baekhyun thought he was a freak. The next thing he knew Baekhyun would be avoiding him and pretending he didn’t exist and taking his stupid music-note doorbell down and repacking his stupid stuff back into those boxes and moving out and Sehun would never see him again-
He snapped out of it when he heard instead, that same dying-donkey laugh reverberating across the otherwise morbidly quiet place, followed by the polite chortle Sehun recognized as Joonmyeon’s. He emerged through the curtains leading back into the main parlor cautiously after a while, not knowing what to expect. He found Baekhyun there, talking to his boss as if it was the most normal reaction to have after discovering something as monumental about your maybe-boyfriend. It surprised him even more that when Baekhyun turned around to see him, the guy simply smiled that brilliant smile and tugged on his hand to pull him closer.
“This was your big secret, huh, hyung?” Baekhyun whispered to him as Joonmyeon left them alone. “It isn’t so bad, now, is it? Could have told me.”
There was nothing in his tone that resembled disgust or judgment; only acceptance and stupid-fondness-adoration soaked so thoroughly into it that Sehun could have cried.
“And it’s still not technically a corpse in your own basement, so,” Baekhyun went on in good (but twisted) humour, “we’re all good.”
The fact that there was indeed one there, locked up and rotting away, slipped Sehun’s mind for a brief second as Baekhyun tiptoed to join their lips together chastely. I need to keep him, Sehun resolved with utmost determination, pulling the other back in for a longer, less innocent kiss before he could pull away. I need to..
His mind flitted back to his crime, and suddenly, a voice he hadn’t heard in ages went off in his head. Should have gotten rid of Minseok when I said so, it said. You can’t let him find out. Get rid of him. The sooner the better.
It was all Sehun could do, nod and agree. It was right after all. He couldn’t ever let Baekhyun find out. He loved too many things about Baekhyun to allow him to.
He loved Baekhyun too much.
What a bizarre sensation it was, that sensation of knowing you’ve taken a life.
The day after went on as if nothing had changed. Sehun stopped by the coffee shop around the corner on his way to work, as usual. He attended to his clients meticulously, as usual. Zitao had annoyed him, as usual. He ate and drank and pissed, as usual.
But he was afraid to go home. That was not as usual.
His guilt came to him at random, idle moments of the day.
In the form of brief images of Minseok’s face, his lifeless body flat on his back on the floor, blood flowing out of the gash and into the cracks in the kitchen tiles. It came in the memory of what the first thought that popped up in his head was, through an almost sinister voice invading his brain telling him that he had to hide him, hide this whole thing.
It was there as he was wiping a female client down, in images of himself lugging Minseok down to the basement, a trail of red left in their wake. It was there as he was applying foundation and blush to her sallow cheeks, in momentary flashes of his own shaky hands shoving papers and tools away from his personal worktable only to replace them with Minseok. It was there as he pulled a raven-coloured wig over the woman’s white hair, in how he remembered his body had gone into autopilot, his feet moving back to the kitchen on its own accord.
Leave the body for now, that voice said. Leave it until it’s cold, as cold as it could be, it repeated to him as he scrubbed, scrubbed, scrubbed at everything he could reach. That’s when you know how best to deal with it anyway.
And that was how, the guilt was still there by the day’s end, renewed afresh as he hovered over the stiff naked form of what used to be Minseok.
But the longer he stared at his dead lover, the prettier he seemed, just like this.
He looked so calm. It was as if he was looking at Minseok for the first time. He’d never seen him so at peace, so cute, so devoid of any of that malice that had so often graced his features, that had made him ugly.
Make him go away.
Sehun jumped at the voice’s sudden intrusion, but it didn’t stop there.
You know you have to.
He shook his head in protest.
What, the voice demanded, quiet and dangerous. Don’t be an idiot. Be rid of him, and we never have to speak about it ever again.
“No.” Sehun surprised himself with the amount of defiance he had then, as his fingers fluttered down the side of Minseok’s face, ice cold against the warmth of their tips. “Let me keep him.”
Shutting out the voice’s enraged screams, Sehun got to work. He turned the radio on, swaying slightly as he hummed to Sinatra, hands busy preparing the syringes of formalin that he would need.
When the first needle pierced through Minseok’s skin, Sehun leaned down to softly kiss those parted lips, even as his own were busy mouthing the words of the song filling up the dark room.
So, softly as I leave you there, he sang along, another needle making its way in. As I leave you there.
He had foreseen meeting Chanyeol at one of Baekhyun’s gigs. It was bound to happen eventually, given how very much aware he had been made by the younger that the man was indeed his most dearest friend, one he’d known since they’d commiserated over being stuck in those awful boxers they tried to pass off as gym shorts in elementary.
Sehun just never expected to have already met Chanyeol before. And under much less ideal circumstances.
To him, Chanyeol was Detective Park.
There was no mistaking the glint of threat that succeeded the spark of recognition in his eyes as he shook Sehun’s hands.
“Nice to meet you,” Chanyeol said after an uneasy silence. “So you’re the guy Baekhyun won’t shut up about.”
Sehun’s heart swelled up at that revelation, glancing at the blushing Baekhyun next to him. It was a sight to behold, and for a moment he forgot the situation he was in; but when he met Chanyeol’s glare again, the clamping up of his throat was so palpable he almost couldn’t breathe. “Yes,” he squeaked timidly. “I suppose I am.”
“Interesting,” Chanyeol mumbled, before silence fell upon them again. The three stood there in the middle of the bar, unspoken questions hanging heavy in the atmosphere between.
It was Baekhyun who pierced through it first. “Is something the matter?” He was frowning, worry coming to surface on his features, and Sehun sensed his own panic bubbling over. It was worse when he looked at Chanyeol and could see the underlying malice there, the almost sadistic twist to his deceptively harmless grin as he continued staring at Sehun, as if to say to him that I could ruin you. I could open my mouth and ruin you.
“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it,” Chanyeol drawled instead. He reached around to pat Sehun on the back as if they’d been friends for years, letting the hand go lax on his shoulder for far too long afterwards, ignoring the obvious recoil of Sehun’s body wanting to move away from it. “Nothing’s the matter.”
Baekhyun was nothing if not perceptive, clearly having noticed his almost-lover’s discomfort from Chanyeol’s touch. He opened his mouth to protest, but was abruptly cut off by the manager telling him to get ready on stage.
“You run along now,” Chanyeol said when he saw Baekhyun’s hesitance to leave. “We’ll get along just fine. I mean,” he went on, the grin on his mouth expanding almost eerily as he turned to Sehun. “I feel like we’ve known each other for ages already. Don’t you feel the same way, Sehun-ah?”
Sehun thought that the ‘good cop, bad cop’ routine he’d so often seen in the movies meant that good cops actually do exist.
After going through rounds and rounds of merciless interrogations he was starting to believe that that had just been wishful thinking on his part. It was horrible, the way they were treated like criminals from day one.
Chanyeol was especially ruthless.
He walked into the funeral home unannounced one morning. Joonmyeon and Zitao were surprised, caught unawares as to why the police were suddenly camping outside the business. Sehun, on the other hand, had been more or less expecting someone from the police would come-a-knocking. He’d known it, had felt the mixture of dread and a flurry of what could only be described as misplaced anticipation brewing within.
It’d been days since Minseok’s disappearance was announced, his pretty face splashed all over the ‘missing’ sections of dailies.
Sehun was sure that nobody could have been privy to their relationship. They were impeccably careful about it. They had kept it under wraps, meeting only once it was dark, leaving before light. Neither even had the other’s phone number.
Nonetheless, he figured the cops wouldn’t be complete crap. Minseok had had his chauffeur drop him off a couple of blocks away from the funeral home every other night for several months. It wasn’t difficult to put two and two together and take a jab at guessing where he most likely had been frequenting.
But he definitely did not expect the detective to latch onto him right off the bat. He didn’t understand the interest, and why he would have more reasons to doubt his innocence over his colleagues. Heck, there wasn’t any reason to suspect any of them, period.
Those few weeks that the premises were swarmed with officers involved in the investigation stretched so far it felt like a couple of years instead, Sehun’s nerves worn thinner and thinner as the days went by. He was enough of a nervous wreck from all on his own. With Chanyeol breathing down his neck he was constantly tethering on the edge of a breakdown.
“See, this is why you’re on top of my list.”
“What?”
“You.” Chanyeol offered in an offhanded manner that could have only been achieved through years of experience on the job. “On top of my list.”
That didn’t make sense. “What,” Sehun repeated, the delirious butterflies in his stomach multiplying by the second. “List of what?”
Bingo, the expression Chanyeol’s face morphed into said jeeringly. Walked right into that one, didn’t you? He took another drag from his cigarette before leaning towards Sehun, ash floating down towards the concrete floor of the dark interrogation room. “Why Mr. Oh, I- wait, let’s make this more comfortable, shall we… Sehun-ah?”
Wisps of putrid smoke escaped his mouth as he spoke, the condescension accompanying his voice even fouler. Sehun felt helpless. All he could do was nod.
“Good fella,” Chanyeol cooed, so self-satisfied Sehun’s skin crawled. “Now, I think you know exactly what list it is that I’m referring to.” He paused as if he was an actor trying to add some dramatic effect to a badly-written play. “The suspect list, of course.” Another pause, and then words that froze the blood in Sehun’s veins spilled out of his mouth. “You’re it. You’re our killer.”
“I- What-“
“You killed Kim,” the detective said, as easily as if he was saying something trivial like fried chicken is nice. “I just don’t know how yet.”
“How- Why,” Sehun stammered in response, bile rising up his esophagus. “What makes you say that?”
“Because in the end it’s always the unassuming ones. Like you. Quiet workaholic loners that are completely clean. Not a smidgen on their record. I’ve got it all figured it out.”
Chanyeol stood up to walk around the table, settling his ass on its edge near Sehun, too close for comfort. Sehun could literally feel the wave of heat radiating from the man’s body.
“The waiter from the coffee shop around the corner said Kim’s been coming in like clockwork every couple of days for four months. Then he heads in the direction of the funeral home once it’s dark. And what other place on this street opens after hours, but yours?”
Sehun gulped visibly. “That’s not true,” he choked out. “You know it’s not. He could have headed anywhere.”
“Okay. Maybe I exaggerated for effect,” Chanyeol barraged on, unfazed. “But the funeral home’s the only place he had any connection to. His father’s service was held there recently, am I right. So where else would a man like Kim Minseok, uptight and methodical as fuck, head to, but somewhere familiar. Your colleagues said you were the one who’d been closing shop recently too. So… who else could it be, but you? You have all the means necessary. Look at your job, for god’s sakes! You must know a lot about dead people, how to handle them. How to hide them. How to get rid of them. Don’t you?”
The man looked like he expected an answer. Sehun wanted to say something, but his throat could only form a helpless whimper.
“Of course, no one else agrees with me. They wouldn’t give me the damn warrant I need to prove my point.” His voice went even deeper as he reiterated his conviction of Sehun’s guilt. “But there’s no doubt in my mind that you killed Kim.”
“Shut up,” Sehun finally managed to eke out. “Just shut up.” He hated how small and shaky he sounded.
Chanyeol absolutely rejoiced in it. The way he laughed at him was almost maniacal. “That’s all you can say? Not even, oh I don’t know, a denial?”
“B-But-“
“B-But what,” Chanyeol stuttered in imitation, tone full of mockery. “But what, Sehun-ah? But what?”
The ringing of a bell from out of nowhere signaled a stop to the interrogation session. Sehun heaved a sigh of relief, as subtly as he could, rubbing at his face only for his palm to come away damp with sweat.
When his eyes met Chanyeol’s once more, the man was smirking at him. He took a last drag out of his cigarette, nearly burnt close to the top, stubbing it on the metal tabletop before standing up and heading to the door.
“Make no mistake; we’re not done here yet. I know I’m right. I’m good at what I do.” With his hand on the knob, he turned around to face Sehun a final time, the smirk from before transforming into an eerie smile hanging off his lips. “And I’ll get you.”
part three