And the Truth Shall Make You Free (1/3)
Title: And the Truth Shall Make You Free
Pairing: Jongdae/Junmyeon
Rating: PG-13
Genre: romance, spy!au
Length: 25k
Summary: Jongdae’s spent a lifetime running from the truth but something about Junmyeon makes him want to stop running.
Warning: references to character death, very mild violence
And you shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.
unofficial CIA motto, John 8:32
“Duck!” someone yells, and then Jongdae is diving under a table in the middle of the an enormous ballroom on the third floor of one of the most expensive hotels in New York City and he can’t even spare a moment to think about how strange it is that people were in here just a few hours ago for a wedding.
“I’m going around the back, cover me,” Chanyeol hisses through the mic in Jongdae’s ear, and Jongdae quickly wraps his hands around the top of the table he’s hiding under, flipping it on its side and turning it into a temporary barrier against the hail of bullets whizzing past his ears.
“I’m on it,” he grunts, lifting his head just high enough that he can see the men shooting at him from behind their own table barricade. Out of the corner of his eye, Jongdae sees one of them sitting up a little too high to get a better view and he takes the shot. The man goes down, a red stain blossoming across his suit jacket sleeve.
“Chen, you need to get out of there!” Chanyeol’s suddenly yelling in his ear, and Jongdae twists around wildly, trying to see the source of his distress. Sure, Jongdae’s pinned down, but with reinforcements mere moments away this is actually a fairly safe situation.
“In case you didn’t notice,” he gasps, firing off a few random shots over the top of the table, “I can’t really move.”
“You have to try,” Chanyeol says hurriedly, and Jongdae can hear gunshots in the background. “There are four-well, three now-more of them heading directly for your position, and I just heard from Command, the reinforcements’ ETA is ten minutes at best.”
“Shit,” Jongdae swears angrily, more to himself than to Chanyeol, “Okay, I’ll see if I can cut around behind these tables.”
“Hurry,” Chanyeol says, and then the line goes dead.
Jongdae quickly slides to the end of his table barricade and, bending over so that he’s a lower target than they’ll be anticipating, sprints over to the next table, firing off counter-shots all the while. Damn, he only has a few rounds left. For a routine mission, this is really not going well.
He’s planning to head for the emergency exit and turns to make a break for it, only to see the door slam open and three new attackers advance through it, adding their shots to the general din in the room.
Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.
“Chanyeol,” he growls into his mic. “A little help would be nice! I’m completely trapped here, they’ve cut off all the exits and I’m ridiculously outnumbered.”
“I’d love to help you,” he hears Chanyeol yell over the shatter of breaking glass, “But I’m a little busy right now!”
Jongdae can see the men closing in-they’re only a few meters away when he hears a sickening click coming from the barrel of his pistol rather than the usual satisfying crack.
Oh, no.
Jongdae’s eyes dart around the room, trying to find a door, a window, any form of escape the men might have overlooked. He curses every single person in Command for not giving them more backup. “Oh, you and Chanyeol will be fine,” Baekhyun had said, “It’s just a routine exchange with some Russian mobsters, they know the deal,” he said. Jongdae hates everything.
Then he sees it-a large picture window behind him and a little to the left. Sure, he’s three stories off the ground, but the odds of him surviving a three-story fall onto the sidewalk below are much better than his current ones with the men getting closer every second.
But just as Jongdae’s about to throw himself towards the window, the whole thing spontaneously shatters into a million glittering pieces. He ducks, covering his head as he feels shards of glass embedding themselves in his jacket sleeve. The enormous crash and ensuing avalanche of glass and dust distracts Jongdae’s attackers long enough for him to race over to the window, fully intending to launch himself out, when there’s suddenly a hand grabbing his collar, tossing him back into the room.
Jongdae scrambles for cover, holding up his gun even though he has nothing left to shoot, and is about to try for another leap out the window when he realizes that the room is silent. The shooting has stopped. And then, looking up through the rolling cloud of dust and powdered glass, he suddenly sees why. Two of his attackers are already on the ground and the others have dropped their weapons, hands up in the universal gesture of submission, as three operatives dressed in standard black uniforms facing them carrying very formidable-looking firearms.
“Chanyeol?” Jongdae asks softly into his mic, “I thought you said it was going to be ten minutes until reinforcements arrived?”
“Yeah, they’re still en route, but don’t worry, I’m coming!” Chanyeol pants in his ear.
“There’s no rush,” Jongdae says slowly, before shutting off the connection and getting to his feet. Standing directly in front of him, framed by the blinding sunshine coming through the broken window, is a man he’s never seen before. Slipping a pistol back into the jacket of his tuxedo, he steps forward and offers Jongdae his hand.
“Agent Suho, CIA,” the man says warmly, and Jongdae can only stare in amazement at his perfectly round fingernails, his slicked-back hair, and his darkly glittering eyes. When Jongdae doesn’t respond, the man drops the proffered hand and smiles, and Jongdae feels his breath catch oddly. “And you are?”
“Chen! What happened-are you all right-” Chanyeol races into the room and stops short, staring wide-eyed at the man standing in front of Jongdae. “Who are you?”
“Agent Suho, as I was just telling your partner here,” the man says, offering his hand instead to Chanyeol, who has the presence of mind to shake it and respond with a sharp, “Agent Park. Now would you mind telling me what you’re doing here?”
“I make it a point to keep an eye on nearby communications whenever possible,” Suho says, tapping his ear where Jongdae can just make out a thin wire, nearly invisible against his pale skin. “In case I’m needed.”
“Why have I never-”
“Heard of me?” Suho laughs, and Chanyeol and Jongdae exchange an incredulous look. Jongdae’s been in the business for years now, and Chanyeol’s been in even longer, there’s no way they’d have missed hearing about someone so…so…Suho. “Probably because I mostly do very undercover work. So undercover most CIA agents don’t even know it exists, actually. But sometimes it’s nice to try out field work, you know?”
Suho pushes up his sleeve to check the time on a Rolex that probably costs more money than Jongdae’s ever seen outside of a bank vault.
“But unfortunately I am supposed to be at my father’s business lunch right now, so you’ll have to excuse me. I’m glad I could help, Agents Park and…I’m sorry, I don’t think I ever caught your name?”
“Chen,” Jongdae manages to splutter this time, “Agent Chen.”
“Agents Park and Chen, then,” Suho says, same genteel smile on his face. “Oh and by the way, I picked up these operatives with the guns a few blocks away, you really should report back to Command about how long it took them to get here. Time is of the essence in this business, as I’m sure you know.”
“You what? But they-and you-” Chanyeol stammers, but Suho’s already turned and walked back to the gaping hole where the window used to be, delicately stepping over particularly large pieces of jagged glass with his patent leather shoes.
“I’ll be seeing you,” he says, grasping a rope Jongdae hadn’t even seen hanging there before leaping out into the open air and disappearing.
Still stunned, Jongdae turns to Chanyeol as the black-uniformed operatives go about handcuffing the Russian mobsters, his mouth hanging open. Chanyeol doesn’t look much better-his face is pale and his eyes are so wide Jongdae worries they’ll pop out of his head.
“So…” Jongdae says, his voice echoing strangely in his ears. “Who the hell was that?”
“Agent Suho,” Chanyeol breathes. “How have I never heard of him?”
“I have no idea,” Jongdae says. “But I’m going to find out.”
---
It’s several months before Jongdae sees Suho again, but by then he’s spent so much time researching him that some of his fellow operatives-no one will admit it but everyone knows Oh Sehun started it-have begun doing things like leaving fake restraining orders in his mailbox, and sticking made-up Agent Biographies under his windshield wipers.
Yet another problem with working for one of the nation’s top intelligence agencies, Jongdae thinks in annoyance as he walks into the Command Center one day and almost trips over a copy of the New York Times lying on the ground with the headline, “Exclusive Interview with the elusive Agent Suho!”
“You’re slacking,” he says shortly to Kim Minseok, the good-for-nothing receptionist, as he slaps the newspaper down on his desk. “This newspaper is dated 2025.”
“Damn it, my finger must have slipped!” Minseok sighs, but Jongdae can tell from his smug grin that it probably wasn’t an accident. “Too bad you’re so good at picking up information like this. Can’t put anything past you, huh?”
“Will you all give it a break?” Jongdae asks disgustedly, turning as if to storm off before realizing that he has no idea where he’s supposed to go. “Okay, just tell me where my briefing is.”
“Down the hall and to the right, Room 14,” Minseok says without looking up from a detailed inspection of his cuticles. “Have fun!”
“Yeah, yeah, because this is so fun,” Jongdae mutters to himself, stalking off down the hallway.
It’s not that there isn’t much information about Suho, though admittedly most of it is classified to a level that Jongdae can’t crack without the help of someone like Agent Kai, and he really doesn’t want anyone else knowing how much he wants to know about Suho. Command is quick to detect and shut down obsessions among their agents-they’re far too common and far too deadly to be overlooked even when, like Jongdae, the agent involved seems fairly stable. No, the real problem is that Jongdae doesn’t know how much of the information he finds is real.
What seems pretty well agreed upon is that Suho is the son of a ridiculously wealthy businessman and that the CIA recruited him when he was very young, starting training as soon as they thought he was old enough to keep secrets, since his position of power and perfect responses to various covert examinations made him the ideal agent. But what Jongdae can’t understand is how Suho manages to keep up his cover as the dutiful son, preparing to take over his father’s vast empire, when in the space of a month he’ll hear rumors that Suho is in Thailand preventing the assassination of the king, that Suho is in Venezuela infiltrating the operation of a top drug lord, that Suho is in Paris investigating a terrorist cell trying to get their hands on several kilos of enriched uranium.
It just doesn’t add up. Suho is a mystery. And Jongdae hates mysteries.
Taking a deep breath, he knocks loudly on the door of Room 14. Jongdae doesn’t really mind briefings, it’s just that sitting in desk chairs makes him twitchy. He’s known agents who have done everything short of going rogue to avoid getting stuck with a promotion and desk job, and he can’t say he really blames them. You don’t get into the CIA’s top ranks by wanting to play it safe.
“Come in,” a voice says wearily from within, and Jongdae pushes the door open, only to stop short in shock.
“Nice to see you again, Agent Chen,” Suho says from his seat on the right side of the table, as he picks an invisible piece of lint off what looks like an Armani suit. Jongdae is so surprised he can’t manage more than a curt nod before taking the seat offered to him by his handler.
“First of all, let me apologize for not giving you much of a break in between assignments,” his handler, a small man named Byun Baekhyun who is so kind that Jongdae sometimes wonders how he got a job at the CIA, says earnestly. Jongdae just shrugs. He prefers shorter breaks to longer ones-the longer he waits between assignments, the more restless he gets, and the more likely he is to do something dangerous just for a rush. Which reminds him, he’ll have to call Sehun and cancel their helicopter piloting training session next week.
“I have a mission that I can’t perform alone,” Suho says smoothly, staring directly into Jongdae’s eyes, and Jongdae has to resist the urge to blink or look away. Breaking eye contact first makes him weak, that much he’s been taught.
“Well, what is it?” Jongdae asks, reaching towards the manila folder lying in the center of the table. But before he can open it, Suho’s warm hand lands on top of his, trapping it against the table.
“Not yet,” he says, and Jongdae jerks his hand back like it’s been burned. “I want to explain it to you first before you see the details.”
“Well, hurry up then,” Jongdae says, starting to get a bit alarmed at the way his heart rate is speeding up. Maybe the stress is getting to him more than he thought. He can still feel the warmth of Suho’s palm against his skin.
“So, as you probably know, I’ve never been much of a field agent,” Suho says, and Jongdae laughs, the image of Suho smashing through a window into the middle of a shootout painfully clear in his mind. It’s only when he realizes no one else is laughing with him that he trails off, shooting a confused glance at Baekhyun, who seems to be avoiding his eyes.
“Oh, come on,” Jongdae says, when no one speaks. “You’re telling me that you’re not much of a field agent? We hear a story about you almost every week around here!”
“You do?” Suho says and he seems legitimately surprised. Jongdae decides this conversation is not going quite the way he hoped.
“But that doesn’t matter, what’s the mission you need me for?”
“Well,” Suho says, and when Jongdae looks at him he can see his eyes are shining with excitement. “It involves Seoul, a famous idol, and a lot of explosives.”
From the way Suho explains the mission, it doesn’t sound too difficult. They’ve got an idol who’s suspected of smuggling weapons for a North Korean terrorist cell and their job is to smoke him out, catch him in the act, and hopefully further cement South Korea’s dependence on the US in matters of national security. Just another day at the office. Which is why Jongdae thinks it’s so strange that they called him in.
“So, why did you need me specifically for this mission?” he asks, flipping through photographs of the idol-a Huang Zitao-and the specs for the explosives he’s supposedly transporting.
“Well, you’re Korean, for one thing, which makes it easier,” Suho says but Jongdae knows he’s lying. If that were the truth, they could have chosen any number of operatives-Sehun or Jongin or Chanyeol, even Wu Fan with his flawless Korean would have been able to blend in. There has to be another reason.
“Fine, don’t tell me, but just know that I don’t operate well when I’m being lied to,” Jongdae says, a note of warning in his voice that seems to surprise Suho. He smiles, as if to appease Jongdae, but says nothing more.
“I do just have to ask the standard question,” Baekhyun says quickly into the thick silence. Jongdae doesn’t take his eyes off of Suho’s but waves at Baekhyun to continue. “Are you confident in your ability to perform on this assignment?”
“Very,” Jongdae says almost before Baekhyun is finished speaking, even tone revealing none of the anxiety bubbling in his stomach.
“Well, everything seems to line up-your psych profile was just updated, right? And it looks like we’re in the clear.”
“I know,” Jongdae says, watching as Suho finally drops his eyes to his watch before standing and pushing back his chair. Jongdae’s psych profile is perfect. And he should know.
He’s the one wrote it.
---
“So, going on a mission with Suho, huh?” Chanyeol says when Jongdae walks into Command the next day. Jongdae’s already a bit grumpy at having to come to this place two days in a row-he likes the tiny, nondescript apartment he was assigned much more than this enormous building, all glass and steel and secrets-and he’s definitely not in the mood to be teased.
“Yes, I am,” he says shortly. “Now have you seen him or are you just going to stand there like an idiot?”
“Whoa there, partner,” Chanyeol says good-naturedly, pushing his hair out of his eyes. Jongdae thinks viciously that his new haircut makes him look more like a puppy than a human being, but then he realizes how curt he’s just been and sighs.
“Look, I’m sorry, Chanyeol,” Jongdae says tiredly, massaging his temples in a way he knows makes him look ten years older than he actually is. “I just didn’t sleep well last night, and now I have this mission and I’m going to be spending the entire day on a plane and I still don’t really have any idea why Suho asked me to do this.”
“I’m sure he had his reason,” Chanyeol says reassuringly, patting Jongdae on the back. Jongdae wants so badly to lean into the touch, to just let himself be comforted, but he knows that wouldn’t be professional. Camaraderie isn’t actively discouraged but it certainly isn’t considered useful.
“Ready to go, Agent Chen?” a smooth voice says from behind him, and Jongdae jumps away from Chanyeol, turning to see Suho standing in the doorway, duffle bag in hand. It’s strange seeing Suho in a t-shirt and jeans-Jongdae had just kind of assumed that he lived in a suit, looking suave and aloof all the time.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” Jongdae says, hoisting his backpack onto his shoulder and following Suho out the door to the waiting car.
“Have fun!” Chanyeol shouts at his receding back and it actually makes Jongdae smile. He’s finally going, he’s got a new mission now, and he can feel some of the anxiety starting to recede. Let the fun begin.
They have seats across the aisle from each other, and Jongdae wonders at the way Suho never seems to shut his eyes, even though the long flight is exhausting. Jongdae of course doesn’t sleep either, but that’s just part of the job. If Suho really isn’t a field agent, as he’d told Jongdae, then he’d expect him to act more like a civilian. There’s obviously more to Suho than meets the eye, and that’s saying something, Jongdae thinks ironically, since there’s plenty of mystery to be had just from looking at Suho.
And Jongdae does spend more time than he’d like to admit watching Suho gaze at the sky through the tiny airplane window. He watches the way he stays perfectly still for hours on end, not so much as scratching an itch, and the way the light slides across his perfectly styled hair. Suho is a mystery, and it’s Jongdae’s job to solve mysteries. He’s fascinated.
The minute they touch down, Suho’s already on his phone, and Jongdae can hear him firing off a rapid string of commands. No matter what else Suho may be, he’s certainly used to being obeyed.
“We’ve got a car waiting right outside to take us to the concert,” Suho says, handing Jongdae his bag from the overhead compartment, and the full meaning of what he’s just said hits Jongdae mid-yawn.
“Concert? We’re going to a concert now?”
“Yes, now,” Suho says, and he looks quizzically down at Jongdae who suddenly feels very childish. Of course they’re starting right away, that’s how it works.
“Okay,” Jongdae says as they leave the terminal, walking quickly towards the sliding doors leading outside, “so what’s my cover?”
“I’ll tell you when we get in the car,” Suho says, eyes scanning the crowd almost as often as Jongdae’s are, searching for any flash of movement that might hint at an ambush, a weapon, an enemy. And Jongdae’s not sure why he feels so inexperienced when Suho’s around, but he hates it. Maybe this explains why he feels the need to slam the car door so hard in Suho’s face when he slides into his seat. Suho calmly gets in the other side, as if ignorant of Jongdae’s petty annoyance, and this only serves to make Jongdae madder. But he has to be professional. He has to show Suho that he didn’t make a mistake picking Jongdae.
“Cover?” Jongdae asks again as Suho leans forward to tell the driver an address before sliding back against the seat, sighing slightly.
“Oh, right,” Suho says slowly, as if he’d forgotten all about it. Jongdae really doesn’t understand how he stays so calm all the time. “You’re a reporter doing an in-depth piece on Tao. Kind of a “day-in-the-life” type thing. It’ll give you an excuse to keep track of his movements and stay close to him, and I’ve been told you have fairly good writing abilities, so if he wants to see a rough draft you’ll be able to come up with something.”
“A reporter?” Jongdae says, a bit incredulously. “Won’t they see right through that? What agency am I even supposed to be working for? One call and they’ll know we’re lying to them.”
“Then I guess it’s your job to be a good liar,” Suho says, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow. Jongdae sighs in disgust and decides not to talk again for the rest of the ride.
The concert itself is an agent’s worst nightmare-hundreds of people milling around, most wearing jackets and ponchos to protect against the cold wind and spattering rain, and in the space between the darkness and the flashing stage lights anyone could be a threat, anyone could be concealing a weapon. Jongdae’s eyes are twitching back and forth so fast he can feel a headache coming on, and he has to fight the urge to reach for the gun stuck in his waistband every time someone brushes against him.
“In here,” Suho yells over the noise of the crowd, and ushers Jongdae into a hallway that appears to lead backstage. There’s a security guard-a strangely short and delicate-looking man, in Jongdae’s opinion-standing there, but a few words from Suho are all that are needed to get them a smile and a pass down the hallway and into a brightly lit dressing room.
“Agent D.O.,” Suho says with a lopsided grin, motioning behind him to the security guard. “He’s one of ours.”
“I wondered…” Jongdae laughs, moving further into the room, examining the enormous display of make-up products and the racks full of very strange clothing.
“Okay, Tao should be here any minute,” Suho says, and Jongdae has to fight back a grin as he finally hears a note of worry in his voice. “Remember, you’re a news reporter, you love Tao’s work, make sure to keep praising him, idols live for that, or at least they expect it, you’re currently working independently but you’re going to try to sell the article to a few top internet news providers-”
“Suho, it’ll be fine,” Jongdae says with a grin, because he can feel adrenaline rushing through his veins and all the anxiety is gone. It’s almost a little worrying how addicted Jongdae is to this feeling, but thankfully there’s no time to dwell on that because the door to the dressing room is opening and a man wearing the most ridiculous outfit Jongdae’s ever seen is sweeping through it in a cloud of perfume and chattering stylists.
“And who exactly are you?” the man who Jongdae supposes must be Huang Zitao says in an extremely bored tone. Simultaneously tired of the constant press coverage but still craving to see his face on the cover of magazines. The hint of nicotine in the air means he probably smokes because he thinks a cigarette looks good clasped in his long fingers and he wants to show the rest of the world that he’s not afraid of death. The way he’s glaring at Jongdae shows that he’s interested, because Jongdae is something new, but his attention span is short-his eyes are already wandering over to Suho, to his own face in the dressing room mirror, before coming back to Jongdae.
That’s it. Jongdae’s got him.
“Ah, you must be Huang Zitao,” Jongdae says jovially, making sure to keep his smile small and sarcastic. He holds out a hand that Tao doesn’t take. “You can call me Chen.”
“Chen? No last name?” Tao scoffs, but Jongdae can see the glint of interest in his eyes.
“I find that the fewer names I have, the less I have to explain to people,” Jongdae says smoothly, leaning back against a clothing rack. “I’m sure you understand.”
“I suppose I do,” Tao says. “But that doesn’t explain what exactly you’re doing in my dressing room. Obviously you’re somebody important, or else security wouldn’t have let you in. So what is it? Photoshoot? Lawsuit? Composer? Choreographer?”
“Oh, nothing so vulgar,” Jongdae sneers, and he definitely has Tao’s interest now. “I deal with words, the most real thing in this world, if you believe Oscar Wilde.”
“So you’re a writer?” Tao prompts, angrily waving off the hovering stylists as they try to remove his ridiculous fur vest.
“A reporter, actually,” Jongdae says, turning to stare at the flurry of motion over by the make-up table as if losing interest in the conversation. “I’m working freelance at the moment, but I knew that if I could get this story I’d have a chance at any of the big entertainment news networks.”
“What story is that?” Tao asks, and Jongdae grins smugly at the way he’s unconsciously moved closer and closer until he’s standing less than a meter away.
“You,” Jongdae purrs, and Tao blinks slowly, as if confused.
“What about me?” he asks. “My newest album came out a few months ago and this performance isn’t really anything special.”
“Nonsense!” Jongdae says, waving a hand as if to dispel the ridiculous thought. “Everything you do is special Zitao, SM’s Golden Boy. That’s why I want this assignment. I want to get to know you, get to know what makes you tic. Get to know what makes you-” and here Jongdae steps even closer to Tao, running a finger up his chest until he reaches his heart, “excited.”
Tao’s mouth is hanging open and he seems at a loss for words until Jongdae steps back, holding out his hand once again. This time, Tao takes it, mutely pumping it once, twice, before stepping back himself.
“So we have a deal?” Jongdae asks, picking a piece of imaginary lint off his sleeve.
“I think we do,” Tao replies, once again all charisma and dark glances.
“Excellent,” Jongdae says, smiling with just a little too much teeth showing. “I’ll be in touch.”
As Tao is swept out of the room by a chattering crowd of stylists, Suho turns to Jongdae in amazement.
“That was incredible!” he breathes, and Jongdae feels a bubble of pride swelling in his chest. “Even I believed you! It was like…you knew exactly what to say…”
“It’s not really that hard once you know what to look for,” Jongdae says nonchalantly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Of course it helped that he was fantastically gay and I’m not particularly terrible looking.”
“What are you-what?” Suho gasps, whirling around as if to check for anyone behind him listening in. “You know they all dress like that, it’s just part of being an idol-”
“Oh, please,” Jongdae snorts, “I was talking about the way he couldn’t stop staring at your ass when he walked in the room.”
He laughs when Suho’s hands make an unconscious move towards his behind before he’s able to stop himself.
“Well, you certainly do notice everything,” Suho says with an embarrassed laugh, running his fingers through his hair in the way Jongdae’s starting to notice he does whenever he’s nervous.
“That’s my job,” Jongdae says, dropping his eyes to the floor. And it’s true, it’s his job to know everything about everyone before they know anything about him, but he also can’t really blame Tao for his interest. Objectively speaking, Suho does have a very nice ass.
---
By the time they get to the hotel, all Jongdae wants to do is sleep and he’s incredibly grateful to hear Suho say something about him getting some rest and seeing him tomorrow at 8am for their first meeting with Tao. He’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.
And then he’s walking down the same backstage corridor, following the route he barely remembers to get to Tao’s dressing room, but when he opens the door, it’s not Tao there but Suho, standing bare-chested and glassy-eyed in the middle of the room. And Jongdae’s about to call to him, to say something important that he can’t quite find the words to express, when suddenly there’s a gunshot and Suho is falling, deep red blood splattering across his chest, across Jongdae’s hands, and all Jongdae can do is watch the blood pooling on the white floor tiles as someone behind him screams and Suho stares at him with those cold, shallow eyes and suddenly Jongdae’s choking, hands closing tightly around his throat, and that’s when he wakes up.
It’s hard to get back to sleep.
---
“Good morning!” Suho says brightly, and Jongdae groans. It’s simply indecent for someone to be so cheery this early in the morning. Call him a creature of the night, but Jongdae believes sunrises are completely overrated and no one should ever be forced to be awake before 9am. At least Suho is wearing a suit again. The casual dress had been freaking Jongdae out.
“Just show me the way to the car before I collapse,” he says grumpily. He hasn’t had nightmares in a while, and he’d forgotten how tired they leave him, almost as if he hadn’t slept at all.
“Sure, sure,” Suho says, opening the door for Jongdae so he can slide inside. Jongdae considers being offended by the fact that Suho seems to think he can’t open a car door by himself, but decides that would require too much effort.
“So, anything in particular I should be asking him?” Jongdae asks after several minutes of silence. He’s finally starting to feel a little more awake.
“No, not that I can think of,” Suho says, brow wrinkled in thought. “Right now we’re just trying to build up his trust, get him to believe he can confide in us. There’s always the possibility that someone’s forcing him into doing this-it’s not hard to ruin an idol, all it takes is a bit of a push and the public does the rest of the work-hold on.”
As Suho presses his buzzing phone to his ear, Jongdae stares out the window and wonders how many missions have begun with the words, “Build up their trust.” Funny to think that the success of an agency so steeped in deception depends so much on trust.
“Turn the car around,” Suho barks suddenly, and then Jongdae’s being thrown against the door of the car as the driver swerves into what Jongdae’s sure is a completely illegal U-turn.
“What happened? Where are we going?” Jongdae asks, reflexively looking out the window in case armed attackers are surrounding the car. It wouldn’t be the first time. “What about our meeting with Tao?”
“It’s been rescheduled, but we may not need it to happen if this lead turns out to be good,” Suho says, mouth set in a thin line. “Command thinks they may have found the address of one of the terrorists Tao’s been in contact with. They want us to go check it out.”
“Well, I was looking forward to meeting the illustrious Huang Zitao again,” Jongdae says mildly. “But I suppose this isn’t a bad way to spend the morning instead.”
Suho flashes him a wry grin, fingers reaching inside his suit jacket as if to check that his gun is still there, and Jongdae smiles back, all traces of tiredness gone.
Jongdae whistles when they first see the house-no, it’s more like a mansion, really-through the trees. The driver’s taken them down a road that stretches around the back of the property, and as soon as he slows down enough, Jongdae is up and out of the car, hunching low to the ground as he dives for a nearby bush. Suho’s hot on his heels, though Jongdae has to fight the urge to shush him as he comes crashing through the branches to kneel next to Jongdae. It’s strange how Suho manages to seem so knowledgeable and yet so inexperienced at the same time. Jongdae just can’t quite figure it out.
“What’s that?” Suho hisses, pointing at the touchscreen device in Jongdae’s hands.
“Security cameras,” Jongdae whispers in lieu of a response, sparing a moment to point vaguely at a spot a little ways away before going back to his furious typing. There are agents like Kai that are much better hackers than Jongdae, since it’s always been more of a hobby for him than a specialty. But what he knows is more than enough to deal with some mediocre criminal’s department store security system.
“There,” he huffs, pleased. “The cameras have started feeding back a loop to the security screens. That should give us a few minutes at least to look around.”
Gun gripped tightly in both hands, Jongdae slides quickly along the edge of the patio until he reaches a door. Finding it unlocked, he motions Suho over and then slips inside.
They’re in a sitting room, a bit gaudily decorated for Jongdae’s taste-all gold leaf and carved wood-and a quick inspection reveals nothing of interest.
“Come on, let’s try to find some stairs,” he says, opening the door to an adjoining room a crack to ensure it too is empty.
“Why stairs?” Suho whispers as they hurry through room after room, Jongdae briefly inspecting each one for any hint of a hidden passageway or disguised safe before moving on to the next.
“Because, if you have something to hide…” Jongdae says, pausing to tap on the wood in the center of a large blue wall. Aha. “You usually try to hide it somewhere that’s hard to find. At least if you’re an amateur like this guy. Real criminals are masters of hiding things in plain sight.”
And then Jongdae’s fitting the tips of his fingers into the hairline crack running along the grain of the wood and pulling hard until, with a slight groan and huff of dust, the panel slides back, revealing a dark staircase spiraling downward.
“Voila,” Jongdae says, clicking on his tiny LED flashlight and stepping inside. “Be sure to close the panel behind you, would you?”
“Close it? Are you sure?” Suho asks, a bit tremulously, and Jongdae sighs. “How are we going to get out?”
“Well, hopefully by the main entrance. But if necessary we can always push this door open again. Do you think the guy who owns this house wants to get stuck down here any more than we do?”
Suho says nothing, simply frowning and motioning for Jongdae to lead the way down the rickety staircase. At the bottom they’re met with an inky blackness that Jongdae’s tiny light does little to penetrate. Feeling along the wall on the right side of the staircase, Jongdae smiles when he finds the switch. Flipping it turns on several large floodlights, and suddenly the room is almost too bright, pale light illuminating piles of wooden crates stacked haphazardly across the floor.
“Give me a hand,” Jongdae mutters, stepping over to a nearby crate and trying to leverage the lid off.
“Need some help?” Suho says, and Jongdae looks up to see him offering a pair of pliers.
“Excellent!” Jongdae says, grabbing the pliers and working them under the edge of the lid. “Where did you find these?”
“There’s something that looks like a workbench over there,” Suho replies, wandering away from Jongdae to investigate some of the crates farther away.
“Hmm,” Jongdae grunts, finally managing to wrench the lid off. “Jackpot.”
Inside the crate are nestled half a dozen sub-machine guns and several hand grenades, along with some strange bottles filled with poisonous-looking liquids. Jongdae’s just about to call Suho when he hears a rustle and jerks around, senses on high alert.
What he sees is Suho standing bolt upright, pointing his gun at the shadows on the far side of the room.
“That’s right,” he hears Suho say slowly, “come out here and put your hands on your head. If you try anything, I’ll shoot.”
Damn, Jongdae thinks as he begins to inch around the backside of a particularly large stack of crates, hoping it will shield him from view.
“You’re pretty cocky for someone surrounded by several tons of explosives,” the man in the shadows says mockingly, but Suho’s expression never slips.
“I was completely serious,” he says again in that particularly authoritative tone he probably got from his father. “Get out here with your hands up.”
“All right, all right,” the man laughs, a wheezing sound that makes the hair on the back of Jongdae’s neck stand up. “It’s your funeral.”
And then the man’s stepping out into the light, raising his arms, and-
Mist. A sort of mist sprays out of his sleeve, directly at Suho’s face, and Suho drops his gun, hands clawing at his eyes as he begins to cough. Jongdae can see blood on his lips. Jumping out of his hiding spot, he aims his gun directly at the man and shouts, “Stay right there!”
The man seems to have other ideas, starting when he sees Jongdae and turning as if to flee. Jongdae waits until he actually starts running, and then he fires. It’s not much of a wound-with timely treatment he should heal-but it sends the man crashing to the ground, howling as he cradles his bleeding leg.
“Suho!” Jongdae yells, dodging around crates until he reaches his side. Suho’s lying on the ground, breath rattling strangely in his chest, and his lips are covered with a strange white substance that makes them look like they’re made of porcelain.
“Where’s the antidote?” Jongdae demands, turning and aiming his gun once again at the man lying behind him on the ground.
“What makes you think I have one?” the man asks slyly, wincing at the pain in his leg.
“You wouldn’t keep a poison like that up your sleeve without having an antidote easily accessible, it’s too dangerous,” Jongdae snaps. “So tell me where it is right now, or I swear I will kill you.”
“You already tried that,” the man croaks, “and you missed.”
“I wasn’t trying,” Jongdae says, stepping forward and ostentatiously cocking his gun. “This time I am.”
“Top shelf,” the man says, and Jongdae looks at him in confusion.
“What are you-”
“Top shelf,” the man says with another wheezy laugh. “Top shelf of that workbench.”
Keeping the gun trained on him, Jongdae walks slowly over to the workbench and starts to examine the shelves.
“You know that if you’re lying to me and this is another trick, you’re dead,” Jongdae says conversationally, pushing aside old coils of wire and bolt cutters as he hunts for anything remotely antidote-like.
“Doesn’t matter,” the man says, and Jongdae stops cold, his hand clasped around a little bottle filled with a bright green liquid.
“What did you say?” he asks shortly, walking back over to where the man’s lying.
“Doesn’t matter,” the man repeats, and this time he smiles. “I set off the house’s self-destruct sequence when I heard you two down here. Won’t be long now before all these explosives go off at once. None of us are making it out of here alive.”
“Speak for yourself,” Jongdae spits, turning and running back to Suho, pouring the green liquid over his ghostly lips, lifting his head up so it’s easier for him to swallow.
“Suho, Suho, can you hear me?” Jongdae asks, shaking him slightly in the vain hope that somehow it will make the antidote start working faster. He can hear a strange hissing noise filling the room-probably some sort of natural gas-and they’re running out of time.
Followed by the hysterical laughter of the man behind them, Jongdae hoists Suho up so he’s half-dragging, half-carrying him up the stairs. And then it’s back through all the empty rooms and suddenly Jongdae can hear a strange rumbling sound behind him. Just as they make it out onto the patio, the center of the house erupts into an enormous ball of flame.
Luckily, their driver is still there, waiting, and he speeds off as soon as Jongdae’s able to heave Suho into the car, yelling “Go! Go! Go!” and barely managing to get in himself. As they reach the highway and start heading back into the city, Suho begins to stir and Jongdae slides over, starting a basic check on his breathing and his heart rate.
“Ch-Chen?” Suho mumbles, and Jongdae starts, momentarily forgetting that Suho doesn’t know his real name.
“Yeah, I’m here, we’re okay, you did really well back there,” Jongdae whispers, using Suho’s tie to wipe the last remnants of the poison from his lips. Jongdae feels a little guilty about that, since that tie probably cost almost as much as the car they’re currently driving in, but knowing Suho’s suit collection, the loss of one tie shouldn’t be much of an imposition.
“Yeah, sure,” Suho says bitterly, and Jongdae looks up to find him staring angrily out the window. “All I did was make myself a liability to you. I’m sorry.”
“Well, it’s not like it was your fault this guy had some sort of crazy poison hidden up his sleeve. That’s not generally a thing people do,” Jongdae says, and he’s glad to see it makes the corners of Suho’s mouth turn up a little.
“I just…” Suho sighs, wrapping his arms around himself. “I told you I wasn’t used to field work and it’s true. I’m a strategist, that’s why they recruited me. I plan things. All those stories you hear about me? They’re all true, I did save the king of Thailand once. But it wasn’t actually me doing it, if that makes sense. I’m just the CIA’s mastermind. They give me a problem, tell me to solve it, and I do, no matter how many complications or twists or variables they throw at me. And I’m good. I’m not going to lie. But what I’m not good at is what you do-thinking in the moment, using a gun…”
“Well, it’s a long and well-respected tradition for noblemen to hire hit men to do the grunt work for them,” Jongdae jokes. “There’s no reason for you to be the one to break the trend.”
“I never wanted this,” Suho says suddenly, and Jongdae falls silent. His mind flashes to wires and electric shocks and the heavy weight of expectation and he thinks he knows exactly what Suho means. “Someone always telling me what to eat and where to go and how to dress, even who to marry, damn it! But first it was my father and then it was the CIA and I’m not fit for anything else but sometimes I wish I was…”
“Wow, so they still arrange marriages among you big business owners these days?” Jongdae laughs awkwardly, not sure why he suddenly feels so sick.
“Yeah,” Suho says with a wry smile. “Of course, they don’t call it that. But that’s what it is. See? My fiancée.”
And then Suho’s reaching into his jacket again, the same pocket where he keeps his gun, and pulling out a slightly crumpled photograph of a girl. She’s dressed all in white and she’s absolutely stunning, Jongdae thinks, hair thick and wavy, eyes dark and shining, figure slim and smile bright.
“Kwon Yuri,” Suho sighs, and Jongdae shivers at the strange tightness in his chest.
“She’s beautiful,” Jongdae says quickly, shoving the photo back into Suho’s hands. “I mean, when you said you were being forced into an arranged marriage, I definitely expected something worse. Any guy would love to marry a girl like her.”
“Any guy…” Suho mutters, and Jongdae turns away from him to look out the window. “But no one ever asks me what I want.”
---
“Do I look all right?” Suho asks tensely when they reach SM’s main building, trying to rub out the white residue still dotting his tie.
“I have to say, for being poisoned and nearly blown up just a few hours ago, I think you look great,” Jongdae laughs as he gets out of the car.
“Ah, my tie is a wreck,” Suho mutters, rubbing hard at the blotchy white patches.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Jongdae grimaces. “Why don’t you just take off the tie?”
“What?” Suho asks, looking at Jongdae as if he’s grown an extra head. “Chen, you can’t wear a suit without a tie.”
“Of course not! What was I thinking,” Jongdae sighs dramatically, and Suho shoots him a look, as if to check if he’s being mocked, before clearing his throat and straightening his tie for the thousandth time.
“I’m just sorry we didn’t get anything useful out of that trip,” Suho sighs as they walk up the steps to the building. “We wouldn’t even have to be doing this now if we’d been able to bring in that guy and all those crates.”
“Well, things can’t go perfectly all the time, Mr. Strategist,” Jongdae laughs, and he’s happy to see a small spread across Suho’s face as he pushes open the enormous glass doors.
There’s an incredibly bored-looking receptionist waiting at the front desk, rolling a pencil back and forth between her hands, and when Jongdae walks up and tells her he’s here to meet with Tao she jumps wildly, pencil going flying. Jongdae reaches out a hand and grabs it as it whizzes past him, and the receptionist gapes. Agent reflexes, what can he say?
“I’m sorry, who are you here to see?” she stammers, quickly pushing her glasses farther up her nose and adjusting her blouse to smooth out the wrinkles. Jongdae tries to imagine Minseok doing the same thing and laughs. The receptionist gives him a confused look, and Suho steps up to the desk to respond.
“We’re here for an interview with Zitao,” he says smoothly, and the receptionist gives another little start, this time not-so-subtly unbuttoning the top button of her blouse.
“Well, unfortunately I don’t have any interview scheduled for Tao today,” she says, leaning forward with a pout that makes Jongdae want to laugh again.
“Oh, you don’t? How strange,” Suho says and Jongdae can swear he’s lowered his voice half an octave. “Well, we do have an appointment, you can be sure of that, so maybe you could just tell us his whereabouts and we’ll do the rest?”
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt for me to do that,” the receptionist giggles, leaning back and typing furiously into her computer, hands flying over the keys. Suho looks over at Jongdae and rolls his eyes, and Jongdae can’t stop himself from snorting. The receptionist looks up at him oddly, but his face is instantly smooth and blank.
“Well, it looks like Tao-ssi is currently in Studio 2C,” she says at last, as Suho leans on the desk and smiles brightly. “The stairs are right over there.”
“Thank you ever so much,” he says before standing up and preparing to walk off. “We’ll forever be in your debt. If anyone asks, we’ll be sure to tell them we received nothing but the best service from the beautiful Sooyeon Jung.”
They leave the receptionist blushing furiously and the minute they enter the stairwell, they’re both laughing.
“That was a nice touch,” Jongdae says, “using her name like that. You really are quite charming.”
“And that’s why they give people like you the guns to deal with and people like me the people to deal with,” Suho says, clapping Jongdae on the shoulder. “Ah, nothing like a little practice to get me back in shape. After spending so much time with you I was beginning to think I’d lost my touch. My father would never forgive me if that happened, much less the CIA.”
“Well, it looks like you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Jongdae grins, but as they stride down the hallway towards the practice room, he finds he can’t keep the smile from sliding off his face.
They can hear music floating out of the room from a few meters away, some electro-pop song that Jongdae likes but he can tell Suho hates by the way he winces.
“Pop music not your cup of tea?” Jongdae laughs, enjoying the feel of the bass thumping in his bones. This kind of music is meant for people like him-you’re not supposed to appreciate it, just to feel it.
“I prefer rock, actually,” Suho says, and Jongdae smiles at the image of Suho in a suit at a rock concert. He can picture it pretty well after last night-Suho adrift in a sea of people, standing out like a light bulb in a dark room. When they reach the door, Suho motions for him to knock and so Jongdae does, letting his face go blank as he thinks of who he’s going to be for Tao.
“Oh. It’s you two again,” a young woman-probably a coordinator of some kind-says, grudgingly opening the door and stepping aside to let them in. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait, Zitao is preparing for his next concert and you really shouldn’t disturb his practice.”
“That’s perfectly fine, we’ll just wait over here-” Jongdae begins to say, but then Tao’s voice is echoing across the room, calling out his name. Jongdae watches him grab a towel off the floor and scrub his face before draping it around his neck. Tao’s dressed simply today-sweatpants and a thin tank top that shows off every line of bone and muscle-and Jongdae thinks that Tao really is quite attractive. That makes his job so much easier.
“I’m so glad you could meet with us,” Jongdae says, staring directly into Tao’s eyes. This time, though, he knows not to keep eye contact for too long. Better to look away quickly, as if blinded by the idol’s brilliant smile.
“Oh, of course, anytime,” Tao says, motioning them over to some chairs on the side of the room. Jongdae notices him checking his reflection in the mirror covering one wall of the room and smiles indulgently. Tao, noticing the smile, blushes and reaches down to shut off the boom box sitting at his feet.
“So, we shouldn’t be taking up too much of your time today,” Jongdae says quickly, grabbing a notebook that Suho hands him, seemingly produced out of nowhere, “I know how busy you are, what with the fantastic trajectory of your career. I feel like this session should just be the basics. Kind of a getting-to-know-you sort of thing.”
“Well, ask away,” Tao says, leaning back in his chair and turning to glance at Suho so that Jongdae can get a good look at his face in profile. “I look forward very much to getting to know you.”
“How about you start by telling us how you got started as an idol?” Suho says warmly. “I know you’ve probably answered that question a million times, but we’d like to hear the full version, uncut, heartfelt.”
“Remind me who this guy is?” Tao asks shortly, turning back to Jongdae and jerking a thumb in Suho’s direction.
“He’s my assistant,” Jongdae says, slapping Suho on the back in a way that makes Suho wince and Tao grin. “He brings me coffee, records some of my interviews, that kind of thing. Is there a problem?”
“Well, I thought that this article was going to be a real, in-depth representation of me,” Tao says, shooting a significant look in Jongdae’s direction. “And I think it’d just be hard to talk honestly with your…assistant…here.”
“Your wish is my command,” Jongdae says with a slight bow of the head, and Suho gets the hint, standing up quickly.
“I’ve put a bug on the bottom of my chair,” he bends down and mutters in Jongdae’s ear before straightening up and sweeping out of the room, motioning for all the other people milling about to follow him. Tao watches him go with a look of mild disgust on his face.
“Uptight much?” Tao scoffs, leaning back in his chair.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Jongdae sighs, rolling his eyes. “But he’s a great assistant and those are just so hard to find these days.”
“So,” Tao asks, and this time Jongdae can see the predictable gleam in his eyes. “Where are we going to begin?”
So Jongdae asks him about his family, about moving from China to Korea, about his favorite Korean dish, about performing all over Asia-all in all, completely standard questions Jongdae’s seen idols asked a thousand times, not that he spends that much time reading Korean entertainment news. He just gets bored sometimes.
Tao answers each question slowly, as if taking time to think of the right words, and Jongdae pretends not to notice the way his eyes keep sliding off Jongdae’s to watch his lips, the curve of his wrists, his stomach when Jongdae purposefully shifts in his seat, pulling his button-down tight against his skin. At the end of half an hour, Jongdae knows he has Tao well and truly hooked.
“Well, I think that’s enough for today,” Jongdae says, and Tao jerks a bit, as if awakened from a dream. “I think if I keep you for too long your coordinators will have my head.”
“Then maybe next time we’ll have to meet somewhere a little more…private,” Tao suggests slyly, placing one of his thin, white hands on top of Jongdae’s notebook as it balances atop his knee.
“Anywhere you want,” Jongdae says softly, carefully moving Tao’s fingers off his notebook and onto the arm of his chair. Just enough contact to indicate interest, but not too much to show that Jongdae isn’t the cautious type.
“I have one more performance in Seoul before I’m leaving for China next week,” Tao says and Jongdae’s quick to erase any hint of surprise from his face. So they have less time than he’d thought. He hopes Suho caught that from where’s he undoubtedly listening in the car.
“So soon?” Jongdae asks, sticking out his lower lip in a way just childish enough to draw Tao’s eyes. “How am I supposed to get a true picture of the great Huang Zitao in such little time?”
“Come to this apartment,” Tao hisses, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a piece of paper with an address and phone number scribbled across it. “I’ll be staying there this week. Text me and let me know you’re coming. I can’t wait to finish our little interview.”
“I look forward to it,” Jongdae says, lifting Tao’s fingers to his lips and pressing the ghost of a kiss against the back of his hand. An unconventional move, to be sure, but from everything he’s seen he’s fairly sure Tao wants an old-fashioned prince charming, even if he won’t admit it to himself.
Sure enough, a glance in the mirror as Jongdae sweeps out shows Tao sitting dumbfounded in his seat, a bright pink blush seeping across his cheeks, cradling his hand to his chest. He does feel a little bad for the guy. It must be awful having to talk about your ideal girl all the time and know that you’ll never be able to have a boyfriend, never be able to live your life as the person you really are. In that way, Jongdae supposes he and Tao aren’t all that different. In both of their professions, being yourself is a liability.
“Sounds like that went well,” Suho says shortly as Jongdae throws himself back into the car, heaving a sigh of relief.
“You don’t sound all that pleased,” Jongdae observes, shooting a look at Suho’s impassive face.
“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” Suho says, turning to look out the window. “You’re supposed to be finding out information about his possible illegal activities, not fucking him.”
“Whoa there, I think you’re moving a little fast, huh?” Jongdae laughs. “I don’t know if you realize this, Suho, but this is what we agents do. All those little plans of yours? They only succeed because we lie to people and we manipulate people and we get them to do what we want. You’re a businessman, surely you understand.”
“Just stick to the plan,” Suho says, and Jongdae leans back against the seat with a small huff of annoyance.
“Well, at least I got his address, right?” Jongdae says, and he smirks at the way Suho’s eyes immediately snap to the piece of paper in his hand. “If he is dealing weapons, his contacts will probably want to meet him there.”
“Excellent,” Suho breathes, and Jongdae can see the cogs in his brain beginning to turn, steadily picking up speed. “So I can wait outside, you’ll be inside, it’ll be perfect. This could work…”
“Stick to the plan my ass,” Jongdae mutters to himself as he lets himself out of the car and climbs up the stairs to his room, preferring the exertion to being stuck in an elevator with Suho.
He doesn’t mean to take a nap. He’s probably got a million e-mails to go through, medical records to update, and there was that whole set of passport data he was supposed to be forging for Chanyeol. But his room is so cool and dark and before he knows it he’s slipping…
The sun is bright in his eyes, and Jongdae reaches up a hand to shade his face. He’s walking along a thin concrete path. On either side of him are grassy fields enclosed by large buildings. Hitching up the textbooks he’s carrying in his arms, Jongdae picks his away across one of the fields, dodging around half-naked sunbathers and narrowly avoiding getting brained by a stray volleyball.
“Hey! Jongdae!” he hears a voice calling from behind him, and he smiles when he sees Luhan heading towards him, tripping every once in a while as he tries to avoid a gaggle of girls “studying.” More like studying the group of guys playing volleyball nearby, Jongdae thinks with a laugh as Luhan suddenly trips, falling into the arms Jongdae just barely manages to get up in time.
“Whoa, thanks,” Luhan says with a brilliant smile, standing up and brushing off his shirt. Jongdae only just remembers to drop his arms back down to his sides. “Where are you going?”
“Oh, I was just heading up to the library to do some studying,” Jongdae says sheepishly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.
“Oh, no, you weren’t,” Luhan laughs, hooking an arm around Jongdae’s shoulders and pulling until they’re pressed tightly against each other. “You were going to come and play video games with Yixing and I because you need a little social interaction.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jongdae says with a sniff. “I get plenty of social interaction.”
“Yeah, sure, if books counted as people,” Luhan says, eyes glittering brightly with reflected sunshine. “But they don’t. So come on!”
And he links his fingers in Jongdae’s and pulls and there’s nothing Jongdae can do except follow, stumbling a little as Luhan drags him over the uneven ground. He tries a few times to free his hand from Luhan’s grasp, but whenever he does Luhan only holds on tighter, flashing Jongdae that smile that makes him feel a little weak in the knees.
“Oh, and by the way,” Luhan says as he wrenches open the door to their dormitory, ushering Jongdae inside with an overly gallant bow, “looks like time’s up for you and your little friends.”
“I don’t-what?” Jongdae asks, confused, but when he turns around he hears gunfire and the world goes red and then black and then silent.
[2]
Pairing: Jongdae/Junmyeon
Rating: PG-13
Genre: romance, spy!au
Length: 25k
Summary: Jongdae’s spent a lifetime running from the truth but something about Junmyeon makes him want to stop running.
Warning: references to character death, very mild violence
And you shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.
unofficial CIA motto, John 8:32
“Duck!” someone yells, and then Jongdae is diving under a table in the middle of the an enormous ballroom on the third floor of one of the most expensive hotels in New York City and he can’t even spare a moment to think about how strange it is that people were in here just a few hours ago for a wedding.
“I’m going around the back, cover me,” Chanyeol hisses through the mic in Jongdae’s ear, and Jongdae quickly wraps his hands around the top of the table he’s hiding under, flipping it on its side and turning it into a temporary barrier against the hail of bullets whizzing past his ears.
“I’m on it,” he grunts, lifting his head just high enough that he can see the men shooting at him from behind their own table barricade. Out of the corner of his eye, Jongdae sees one of them sitting up a little too high to get a better view and he takes the shot. The man goes down, a red stain blossoming across his suit jacket sleeve.
“Chen, you need to get out of there!” Chanyeol’s suddenly yelling in his ear, and Jongdae twists around wildly, trying to see the source of his distress. Sure, Jongdae’s pinned down, but with reinforcements mere moments away this is actually a fairly safe situation.
“In case you didn’t notice,” he gasps, firing off a few random shots over the top of the table, “I can’t really move.”
“You have to try,” Chanyeol says hurriedly, and Jongdae can hear gunshots in the background. “There are four-well, three now-more of them heading directly for your position, and I just heard from Command, the reinforcements’ ETA is ten minutes at best.”
“Shit,” Jongdae swears angrily, more to himself than to Chanyeol, “Okay, I’ll see if I can cut around behind these tables.”
“Hurry,” Chanyeol says, and then the line goes dead.
Jongdae quickly slides to the end of his table barricade and, bending over so that he’s a lower target than they’ll be anticipating, sprints over to the next table, firing off counter-shots all the while. Damn, he only has a few rounds left. For a routine mission, this is really not going well.
He’s planning to head for the emergency exit and turns to make a break for it, only to see the door slam open and three new attackers advance through it, adding their shots to the general din in the room.
Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.
“Chanyeol,” he growls into his mic. “A little help would be nice! I’m completely trapped here, they’ve cut off all the exits and I’m ridiculously outnumbered.”
“I’d love to help you,” he hears Chanyeol yell over the shatter of breaking glass, “But I’m a little busy right now!”
Jongdae can see the men closing in-they’re only a few meters away when he hears a sickening click coming from the barrel of his pistol rather than the usual satisfying crack.
Oh, no.
Jongdae’s eyes dart around the room, trying to find a door, a window, any form of escape the men might have overlooked. He curses every single person in Command for not giving them more backup. “Oh, you and Chanyeol will be fine,” Baekhyun had said, “It’s just a routine exchange with some Russian mobsters, they know the deal,” he said. Jongdae hates everything.
Then he sees it-a large picture window behind him and a little to the left. Sure, he’s three stories off the ground, but the odds of him surviving a three-story fall onto the sidewalk below are much better than his current ones with the men getting closer every second.
But just as Jongdae’s about to throw himself towards the window, the whole thing spontaneously shatters into a million glittering pieces. He ducks, covering his head as he feels shards of glass embedding themselves in his jacket sleeve. The enormous crash and ensuing avalanche of glass and dust distracts Jongdae’s attackers long enough for him to race over to the window, fully intending to launch himself out, when there’s suddenly a hand grabbing his collar, tossing him back into the room.
Jongdae scrambles for cover, holding up his gun even though he has nothing left to shoot, and is about to try for another leap out the window when he realizes that the room is silent. The shooting has stopped. And then, looking up through the rolling cloud of dust and powdered glass, he suddenly sees why. Two of his attackers are already on the ground and the others have dropped their weapons, hands up in the universal gesture of submission, as three operatives dressed in standard black uniforms facing them carrying very formidable-looking firearms.
“Chanyeol?” Jongdae asks softly into his mic, “I thought you said it was going to be ten minutes until reinforcements arrived?”
“Yeah, they’re still en route, but don’t worry, I’m coming!” Chanyeol pants in his ear.
“There’s no rush,” Jongdae says slowly, before shutting off the connection and getting to his feet. Standing directly in front of him, framed by the blinding sunshine coming through the broken window, is a man he’s never seen before. Slipping a pistol back into the jacket of his tuxedo, he steps forward and offers Jongdae his hand.
“Agent Suho, CIA,” the man says warmly, and Jongdae can only stare in amazement at his perfectly round fingernails, his slicked-back hair, and his darkly glittering eyes. When Jongdae doesn’t respond, the man drops the proffered hand and smiles, and Jongdae feels his breath catch oddly. “And you are?”
“Chen! What happened-are you all right-” Chanyeol races into the room and stops short, staring wide-eyed at the man standing in front of Jongdae. “Who are you?”
“Agent Suho, as I was just telling your partner here,” the man says, offering his hand instead to Chanyeol, who has the presence of mind to shake it and respond with a sharp, “Agent Park. Now would you mind telling me what you’re doing here?”
“I make it a point to keep an eye on nearby communications whenever possible,” Suho says, tapping his ear where Jongdae can just make out a thin wire, nearly invisible against his pale skin. “In case I’m needed.”
“Why have I never-”
“Heard of me?” Suho laughs, and Chanyeol and Jongdae exchange an incredulous look. Jongdae’s been in the business for years now, and Chanyeol’s been in even longer, there’s no way they’d have missed hearing about someone so…so…Suho. “Probably because I mostly do very undercover work. So undercover most CIA agents don’t even know it exists, actually. But sometimes it’s nice to try out field work, you know?”
Suho pushes up his sleeve to check the time on a Rolex that probably costs more money than Jongdae’s ever seen outside of a bank vault.
“But unfortunately I am supposed to be at my father’s business lunch right now, so you’ll have to excuse me. I’m glad I could help, Agents Park and…I’m sorry, I don’t think I ever caught your name?”
“Chen,” Jongdae manages to splutter this time, “Agent Chen.”
“Agents Park and Chen, then,” Suho says, same genteel smile on his face. “Oh and by the way, I picked up these operatives with the guns a few blocks away, you really should report back to Command about how long it took them to get here. Time is of the essence in this business, as I’m sure you know.”
“You what? But they-and you-” Chanyeol stammers, but Suho’s already turned and walked back to the gaping hole where the window used to be, delicately stepping over particularly large pieces of jagged glass with his patent leather shoes.
“I’ll be seeing you,” he says, grasping a rope Jongdae hadn’t even seen hanging there before leaping out into the open air and disappearing.
Still stunned, Jongdae turns to Chanyeol as the black-uniformed operatives go about handcuffing the Russian mobsters, his mouth hanging open. Chanyeol doesn’t look much better-his face is pale and his eyes are so wide Jongdae worries they’ll pop out of his head.
“So…” Jongdae says, his voice echoing strangely in his ears. “Who the hell was that?”
“Agent Suho,” Chanyeol breathes. “How have I never heard of him?”
“I have no idea,” Jongdae says. “But I’m going to find out.”
---
It’s several months before Jongdae sees Suho again, but by then he’s spent so much time researching him that some of his fellow operatives-no one will admit it but everyone knows Oh Sehun started it-have begun doing things like leaving fake restraining orders in his mailbox, and sticking made-up Agent Biographies under his windshield wipers.
Yet another problem with working for one of the nation’s top intelligence agencies, Jongdae thinks in annoyance as he walks into the Command Center one day and almost trips over a copy of the New York Times lying on the ground with the headline, “Exclusive Interview with the elusive Agent Suho!”
“You’re slacking,” he says shortly to Kim Minseok, the good-for-nothing receptionist, as he slaps the newspaper down on his desk. “This newspaper is dated 2025.”
“Damn it, my finger must have slipped!” Minseok sighs, but Jongdae can tell from his smug grin that it probably wasn’t an accident. “Too bad you’re so good at picking up information like this. Can’t put anything past you, huh?”
“Will you all give it a break?” Jongdae asks disgustedly, turning as if to storm off before realizing that he has no idea where he’s supposed to go. “Okay, just tell me where my briefing is.”
“Down the hall and to the right, Room 14,” Minseok says without looking up from a detailed inspection of his cuticles. “Have fun!”
“Yeah, yeah, because this is so fun,” Jongdae mutters to himself, stalking off down the hallway.
It’s not that there isn’t much information about Suho, though admittedly most of it is classified to a level that Jongdae can’t crack without the help of someone like Agent Kai, and he really doesn’t want anyone else knowing how much he wants to know about Suho. Command is quick to detect and shut down obsessions among their agents-they’re far too common and far too deadly to be overlooked even when, like Jongdae, the agent involved seems fairly stable. No, the real problem is that Jongdae doesn’t know how much of the information he finds is real.
What seems pretty well agreed upon is that Suho is the son of a ridiculously wealthy businessman and that the CIA recruited him when he was very young, starting training as soon as they thought he was old enough to keep secrets, since his position of power and perfect responses to various covert examinations made him the ideal agent. But what Jongdae can’t understand is how Suho manages to keep up his cover as the dutiful son, preparing to take over his father’s vast empire, when in the space of a month he’ll hear rumors that Suho is in Thailand preventing the assassination of the king, that Suho is in Venezuela infiltrating the operation of a top drug lord, that Suho is in Paris investigating a terrorist cell trying to get their hands on several kilos of enriched uranium.
It just doesn’t add up. Suho is a mystery. And Jongdae hates mysteries.
Taking a deep breath, he knocks loudly on the door of Room 14. Jongdae doesn’t really mind briefings, it’s just that sitting in desk chairs makes him twitchy. He’s known agents who have done everything short of going rogue to avoid getting stuck with a promotion and desk job, and he can’t say he really blames them. You don’t get into the CIA’s top ranks by wanting to play it safe.
“Come in,” a voice says wearily from within, and Jongdae pushes the door open, only to stop short in shock.
“Nice to see you again, Agent Chen,” Suho says from his seat on the right side of the table, as he picks an invisible piece of lint off what looks like an Armani suit. Jongdae is so surprised he can’t manage more than a curt nod before taking the seat offered to him by his handler.
“First of all, let me apologize for not giving you much of a break in between assignments,” his handler, a small man named Byun Baekhyun who is so kind that Jongdae sometimes wonders how he got a job at the CIA, says earnestly. Jongdae just shrugs. He prefers shorter breaks to longer ones-the longer he waits between assignments, the more restless he gets, and the more likely he is to do something dangerous just for a rush. Which reminds him, he’ll have to call Sehun and cancel their helicopter piloting training session next week.
“I have a mission that I can’t perform alone,” Suho says smoothly, staring directly into Jongdae’s eyes, and Jongdae has to resist the urge to blink or look away. Breaking eye contact first makes him weak, that much he’s been taught.
“Well, what is it?” Jongdae asks, reaching towards the manila folder lying in the center of the table. But before he can open it, Suho’s warm hand lands on top of his, trapping it against the table.
“Not yet,” he says, and Jongdae jerks his hand back like it’s been burned. “I want to explain it to you first before you see the details.”
“Well, hurry up then,” Jongdae says, starting to get a bit alarmed at the way his heart rate is speeding up. Maybe the stress is getting to him more than he thought. He can still feel the warmth of Suho’s palm against his skin.
“So, as you probably know, I’ve never been much of a field agent,” Suho says, and Jongdae laughs, the image of Suho smashing through a window into the middle of a shootout painfully clear in his mind. It’s only when he realizes no one else is laughing with him that he trails off, shooting a confused glance at Baekhyun, who seems to be avoiding his eyes.
“Oh, come on,” Jongdae says, when no one speaks. “You’re telling me that you’re not much of a field agent? We hear a story about you almost every week around here!”
“You do?” Suho says and he seems legitimately surprised. Jongdae decides this conversation is not going quite the way he hoped.
“But that doesn’t matter, what’s the mission you need me for?”
“Well,” Suho says, and when Jongdae looks at him he can see his eyes are shining with excitement. “It involves Seoul, a famous idol, and a lot of explosives.”
From the way Suho explains the mission, it doesn’t sound too difficult. They’ve got an idol who’s suspected of smuggling weapons for a North Korean terrorist cell and their job is to smoke him out, catch him in the act, and hopefully further cement South Korea’s dependence on the US in matters of national security. Just another day at the office. Which is why Jongdae thinks it’s so strange that they called him in.
“So, why did you need me specifically for this mission?” he asks, flipping through photographs of the idol-a Huang Zitao-and the specs for the explosives he’s supposedly transporting.
“Well, you’re Korean, for one thing, which makes it easier,” Suho says but Jongdae knows he’s lying. If that were the truth, they could have chosen any number of operatives-Sehun or Jongin or Chanyeol, even Wu Fan with his flawless Korean would have been able to blend in. There has to be another reason.
“Fine, don’t tell me, but just know that I don’t operate well when I’m being lied to,” Jongdae says, a note of warning in his voice that seems to surprise Suho. He smiles, as if to appease Jongdae, but says nothing more.
“I do just have to ask the standard question,” Baekhyun says quickly into the thick silence. Jongdae doesn’t take his eyes off of Suho’s but waves at Baekhyun to continue. “Are you confident in your ability to perform on this assignment?”
“Very,” Jongdae says almost before Baekhyun is finished speaking, even tone revealing none of the anxiety bubbling in his stomach.
“Well, everything seems to line up-your psych profile was just updated, right? And it looks like we’re in the clear.”
“I know,” Jongdae says, watching as Suho finally drops his eyes to his watch before standing and pushing back his chair. Jongdae’s psych profile is perfect. And he should know.
He’s the one wrote it.
---
“So, going on a mission with Suho, huh?” Chanyeol says when Jongdae walks into Command the next day. Jongdae’s already a bit grumpy at having to come to this place two days in a row-he likes the tiny, nondescript apartment he was assigned much more than this enormous building, all glass and steel and secrets-and he’s definitely not in the mood to be teased.
“Yes, I am,” he says shortly. “Now have you seen him or are you just going to stand there like an idiot?”
“Whoa there, partner,” Chanyeol says good-naturedly, pushing his hair out of his eyes. Jongdae thinks viciously that his new haircut makes him look more like a puppy than a human being, but then he realizes how curt he’s just been and sighs.
“Look, I’m sorry, Chanyeol,” Jongdae says tiredly, massaging his temples in a way he knows makes him look ten years older than he actually is. “I just didn’t sleep well last night, and now I have this mission and I’m going to be spending the entire day on a plane and I still don’t really have any idea why Suho asked me to do this.”
“I’m sure he had his reason,” Chanyeol says reassuringly, patting Jongdae on the back. Jongdae wants so badly to lean into the touch, to just let himself be comforted, but he knows that wouldn’t be professional. Camaraderie isn’t actively discouraged but it certainly isn’t considered useful.
“Ready to go, Agent Chen?” a smooth voice says from behind him, and Jongdae jumps away from Chanyeol, turning to see Suho standing in the doorway, duffle bag in hand. It’s strange seeing Suho in a t-shirt and jeans-Jongdae had just kind of assumed that he lived in a suit, looking suave and aloof all the time.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” Jongdae says, hoisting his backpack onto his shoulder and following Suho out the door to the waiting car.
“Have fun!” Chanyeol shouts at his receding back and it actually makes Jongdae smile. He’s finally going, he’s got a new mission now, and he can feel some of the anxiety starting to recede. Let the fun begin.
They have seats across the aisle from each other, and Jongdae wonders at the way Suho never seems to shut his eyes, even though the long flight is exhausting. Jongdae of course doesn’t sleep either, but that’s just part of the job. If Suho really isn’t a field agent, as he’d told Jongdae, then he’d expect him to act more like a civilian. There’s obviously more to Suho than meets the eye, and that’s saying something, Jongdae thinks ironically, since there’s plenty of mystery to be had just from looking at Suho.
And Jongdae does spend more time than he’d like to admit watching Suho gaze at the sky through the tiny airplane window. He watches the way he stays perfectly still for hours on end, not so much as scratching an itch, and the way the light slides across his perfectly styled hair. Suho is a mystery, and it’s Jongdae’s job to solve mysteries. He’s fascinated.
The minute they touch down, Suho’s already on his phone, and Jongdae can hear him firing off a rapid string of commands. No matter what else Suho may be, he’s certainly used to being obeyed.
“We’ve got a car waiting right outside to take us to the concert,” Suho says, handing Jongdae his bag from the overhead compartment, and the full meaning of what he’s just said hits Jongdae mid-yawn.
“Concert? We’re going to a concert now?”
“Yes, now,” Suho says, and he looks quizzically down at Jongdae who suddenly feels very childish. Of course they’re starting right away, that’s how it works.
“Okay,” Jongdae says as they leave the terminal, walking quickly towards the sliding doors leading outside, “so what’s my cover?”
“I’ll tell you when we get in the car,” Suho says, eyes scanning the crowd almost as often as Jongdae’s are, searching for any flash of movement that might hint at an ambush, a weapon, an enemy. And Jongdae’s not sure why he feels so inexperienced when Suho’s around, but he hates it. Maybe this explains why he feels the need to slam the car door so hard in Suho’s face when he slides into his seat. Suho calmly gets in the other side, as if ignorant of Jongdae’s petty annoyance, and this only serves to make Jongdae madder. But he has to be professional. He has to show Suho that he didn’t make a mistake picking Jongdae.
“Cover?” Jongdae asks again as Suho leans forward to tell the driver an address before sliding back against the seat, sighing slightly.
“Oh, right,” Suho says slowly, as if he’d forgotten all about it. Jongdae really doesn’t understand how he stays so calm all the time. “You’re a reporter doing an in-depth piece on Tao. Kind of a “day-in-the-life” type thing. It’ll give you an excuse to keep track of his movements and stay close to him, and I’ve been told you have fairly good writing abilities, so if he wants to see a rough draft you’ll be able to come up with something.”
“A reporter?” Jongdae says, a bit incredulously. “Won’t they see right through that? What agency am I even supposed to be working for? One call and they’ll know we’re lying to them.”
“Then I guess it’s your job to be a good liar,” Suho says, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow. Jongdae sighs in disgust and decides not to talk again for the rest of the ride.
The concert itself is an agent’s worst nightmare-hundreds of people milling around, most wearing jackets and ponchos to protect against the cold wind and spattering rain, and in the space between the darkness and the flashing stage lights anyone could be a threat, anyone could be concealing a weapon. Jongdae’s eyes are twitching back and forth so fast he can feel a headache coming on, and he has to fight the urge to reach for the gun stuck in his waistband every time someone brushes against him.
“In here,” Suho yells over the noise of the crowd, and ushers Jongdae into a hallway that appears to lead backstage. There’s a security guard-a strangely short and delicate-looking man, in Jongdae’s opinion-standing there, but a few words from Suho are all that are needed to get them a smile and a pass down the hallway and into a brightly lit dressing room.
“Agent D.O.,” Suho says with a lopsided grin, motioning behind him to the security guard. “He’s one of ours.”
“I wondered…” Jongdae laughs, moving further into the room, examining the enormous display of make-up products and the racks full of very strange clothing.
“Okay, Tao should be here any minute,” Suho says, and Jongdae has to fight back a grin as he finally hears a note of worry in his voice. “Remember, you’re a news reporter, you love Tao’s work, make sure to keep praising him, idols live for that, or at least they expect it, you’re currently working independently but you’re going to try to sell the article to a few top internet news providers-”
“Suho, it’ll be fine,” Jongdae says with a grin, because he can feel adrenaline rushing through his veins and all the anxiety is gone. It’s almost a little worrying how addicted Jongdae is to this feeling, but thankfully there’s no time to dwell on that because the door to the dressing room is opening and a man wearing the most ridiculous outfit Jongdae’s ever seen is sweeping through it in a cloud of perfume and chattering stylists.
“And who exactly are you?” the man who Jongdae supposes must be Huang Zitao says in an extremely bored tone. Simultaneously tired of the constant press coverage but still craving to see his face on the cover of magazines. The hint of nicotine in the air means he probably smokes because he thinks a cigarette looks good clasped in his long fingers and he wants to show the rest of the world that he’s not afraid of death. The way he’s glaring at Jongdae shows that he’s interested, because Jongdae is something new, but his attention span is short-his eyes are already wandering over to Suho, to his own face in the dressing room mirror, before coming back to Jongdae.
That’s it. Jongdae’s got him.
“Ah, you must be Huang Zitao,” Jongdae says jovially, making sure to keep his smile small and sarcastic. He holds out a hand that Tao doesn’t take. “You can call me Chen.”
“Chen? No last name?” Tao scoffs, but Jongdae can see the glint of interest in his eyes.
“I find that the fewer names I have, the less I have to explain to people,” Jongdae says smoothly, leaning back against a clothing rack. “I’m sure you understand.”
“I suppose I do,” Tao says. “But that doesn’t explain what exactly you’re doing in my dressing room. Obviously you’re somebody important, or else security wouldn’t have let you in. So what is it? Photoshoot? Lawsuit? Composer? Choreographer?”
“Oh, nothing so vulgar,” Jongdae sneers, and he definitely has Tao’s interest now. “I deal with words, the most real thing in this world, if you believe Oscar Wilde.”
“So you’re a writer?” Tao prompts, angrily waving off the hovering stylists as they try to remove his ridiculous fur vest.
“A reporter, actually,” Jongdae says, turning to stare at the flurry of motion over by the make-up table as if losing interest in the conversation. “I’m working freelance at the moment, but I knew that if I could get this story I’d have a chance at any of the big entertainment news networks.”
“What story is that?” Tao asks, and Jongdae grins smugly at the way he’s unconsciously moved closer and closer until he’s standing less than a meter away.
“You,” Jongdae purrs, and Tao blinks slowly, as if confused.
“What about me?” he asks. “My newest album came out a few months ago and this performance isn’t really anything special.”
“Nonsense!” Jongdae says, waving a hand as if to dispel the ridiculous thought. “Everything you do is special Zitao, SM’s Golden Boy. That’s why I want this assignment. I want to get to know you, get to know what makes you tic. Get to know what makes you-” and here Jongdae steps even closer to Tao, running a finger up his chest until he reaches his heart, “excited.”
Tao’s mouth is hanging open and he seems at a loss for words until Jongdae steps back, holding out his hand once again. This time, Tao takes it, mutely pumping it once, twice, before stepping back himself.
“So we have a deal?” Jongdae asks, picking a piece of imaginary lint off his sleeve.
“I think we do,” Tao replies, once again all charisma and dark glances.
“Excellent,” Jongdae says, smiling with just a little too much teeth showing. “I’ll be in touch.”
As Tao is swept out of the room by a chattering crowd of stylists, Suho turns to Jongdae in amazement.
“That was incredible!” he breathes, and Jongdae feels a bubble of pride swelling in his chest. “Even I believed you! It was like…you knew exactly what to say…”
“It’s not really that hard once you know what to look for,” Jongdae says nonchalantly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Of course it helped that he was fantastically gay and I’m not particularly terrible looking.”
“What are you-what?” Suho gasps, whirling around as if to check for anyone behind him listening in. “You know they all dress like that, it’s just part of being an idol-”
“Oh, please,” Jongdae snorts, “I was talking about the way he couldn’t stop staring at your ass when he walked in the room.”
He laughs when Suho’s hands make an unconscious move towards his behind before he’s able to stop himself.
“Well, you certainly do notice everything,” Suho says with an embarrassed laugh, running his fingers through his hair in the way Jongdae’s starting to notice he does whenever he’s nervous.
“That’s my job,” Jongdae says, dropping his eyes to the floor. And it’s true, it’s his job to know everything about everyone before they know anything about him, but he also can’t really blame Tao for his interest. Objectively speaking, Suho does have a very nice ass.
---
By the time they get to the hotel, all Jongdae wants to do is sleep and he’s incredibly grateful to hear Suho say something about him getting some rest and seeing him tomorrow at 8am for their first meeting with Tao. He’s asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.
And then he’s walking down the same backstage corridor, following the route he barely remembers to get to Tao’s dressing room, but when he opens the door, it’s not Tao there but Suho, standing bare-chested and glassy-eyed in the middle of the room. And Jongdae’s about to call to him, to say something important that he can’t quite find the words to express, when suddenly there’s a gunshot and Suho is falling, deep red blood splattering across his chest, across Jongdae’s hands, and all Jongdae can do is watch the blood pooling on the white floor tiles as someone behind him screams and Suho stares at him with those cold, shallow eyes and suddenly Jongdae’s choking, hands closing tightly around his throat, and that’s when he wakes up.
It’s hard to get back to sleep.
---
“Good morning!” Suho says brightly, and Jongdae groans. It’s simply indecent for someone to be so cheery this early in the morning. Call him a creature of the night, but Jongdae believes sunrises are completely overrated and no one should ever be forced to be awake before 9am. At least Suho is wearing a suit again. The casual dress had been freaking Jongdae out.
“Just show me the way to the car before I collapse,” he says grumpily. He hasn’t had nightmares in a while, and he’d forgotten how tired they leave him, almost as if he hadn’t slept at all.
“Sure, sure,” Suho says, opening the door for Jongdae so he can slide inside. Jongdae considers being offended by the fact that Suho seems to think he can’t open a car door by himself, but decides that would require too much effort.
“So, anything in particular I should be asking him?” Jongdae asks after several minutes of silence. He’s finally starting to feel a little more awake.
“No, not that I can think of,” Suho says, brow wrinkled in thought. “Right now we’re just trying to build up his trust, get him to believe he can confide in us. There’s always the possibility that someone’s forcing him into doing this-it’s not hard to ruin an idol, all it takes is a bit of a push and the public does the rest of the work-hold on.”
As Suho presses his buzzing phone to his ear, Jongdae stares out the window and wonders how many missions have begun with the words, “Build up their trust.” Funny to think that the success of an agency so steeped in deception depends so much on trust.
“Turn the car around,” Suho barks suddenly, and then Jongdae’s being thrown against the door of the car as the driver swerves into what Jongdae’s sure is a completely illegal U-turn.
“What happened? Where are we going?” Jongdae asks, reflexively looking out the window in case armed attackers are surrounding the car. It wouldn’t be the first time. “What about our meeting with Tao?”
“It’s been rescheduled, but we may not need it to happen if this lead turns out to be good,” Suho says, mouth set in a thin line. “Command thinks they may have found the address of one of the terrorists Tao’s been in contact with. They want us to go check it out.”
“Well, I was looking forward to meeting the illustrious Huang Zitao again,” Jongdae says mildly. “But I suppose this isn’t a bad way to spend the morning instead.”
Suho flashes him a wry grin, fingers reaching inside his suit jacket as if to check that his gun is still there, and Jongdae smiles back, all traces of tiredness gone.
Jongdae whistles when they first see the house-no, it’s more like a mansion, really-through the trees. The driver’s taken them down a road that stretches around the back of the property, and as soon as he slows down enough, Jongdae is up and out of the car, hunching low to the ground as he dives for a nearby bush. Suho’s hot on his heels, though Jongdae has to fight the urge to shush him as he comes crashing through the branches to kneel next to Jongdae. It’s strange how Suho manages to seem so knowledgeable and yet so inexperienced at the same time. Jongdae just can’t quite figure it out.
“What’s that?” Suho hisses, pointing at the touchscreen device in Jongdae’s hands.
“Security cameras,” Jongdae whispers in lieu of a response, sparing a moment to point vaguely at a spot a little ways away before going back to his furious typing. There are agents like Kai that are much better hackers than Jongdae, since it’s always been more of a hobby for him than a specialty. But what he knows is more than enough to deal with some mediocre criminal’s department store security system.
“There,” he huffs, pleased. “The cameras have started feeding back a loop to the security screens. That should give us a few minutes at least to look around.”
Gun gripped tightly in both hands, Jongdae slides quickly along the edge of the patio until he reaches a door. Finding it unlocked, he motions Suho over and then slips inside.
They’re in a sitting room, a bit gaudily decorated for Jongdae’s taste-all gold leaf and carved wood-and a quick inspection reveals nothing of interest.
“Come on, let’s try to find some stairs,” he says, opening the door to an adjoining room a crack to ensure it too is empty.
“Why stairs?” Suho whispers as they hurry through room after room, Jongdae briefly inspecting each one for any hint of a hidden passageway or disguised safe before moving on to the next.
“Because, if you have something to hide…” Jongdae says, pausing to tap on the wood in the center of a large blue wall. Aha. “You usually try to hide it somewhere that’s hard to find. At least if you’re an amateur like this guy. Real criminals are masters of hiding things in plain sight.”
And then Jongdae’s fitting the tips of his fingers into the hairline crack running along the grain of the wood and pulling hard until, with a slight groan and huff of dust, the panel slides back, revealing a dark staircase spiraling downward.
“Voila,” Jongdae says, clicking on his tiny LED flashlight and stepping inside. “Be sure to close the panel behind you, would you?”
“Close it? Are you sure?” Suho asks, a bit tremulously, and Jongdae sighs. “How are we going to get out?”
“Well, hopefully by the main entrance. But if necessary we can always push this door open again. Do you think the guy who owns this house wants to get stuck down here any more than we do?”
Suho says nothing, simply frowning and motioning for Jongdae to lead the way down the rickety staircase. At the bottom they’re met with an inky blackness that Jongdae’s tiny light does little to penetrate. Feeling along the wall on the right side of the staircase, Jongdae smiles when he finds the switch. Flipping it turns on several large floodlights, and suddenly the room is almost too bright, pale light illuminating piles of wooden crates stacked haphazardly across the floor.
“Give me a hand,” Jongdae mutters, stepping over to a nearby crate and trying to leverage the lid off.
“Need some help?” Suho says, and Jongdae looks up to see him offering a pair of pliers.
“Excellent!” Jongdae says, grabbing the pliers and working them under the edge of the lid. “Where did you find these?”
“There’s something that looks like a workbench over there,” Suho replies, wandering away from Jongdae to investigate some of the crates farther away.
“Hmm,” Jongdae grunts, finally managing to wrench the lid off. “Jackpot.”
Inside the crate are nestled half a dozen sub-machine guns and several hand grenades, along with some strange bottles filled with poisonous-looking liquids. Jongdae’s just about to call Suho when he hears a rustle and jerks around, senses on high alert.
What he sees is Suho standing bolt upright, pointing his gun at the shadows on the far side of the room.
“That’s right,” he hears Suho say slowly, “come out here and put your hands on your head. If you try anything, I’ll shoot.”
Damn, Jongdae thinks as he begins to inch around the backside of a particularly large stack of crates, hoping it will shield him from view.
“You’re pretty cocky for someone surrounded by several tons of explosives,” the man in the shadows says mockingly, but Suho’s expression never slips.
“I was completely serious,” he says again in that particularly authoritative tone he probably got from his father. “Get out here with your hands up.”
“All right, all right,” the man laughs, a wheezing sound that makes the hair on the back of Jongdae’s neck stand up. “It’s your funeral.”
And then the man’s stepping out into the light, raising his arms, and-
Mist. A sort of mist sprays out of his sleeve, directly at Suho’s face, and Suho drops his gun, hands clawing at his eyes as he begins to cough. Jongdae can see blood on his lips. Jumping out of his hiding spot, he aims his gun directly at the man and shouts, “Stay right there!”
The man seems to have other ideas, starting when he sees Jongdae and turning as if to flee. Jongdae waits until he actually starts running, and then he fires. It’s not much of a wound-with timely treatment he should heal-but it sends the man crashing to the ground, howling as he cradles his bleeding leg.
“Suho!” Jongdae yells, dodging around crates until he reaches his side. Suho’s lying on the ground, breath rattling strangely in his chest, and his lips are covered with a strange white substance that makes them look like they’re made of porcelain.
“Where’s the antidote?” Jongdae demands, turning and aiming his gun once again at the man lying behind him on the ground.
“What makes you think I have one?” the man asks slyly, wincing at the pain in his leg.
“You wouldn’t keep a poison like that up your sleeve without having an antidote easily accessible, it’s too dangerous,” Jongdae snaps. “So tell me where it is right now, or I swear I will kill you.”
“You already tried that,” the man croaks, “and you missed.”
“I wasn’t trying,” Jongdae says, stepping forward and ostentatiously cocking his gun. “This time I am.”
“Top shelf,” the man says, and Jongdae looks at him in confusion.
“What are you-”
“Top shelf,” the man says with another wheezy laugh. “Top shelf of that workbench.”
Keeping the gun trained on him, Jongdae walks slowly over to the workbench and starts to examine the shelves.
“You know that if you’re lying to me and this is another trick, you’re dead,” Jongdae says conversationally, pushing aside old coils of wire and bolt cutters as he hunts for anything remotely antidote-like.
“Doesn’t matter,” the man says, and Jongdae stops cold, his hand clasped around a little bottle filled with a bright green liquid.
“What did you say?” he asks shortly, walking back over to where the man’s lying.
“Doesn’t matter,” the man repeats, and this time he smiles. “I set off the house’s self-destruct sequence when I heard you two down here. Won’t be long now before all these explosives go off at once. None of us are making it out of here alive.”
“Speak for yourself,” Jongdae spits, turning and running back to Suho, pouring the green liquid over his ghostly lips, lifting his head up so it’s easier for him to swallow.
“Suho, Suho, can you hear me?” Jongdae asks, shaking him slightly in the vain hope that somehow it will make the antidote start working faster. He can hear a strange hissing noise filling the room-probably some sort of natural gas-and they’re running out of time.
Followed by the hysterical laughter of the man behind them, Jongdae hoists Suho up so he’s half-dragging, half-carrying him up the stairs. And then it’s back through all the empty rooms and suddenly Jongdae can hear a strange rumbling sound behind him. Just as they make it out onto the patio, the center of the house erupts into an enormous ball of flame.
Luckily, their driver is still there, waiting, and he speeds off as soon as Jongdae’s able to heave Suho into the car, yelling “Go! Go! Go!” and barely managing to get in himself. As they reach the highway and start heading back into the city, Suho begins to stir and Jongdae slides over, starting a basic check on his breathing and his heart rate.
“Ch-Chen?” Suho mumbles, and Jongdae starts, momentarily forgetting that Suho doesn’t know his real name.
“Yeah, I’m here, we’re okay, you did really well back there,” Jongdae whispers, using Suho’s tie to wipe the last remnants of the poison from his lips. Jongdae feels a little guilty about that, since that tie probably cost almost as much as the car they’re currently driving in, but knowing Suho’s suit collection, the loss of one tie shouldn’t be much of an imposition.
“Yeah, sure,” Suho says bitterly, and Jongdae looks up to find him staring angrily out the window. “All I did was make myself a liability to you. I’m sorry.”
“Well, it’s not like it was your fault this guy had some sort of crazy poison hidden up his sleeve. That’s not generally a thing people do,” Jongdae says, and he’s glad to see it makes the corners of Suho’s mouth turn up a little.
“I just…” Suho sighs, wrapping his arms around himself. “I told you I wasn’t used to field work and it’s true. I’m a strategist, that’s why they recruited me. I plan things. All those stories you hear about me? They’re all true, I did save the king of Thailand once. But it wasn’t actually me doing it, if that makes sense. I’m just the CIA’s mastermind. They give me a problem, tell me to solve it, and I do, no matter how many complications or twists or variables they throw at me. And I’m good. I’m not going to lie. But what I’m not good at is what you do-thinking in the moment, using a gun…”
“Well, it’s a long and well-respected tradition for noblemen to hire hit men to do the grunt work for them,” Jongdae jokes. “There’s no reason for you to be the one to break the trend.”
“I never wanted this,” Suho says suddenly, and Jongdae falls silent. His mind flashes to wires and electric shocks and the heavy weight of expectation and he thinks he knows exactly what Suho means. “Someone always telling me what to eat and where to go and how to dress, even who to marry, damn it! But first it was my father and then it was the CIA and I’m not fit for anything else but sometimes I wish I was…”
“Wow, so they still arrange marriages among you big business owners these days?” Jongdae laughs awkwardly, not sure why he suddenly feels so sick.
“Yeah,” Suho says with a wry smile. “Of course, they don’t call it that. But that’s what it is. See? My fiancée.”
And then Suho’s reaching into his jacket again, the same pocket where he keeps his gun, and pulling out a slightly crumpled photograph of a girl. She’s dressed all in white and she’s absolutely stunning, Jongdae thinks, hair thick and wavy, eyes dark and shining, figure slim and smile bright.
“Kwon Yuri,” Suho sighs, and Jongdae shivers at the strange tightness in his chest.
“She’s beautiful,” Jongdae says quickly, shoving the photo back into Suho’s hands. “I mean, when you said you were being forced into an arranged marriage, I definitely expected something worse. Any guy would love to marry a girl like her.”
“Any guy…” Suho mutters, and Jongdae turns away from him to look out the window. “But no one ever asks me what I want.”
---
“Do I look all right?” Suho asks tensely when they reach SM’s main building, trying to rub out the white residue still dotting his tie.
“I have to say, for being poisoned and nearly blown up just a few hours ago, I think you look great,” Jongdae laughs as he gets out of the car.
“Ah, my tie is a wreck,” Suho mutters, rubbing hard at the blotchy white patches.
“Yeah, sorry about that,” Jongdae grimaces. “Why don’t you just take off the tie?”
“What?” Suho asks, looking at Jongdae as if he’s grown an extra head. “Chen, you can’t wear a suit without a tie.”
“Of course not! What was I thinking,” Jongdae sighs dramatically, and Suho shoots him a look, as if to check if he’s being mocked, before clearing his throat and straightening his tie for the thousandth time.
“I’m just sorry we didn’t get anything useful out of that trip,” Suho sighs as they walk up the steps to the building. “We wouldn’t even have to be doing this now if we’d been able to bring in that guy and all those crates.”
“Well, things can’t go perfectly all the time, Mr. Strategist,” Jongdae laughs, and he’s happy to see a small spread across Suho’s face as he pushes open the enormous glass doors.
There’s an incredibly bored-looking receptionist waiting at the front desk, rolling a pencil back and forth between her hands, and when Jongdae walks up and tells her he’s here to meet with Tao she jumps wildly, pencil going flying. Jongdae reaches out a hand and grabs it as it whizzes past him, and the receptionist gapes. Agent reflexes, what can he say?
“I’m sorry, who are you here to see?” she stammers, quickly pushing her glasses farther up her nose and adjusting her blouse to smooth out the wrinkles. Jongdae tries to imagine Minseok doing the same thing and laughs. The receptionist gives him a confused look, and Suho steps up to the desk to respond.
“We’re here for an interview with Zitao,” he says smoothly, and the receptionist gives another little start, this time not-so-subtly unbuttoning the top button of her blouse.
“Well, unfortunately I don’t have any interview scheduled for Tao today,” she says, leaning forward with a pout that makes Jongdae want to laugh again.
“Oh, you don’t? How strange,” Suho says and Jongdae can swear he’s lowered his voice half an octave. “Well, we do have an appointment, you can be sure of that, so maybe you could just tell us his whereabouts and we’ll do the rest?”
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt for me to do that,” the receptionist giggles, leaning back and typing furiously into her computer, hands flying over the keys. Suho looks over at Jongdae and rolls his eyes, and Jongdae can’t stop himself from snorting. The receptionist looks up at him oddly, but his face is instantly smooth and blank.
“Well, it looks like Tao-ssi is currently in Studio 2C,” she says at last, as Suho leans on the desk and smiles brightly. “The stairs are right over there.”
“Thank you ever so much,” he says before standing up and preparing to walk off. “We’ll forever be in your debt. If anyone asks, we’ll be sure to tell them we received nothing but the best service from the beautiful Sooyeon Jung.”
They leave the receptionist blushing furiously and the minute they enter the stairwell, they’re both laughing.
“That was a nice touch,” Jongdae says, “using her name like that. You really are quite charming.”
“And that’s why they give people like you the guns to deal with and people like me the people to deal with,” Suho says, clapping Jongdae on the shoulder. “Ah, nothing like a little practice to get me back in shape. After spending so much time with you I was beginning to think I’d lost my touch. My father would never forgive me if that happened, much less the CIA.”
“Well, it looks like you’ve got nothing to worry about,” Jongdae grins, but as they stride down the hallway towards the practice room, he finds he can’t keep the smile from sliding off his face.
They can hear music floating out of the room from a few meters away, some electro-pop song that Jongdae likes but he can tell Suho hates by the way he winces.
“Pop music not your cup of tea?” Jongdae laughs, enjoying the feel of the bass thumping in his bones. This kind of music is meant for people like him-you’re not supposed to appreciate it, just to feel it.
“I prefer rock, actually,” Suho says, and Jongdae smiles at the image of Suho in a suit at a rock concert. He can picture it pretty well after last night-Suho adrift in a sea of people, standing out like a light bulb in a dark room. When they reach the door, Suho motions for him to knock and so Jongdae does, letting his face go blank as he thinks of who he’s going to be for Tao.
“Oh. It’s you two again,” a young woman-probably a coordinator of some kind-says, grudgingly opening the door and stepping aside to let them in. “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to wait, Zitao is preparing for his next concert and you really shouldn’t disturb his practice.”
“That’s perfectly fine, we’ll just wait over here-” Jongdae begins to say, but then Tao’s voice is echoing across the room, calling out his name. Jongdae watches him grab a towel off the floor and scrub his face before draping it around his neck. Tao’s dressed simply today-sweatpants and a thin tank top that shows off every line of bone and muscle-and Jongdae thinks that Tao really is quite attractive. That makes his job so much easier.
“I’m so glad you could meet with us,” Jongdae says, staring directly into Tao’s eyes. This time, though, he knows not to keep eye contact for too long. Better to look away quickly, as if blinded by the idol’s brilliant smile.
“Oh, of course, anytime,” Tao says, motioning them over to some chairs on the side of the room. Jongdae notices him checking his reflection in the mirror covering one wall of the room and smiles indulgently. Tao, noticing the smile, blushes and reaches down to shut off the boom box sitting at his feet.
“So, we shouldn’t be taking up too much of your time today,” Jongdae says quickly, grabbing a notebook that Suho hands him, seemingly produced out of nowhere, “I know how busy you are, what with the fantastic trajectory of your career. I feel like this session should just be the basics. Kind of a getting-to-know-you sort of thing.”
“Well, ask away,” Tao says, leaning back in his chair and turning to glance at Suho so that Jongdae can get a good look at his face in profile. “I look forward very much to getting to know you.”
“How about you start by telling us how you got started as an idol?” Suho says warmly. “I know you’ve probably answered that question a million times, but we’d like to hear the full version, uncut, heartfelt.”
“Remind me who this guy is?” Tao asks shortly, turning back to Jongdae and jerking a thumb in Suho’s direction.
“He’s my assistant,” Jongdae says, slapping Suho on the back in a way that makes Suho wince and Tao grin. “He brings me coffee, records some of my interviews, that kind of thing. Is there a problem?”
“Well, I thought that this article was going to be a real, in-depth representation of me,” Tao says, shooting a significant look in Jongdae’s direction. “And I think it’d just be hard to talk honestly with your…assistant…here.”
“Your wish is my command,” Jongdae says with a slight bow of the head, and Suho gets the hint, standing up quickly.
“I’ve put a bug on the bottom of my chair,” he bends down and mutters in Jongdae’s ear before straightening up and sweeping out of the room, motioning for all the other people milling about to follow him. Tao watches him go with a look of mild disgust on his face.
“Uptight much?” Tao scoffs, leaning back in his chair.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Jongdae sighs, rolling his eyes. “But he’s a great assistant and those are just so hard to find these days.”
“So,” Tao asks, and this time Jongdae can see the predictable gleam in his eyes. “Where are we going to begin?”
So Jongdae asks him about his family, about moving from China to Korea, about his favorite Korean dish, about performing all over Asia-all in all, completely standard questions Jongdae’s seen idols asked a thousand times, not that he spends that much time reading Korean entertainment news. He just gets bored sometimes.
Tao answers each question slowly, as if taking time to think of the right words, and Jongdae pretends not to notice the way his eyes keep sliding off Jongdae’s to watch his lips, the curve of his wrists, his stomach when Jongdae purposefully shifts in his seat, pulling his button-down tight against his skin. At the end of half an hour, Jongdae knows he has Tao well and truly hooked.
“Well, I think that’s enough for today,” Jongdae says, and Tao jerks a bit, as if awakened from a dream. “I think if I keep you for too long your coordinators will have my head.”
“Then maybe next time we’ll have to meet somewhere a little more…private,” Tao suggests slyly, placing one of his thin, white hands on top of Jongdae’s notebook as it balances atop his knee.
“Anywhere you want,” Jongdae says softly, carefully moving Tao’s fingers off his notebook and onto the arm of his chair. Just enough contact to indicate interest, but not too much to show that Jongdae isn’t the cautious type.
“I have one more performance in Seoul before I’m leaving for China next week,” Tao says and Jongdae’s quick to erase any hint of surprise from his face. So they have less time than he’d thought. He hopes Suho caught that from where’s he undoubtedly listening in the car.
“So soon?” Jongdae asks, sticking out his lower lip in a way just childish enough to draw Tao’s eyes. “How am I supposed to get a true picture of the great Huang Zitao in such little time?”
“Come to this apartment,” Tao hisses, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a piece of paper with an address and phone number scribbled across it. “I’ll be staying there this week. Text me and let me know you’re coming. I can’t wait to finish our little interview.”
“I look forward to it,” Jongdae says, lifting Tao’s fingers to his lips and pressing the ghost of a kiss against the back of his hand. An unconventional move, to be sure, but from everything he’s seen he’s fairly sure Tao wants an old-fashioned prince charming, even if he won’t admit it to himself.
Sure enough, a glance in the mirror as Jongdae sweeps out shows Tao sitting dumbfounded in his seat, a bright pink blush seeping across his cheeks, cradling his hand to his chest. He does feel a little bad for the guy. It must be awful having to talk about your ideal girl all the time and know that you’ll never be able to have a boyfriend, never be able to live your life as the person you really are. In that way, Jongdae supposes he and Tao aren’t all that different. In both of their professions, being yourself is a liability.
“Sounds like that went well,” Suho says shortly as Jongdae throws himself back into the car, heaving a sigh of relief.
“You don’t sound all that pleased,” Jongdae observes, shooting a look at Suho’s impassive face.
“I just hope you know what you’re doing,” Suho says, turning to look out the window. “You’re supposed to be finding out information about his possible illegal activities, not fucking him.”
“Whoa there, I think you’re moving a little fast, huh?” Jongdae laughs. “I don’t know if you realize this, Suho, but this is what we agents do. All those little plans of yours? They only succeed because we lie to people and we manipulate people and we get them to do what we want. You’re a businessman, surely you understand.”
“Just stick to the plan,” Suho says, and Jongdae leans back against the seat with a small huff of annoyance.
“Well, at least I got his address, right?” Jongdae says, and he smirks at the way Suho’s eyes immediately snap to the piece of paper in his hand. “If he is dealing weapons, his contacts will probably want to meet him there.”
“Excellent,” Suho breathes, and Jongdae can see the cogs in his brain beginning to turn, steadily picking up speed. “So I can wait outside, you’ll be inside, it’ll be perfect. This could work…”
“Stick to the plan my ass,” Jongdae mutters to himself as he lets himself out of the car and climbs up the stairs to his room, preferring the exertion to being stuck in an elevator with Suho.
He doesn’t mean to take a nap. He’s probably got a million e-mails to go through, medical records to update, and there was that whole set of passport data he was supposed to be forging for Chanyeol. But his room is so cool and dark and before he knows it he’s slipping…
The sun is bright in his eyes, and Jongdae reaches up a hand to shade his face. He’s walking along a thin concrete path. On either side of him are grassy fields enclosed by large buildings. Hitching up the textbooks he’s carrying in his arms, Jongdae picks his away across one of the fields, dodging around half-naked sunbathers and narrowly avoiding getting brained by a stray volleyball.
“Hey! Jongdae!” he hears a voice calling from behind him, and he smiles when he sees Luhan heading towards him, tripping every once in a while as he tries to avoid a gaggle of girls “studying.” More like studying the group of guys playing volleyball nearby, Jongdae thinks with a laugh as Luhan suddenly trips, falling into the arms Jongdae just barely manages to get up in time.
“Whoa, thanks,” Luhan says with a brilliant smile, standing up and brushing off his shirt. Jongdae only just remembers to drop his arms back down to his sides. “Where are you going?”
“Oh, I was just heading up to the library to do some studying,” Jongdae says sheepishly, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.
“Oh, no, you weren’t,” Luhan laughs, hooking an arm around Jongdae’s shoulders and pulling until they’re pressed tightly against each other. “You were going to come and play video games with Yixing and I because you need a little social interaction.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jongdae says with a sniff. “I get plenty of social interaction.”
“Yeah, sure, if books counted as people,” Luhan says, eyes glittering brightly with reflected sunshine. “But they don’t. So come on!”
And he links his fingers in Jongdae’s and pulls and there’s nothing Jongdae can do except follow, stumbling a little as Luhan drags him over the uneven ground. He tries a few times to free his hand from Luhan’s grasp, but whenever he does Luhan only holds on tighter, flashing Jongdae that smile that makes him feel a little weak in the knees.
“Oh, and by the way,” Luhan says as he wrenches open the door to their dormitory, ushering Jongdae inside with an overly gallant bow, “looks like time’s up for you and your little friends.”
“I don’t-what?” Jongdae asks, confused, but when he turns around he hears gunfire and the world goes red and then black and then silent.
[2]