Don’t Lose Your Temper So Quickly (Ch. 1 Part 2)
“Excuse me, but do you have a death wish?” the owner of the voice is in no way taller than him, and nonetheless Jongwoon feels crowded by his presence.
The voice itself is neither loud, nor deep. It isn’t anything you would associate with the term ‘intimidating’, really, so there is in fact very little explanation as to why Jongwoon’s cheeks suddenly resemble two very sneaky chameleons, with the way they are mimicking the color of his beverage.
He resists the urge to nod in affirmation, because - a death wish? Yes, please; and tries to come up with a valid enough excuse.
Sadly enough, the best one he manages to procure on such short notice ends up being “I’m sorry, I’m just… extremely allergic to cranberries. My face blows up and… I could suffocate and… I wasn’t actually aware there would be any in this drink.”
“So you are suicidal? Because if that’s a Cosmopolitan, it’s gonna have cranberry juice in it - regardless of whatever you decorate it with.”
“Actually, I… don’t do drinking. At all.” Jongwoon, for once, decides to tell the truth. It seems to pay off, as now the guy looks too amused to attempt at causing him any physical damage, his black, somewhat feline eyes twinkling in mischievous delight behind huge, lensless glasses.
“Must be a special night then, or were you waiting to be saved?” the stranger questions, and Jongwoon is too distracted by things such as the nerve of this person, as well as the completely ridiculous grey fur coat he is wearing, to react in time as the drink is snatched away from his shaky hands and brought to curvy lips.
A sip is taken, followed immediately by a loud, splashing sound, as the vile concoction lands back into its glass. “What is this crap?! It’s like… bubblegum soda with extra sugar.”
“I told her to go easy on the alcohol? It did look better on the menu…”
“Well I don’t care. Come on, we’re getting you a new one - before you go and get yourself poisoned. By the way, I’m Sungmin.”
The guy, or Sungmin - who has apparently appointed himself as savior of everything that’s fail while Jongwoon wasn’t looking, catches him by the lapel of his beloved jacket (which has undergone dry-cleaning at least thrice ever since the event in the alley, of course), and tugs with almost inhumane force for somebody his size - forcefully enough for the two of them to somehow end up at the bar.
He is utterly humiliated when Sungmin, true to his words, slides something towards him across the wooden counter. A cola. The slender, red-labeled bottle is covered neck to base in clear, icy droplets - a promise in refreshment within this overheated pit, and Jongwoon’s tongue is glued to the point of no return onto his dry palate. He had never felt so thirsty in his entire life.
“So, let’s start this thing over. I’m Lee Sungmin, and you would be..?” Sungmin is obviously waiting for an answer, except for how his previously quiet voice has gotten so low Jongwoon barely registers it over the noise that is the music.
By now it is probably safe to say that the helpfully uncapped bottle is calling out to him much louder than the man who had provided it. Drink me, it begs as Jongwoon stares at it, unblinking. At the edge of his vision, he spots a set of impeccably manicured fingers drumming on top of the counter, in perfect sync with 2NE1’s I am the best.
Jongwoon is stalling, set on determining whether it is a good, or even safe enough idea to reveal his true identify to a person he’d only just met at a dance club of all things, given that last week’s local paper featured an image of him entitled armed and dangerous.
Luckily for him, no nonexistent security cameras were able to capture Kyuhyun and his ‘adventures’ within the radio station, and the only photo of him the police had managed to obtain had been a high-school graduation one, wherein half of his face had been obscured by thick rimmed glasses. In Jongwoon’s case, being a nerd in high-school… or resembling one that’s it, since by no means had this appearance prevented him from flunking most of his subjects, had eventually paid off.
Having his name associated with unflattering words such as ‘breaking and entering’ (even though no such thing had been required, since what they’d actually done was walk in through the front entrance in broad daylight), ‘armed assault’, or even ‘attempted murder’, Jongwoon is currently residing on the living room couch of Kyuhyun’s rather unkempt apartment.
The flowery retro wallpaper is peeling off in most rooms, revealing bare walls that are simply begging for some graffiti, both kitchen and bathroom taps are leaking - although neither Kyuhyun nor Jongwoon could be bothered with fixing them, and the WiFi connection they enjoy curtsey of the neighbors is so lousy Kyuhyun spends most his evenings coming up with new insults for Internet Explorer.
All Jongwoon knows is that his partner had inherited the flat, along with a large sum of money, off a recently deceased great-great-aunt, and so he often prays for the poor woman’s soul. As much as he’d like to believe she’d died peacefully in her sleep, he is still not one-hundred-percent certain Kyuhyun had not, in fact, murdered a distant relative for a highly sought-after residence permit in Seoul.
Finally realizing he would very much rather keep himself on the other side of the bars - if he can help it, Jongwoon decides to stick to pseudonyms. Too bad he hadn’t had the time to come up with a proper one.
“Kim Yeh… Sung?” he manages, now if only it’d come out as less of a question.
“Oh really? Are you sure that’s your name?” Sungmin is obliviously not buying it; luckily he looks more amused than angry.
“Uh huh… I get it all the time. Crazy parents.”
It is of no real doubt to Jongwoon how Sungmin most definitely sees right through his half-assed cover, and so he chuckles nervously. He could have sworn he feels those piercing eyes boring two cute little bullet-shaped holes through his forehead as the other licks his lips every so often, and… was that a hint of teeth? He is so doomed.
Thoroughly, irreversibly doomed.
“Well, at least your name’s very, uhm, sexy? You still on speaking terms with your parents?”
“Can’t, they’re dead.” Jongwoon answers truthfully, without really thinking.
“Oh crap, I’m sorry.” Sungmin clamps both hands over his mouth, and Jongwoon is endlessly fascinated by the simple gesture because, so far he hadn’t been aware of people using it outside of T.V. dramas.
“Nah, it’s okay. I was seven.”
“So… sorry.” Sungmin forgets to breathe, and his cheeks are puffed so that he sort of resembles a hamster. A very attractive hamster, Jongwoon concludes, now that he’s had the chance to study him further.
“Really, it’s fine. It’s been what, twenty years? I can hardly remember them, to be honest.” he tries but fails to lighten the mood.
“Yeah, okay. Look, I should probably go… powder my nose, or something.”
And just like that, Sungmin excuses himself, dropping down from his unsteady barstool with a thud, and sets off towards the bathrooms. He barely spares a backwards glance at the perplexed Jongwoon, now clutching at the coke bottle as if it was a lifesaver.
Jongwoon allows the thirst to overcome him. The sparkly beverage is bitter to his taste buds, as in it’s either spiked beyond any rational limit or simply as an aftertaste of his anxiety - he figures, and yet he doesn’t stop taking large gulps until he’s halfway through the drink, and even then it is because a fist is being slammed onto the wood in front of him.
Jongwoon is so startled that he instinctively loosens his grip on the bottle, so ultimately he’s glad it hasn’t tumbled right out of his hands and ended up causing a sticky situation, with most its contents running down his thighs.
Kyuhyun uses Sungmin’s freshly vacated seat to help himself climb up onto the counter, then sits across the slightly damp surface, front to the dancing crowd and back to the bartender, who thankfully ignores him in favor of serving the bunch of other customers.
“So, care to inform me? What could you possibly say that’d send him running off so fast?”
“I… might’ve mentioned my parents.”
“Oh yeah, what about them?”
“They’re dead. And I’m pretty sure I’d told you this before.”
“But you’re also aware I hate cluttering my brain with useless information.”
“All I said’s that I was seven when they died and poof... he scampers off as though I’d set his ass on fire.”
“Trust me, had I not been watching you two the entire time, I would’ve thought you’ve managed to enlighten him.” chuckles Kyuhyun. He grabs Jongwoon’s abandoned bottle and helps himself to the remaining cola, only to be poked in the ribs quite rudely.
“Shut up, I know how much you like it when I screw up.”
“I like it less when it involves a case. You still don’t get it, do you?”
“What don’t I get, oh almighty Brain?”
“Uh huh, and so you finally admit that you’d be Pinky.”
Kyuhyun has strayed entirely off subject. His whole face lights up, and it looks like he’s about to begin swaying his feet, as though he’s sitting on a swing instead of a solid piece of wood.
At which Jongwoon sighs, desperately yearning for those long lost days he used to hang around people of his own mental age. “Yes, Kyuhyun. I’m waiting.”
“Apparently, being around people has rubbed off on our Gumiho. The only reason it would suddenly decide to lay you off its target is that it must’ve pitied your orphaned self.”
“What, him? No...”
“It’s true though. Congratulations, Hyung - you’ve let our monster of the week escape unscathed.”
Kyuhyun raises both palms, and Jongwoon swears that, the moment the boy begins clapping, he’s going to shove him onto the floor. Somewhat intimidated by the determination in Jongwoon’s eyes, Kyuhyun refrains from following his obvious intentions.
“So what you’re saying is… Lee Sungmin’s the Gumiho?” although he hadn’t previously given it much thought, this time around, the name tastes wrong on Jongwoon’s tongue.
It sounds so… normal. Plain, even.
“If that’s what he calls himself, then yes - he is. Why, were you expecting it to be Count Dracula? Don’t bother. It isn’t a vampire we’re dealing with, these things are pros at blending in.”
“Are you kidding me, have you seen his coat?” Jongwoon exclaims, a bit too loud for Kyuhyun’s liking as he manages to -blaring music be damned - attract the attention of a few innocent bystanders.
“What?” hisses Kyuhyun, in hope of shutting Jongwoon the hell up, “So yes, he might be taking fashion tips off people like G-Dragon.”
“And you call this ‘blending in’?”
“Hey, cut the poor thing some slack - guy’s gotta attract his food somehow. I thought I’ve taught you to avoid believing in lucky coincidences.”
When all Kyuhyun receives is a blank stare from behind the counter, he proceeds on with his questionable type of reasoning, “Think about it, there’s this hot guy who hits on you in the middle of a heterosexually oriented club? Come on. Plus… you must be blind not to have noticed the teeth. Or should I say fangs? Things radiate as though he’s using phosphates ‘stead of toothpaste.”
“I have noticed the teeth, actually.” mutters Jongwoon, in the obvious need of defending his rather rusty observation skills. He chooses to hold back the part where he’d been wondering just how those teeth might feel like nibbling on his earlobe. “His eyes, though - they were far from Christmas ornaments.”
“Yeah, well… I told you that one guy was drunk. I hope you brought your ‘special’ lighter with you.”
“Of course.” Jongwoon confirms, while reassuringly stroking himself over an especially well-hidden inner pocket.
“Great, because at first I thought we’d need pure silver to destroy the thing, but it seems as though whatever sharp, pointy object you’ve managed to lay hands upon does the job just fine. As long as you strike the heart, that’s it.”
“And what’s the plan? Please do elaborate beyond ‘you go in there, you kill the thing’. ”
“Oh no, you absolutely mustn’t kill him in the bathrooms, unless you’re trying to attract Mr. Policeman over there…”
Kyuhyun points about thirty degrees to his right, and Jongwoon feels like smacking himself over the forehead. He had forgotten about the cop entirely, which in itself should have been quite a hard task to accomplish, considering the man resembles a misplaced decoration about to collapse out of sheer boredom.
“Fine, so you might have a point. What should I do, then?”
“You’ve got the part where you go in there right. Next, you begin to flirt… and by flirting I mean the way normal people do, none of the ‘I’m a charity case’ crap. Or else he might go running for the hills again.”
“You make it sound so easy… might as well do it yourself, while you’re at it.”
“Sorry, no can do. As much as it pains me to admit it… you’re the one with better eye-to-hand coordination.” Kyuhyun confesses, although coming from him it is merely a different, sneakier form of manipulation. “Oh for god’s sake, just be blunt. Use a pick-up line, if you must.”
“The only one I’ve got is ‘nice legs, which time do they open?’”
“You don’t wanna use that one, trust me. Anyways, once you have managed to lure him into a secluded enough place - assuming he agrees to wander so far out of his comfort zone - use the spare apartment key, otherwise any abandoned lot would do, distract him with sex and…. you’re done. See, win-win situation for everyone.”
“Anything else, your highness?”
“Not really …use protection?” he winks.
Jongwoon is too dumbfounded for a witty comeback.