thirteen: recon(struction) {ocean's eleven au}
Title: Recon(struction) {9/? of Thirteen Series}
Author: himawarixxsandz
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): BangHim, ZiKyung, U-Bomb, TaePyo, DaeJae, JongLo
Summary: Thirteen is their lucky number
A/N: belated bday present for amy ;A; i wanted to get it up yesterday but baccalaureate and a whole of other hullabaloo things got in the way. but also once again still couldn't do this w/o all the screeches i get from bee and arii that give me life /i am nothing without your screeches/ and im so sorry to everyone that it's literally been over two months OTL
The Crew / The Crew II / Infiltration / Infiltration II / Infiltration III // Reconnaissance // Construction // Interlude // Recon(struction) // Interlude II
Arrives at the hotel by seven in the morning, has a quick breakfast in one of the hotel bistros with the manager of the hotel and the manager of the casino, ensconced in his office by nine, won’t be expected to come back out until lunch. Junhong loiters casually in the foyer between the Italian restaurant just outside of the lobby and the doors that led towards the staff hallways. He knows that a two left turns and one right, and Dongsun’s office should be staring him in the face. The only person, up to this point, who’s been in there is Yukwon-and, Junhong supposes, Jongup, if the air vents count as part of the office.
So far, Junhong can count only two instances where Dongsun might have caught whiff of something amiss with Junhong’s tailing. There was once when Junhong got a little too close and stayed a little too long during casino hours while Dongsun was on the floor, and another when Junhong had been distracted and nearly locked eyes with Dongsun near the lobby fountain. Both times, however, were spread out over the past few weeks-far enough in time that Dongsun hopefully would have forgotten about one when faced with the other.
He wonders if asking Minhyuk to tell him everything had been a mistake.
Junhong has to know. That’s doubtless. If he wants to stay alive, if he wants to stay out of prison, if he wants to get his proper share of the millions, then he knows he had to ask. Maybe that wasn’t the mistake. Maybe the mistake was just assuming that he could go on tailing Dongsun unaffectedly because as professional as Junhong wants to think he is (as much as he wants to do Hyosung proud-show that her training hasn’t been wasted on him), he can’t follow Dongsun around indifferently anymore.
Rather than just being another mark, Dongsun fascinates Junhong now. It distracts Junhong from the things that matter to the job-where Dongsun goes in the afternoon, how he takes his early evening wine, where he heads after dinner, times of the day that he’s in his office, times of the night that he’s on the casino floor, which guests he asks after the most-and redirects Junhong’s attention on things that shouldn’t matter but suddenly do (the brisk smiles Dongsun gives to the guests in passing, the commanding tone of voice Dongsun uses for the employees, the firm handshakes Dongsun uses for visiting businessmen, the searching way Dongsun’s dark eyes scan his surroundings).
In all honesty, Junhong isn’t even sure what he’s looking for. He knows he isn’t looking for anything in the way of determining what kind of man Dongsun is because that’s irrelevant to the job, and gathering excess information is just a waste of Junhong’s time and energy. He doesn’t care about Yukwon, and he doesn’t care about Himchan. There’s nothing protective or concerned in what’s making Junhong’s gaze shift from precise to contemplative as he echoes Dongsun’s steps. Knowing Dongsun was a thief and good enough to have been Himchan’s partner and lover is what piques Junhong’s interest enough that he now needs to consciously reign in the tiny pricks of desire he has to follow Dongsun more closely than is safe.
Junhong’s phone vibrates in his pocket.
“Mm?” He turns away from the direction of the doors.
“Junhong-ah,” Daehyun says, “you can head up now. Minhyuk-hyung and Yukwon-hyung are taking over in an hour.”
Junhong takes the phone away from his ear for a moment to glance at the time. “Will do,” he says, phone back up. “Bye.”
Jiho remembers a breezy, spring day on the outskirts of Washington D.C., with cherry blossoms all a bloom and the petals light in the air. He remembers the weight of Kyung’s hand in his back pocket and the weight of Yongguk’s arm around his shoulders. He remembers Himchan’s smile overtaking his entire face, contagious to the rest of them, and how Kyung ducked again and again to avoid getting his hair tousled by the details man. He remembers Yongguk and Himchan’s voices, simultaneously sarcastic and grateful for being introduced to Yukwon and Minhyuk a month earlier. He remembers goodbye hugs and handshakes, slaps on shoulders and clasped hands-and Yongguk’s grin as he tells Jiho that Yongguk and Himchan are headed to look for a con in Seoul.
It was the last time Jiho saw Yongguk for four years.
The next time Jiho sees Yongguk, he sees him walking through the front door of Jaehyo’s pool house in the middle of the Las Vegas desert and he hardly recognizes him.
Oh-he recognizes him-recognizes that same unmistakable voice that’d spoken to him over the phone just a week prior, but Jiho doesn’t recognize him. He doesn’t know how to reconcile the man-the hyung-he’d watched walk away on a sunny, bright day in a foreign country’s capitol city with a grin bigger than life, a swagger in his step, and a dance in his eyes with the man he’d watched walk towards him with a parody of that grin, a weight weighing down every step he took, and pain every time he met Jiho’s gaze. Even the clothes told the story of the lie that Yongguk can’t tell anymore-the exact sort of sharp suit that Jiho had seen Yongguk fill out time and time again, tailored to look like a king of thieves, and now it hangs on his hollow frame.
Yongguk only eats when they watch him, and Jiho can hear him rustle around working in the middle of the night to avoid sleeping. The solution is so obviously there-the beginnings of what could possibly fix all this, could possibly fix (heal) Yongguk, and yet it’s out of their reach. It’s utterly out of Jiho’s reach to help Yongguk because Jiho isn’t Kim Himchan. Going to the warehouse had been a mistake-it’d been a huge mistake, and Jiho had barely been able to restrain himself from punching Himchan out until the man lost his teeth and mind.
Maybe Himchan thought he’s pulling a convincing act, but all it looks like to Jiho is a man who’s left and abandoned the person he used to love and Jiho doesn’t know how anyone could do that. There was nothing friendly, nothing that gave any indication that they’d at least worked things out and decided to stay friends, about the way Himchan avoided even handing things to Yongguk-the way Himchan almost refused every single suggestion Yongguk made whether it was changing to material of the vault’s ceiling to fixing the paint on the vault’s logo.
“It’s not happening,” Jiho says. He leans against the armrest of one of the sofas in the suite living room, and glances from Kyung to Daehyun. “We’re not getting anything more-anything useful-out of Dongsun, and this job just won’t happen if Yongguk-hyung-”
“Then what should we do?” Daehyun straightens up from his position against the wall, voice rising and tight. “Ditch the job and run for it?”
“No one’s running,” Kyung says, taking a step forward with an arm outstretched over Daehyun’s chest. He angles himself imperceptibly between Daehyun and Jiho.
Across the room, Jihoon is helping Taeil rewire the monitors before Taeil goes in tonight to personally hack into the main security of the casino floor. Taeil glances up, taking a string of metal out of his mouth and waves one gloved hand at Jiho. “For the recon on Dongsun,” he says, “if Yukwonie isn’t getting us what we need, what if we try Himchan?”
Jiho feels it as if it was only his own body-he feels Daehyun and Kyung freeze without looking at them. He feels himself stiffen, and at the same time, he feels the cogs and gears in his mind instantly clicking as though this was the true alternate solution all along and they’d just needed someone to uncover it-to state it and make it obvious. He waits another moment before he dares to raise his head and meet Kyung’s eyes first. The conclusion in Kyung’s expression is instantaneous. Jiho tears his gaze away and looks at Daehyun only to find the exact same end in those eyes as well.
Jihoon stands up to gather the thicker cord rolled up on one of the desk chairs, leaning down to help Taeil unfurl it around the left monitor. Jiho walks over, careful to step over the already lain out cables and wires. “It’s a good idea,” Jiho says slowly, hands in his pockets. He waits for Taeil and Jihoon to finish rolling out the thick cable, plugging it into the proper sockets and screens.
“But?” Taeil prods with a grin as he meets Jiho’s eyes, and then looks past him to glance at Kyung and Daehyun.
“But doesn’t matter,” Kyung says matter-of-factly, before Jiho can interject exactly what the but is. “We’re deep enough in this that even if we wanted to call it quits, there’s already a trail for the cops to sniff at. When Jaehyo-hyung gets back from his meeting, we’re sending him down to run construction and Himchan-hyung is coming here to do recon with Yukwonie and Minhyuk-hyung.”
Daehyun grips Jiho’s arm, meets his eyes and Jiho finds reluctant but burning resolve in the younger man’s. He leans in close enough to Jiho’s ear that the whisper would only carry as far as it needed to. “If you don’t want to see Park Kyung behind bars,” Daehyun murmurs, and his voice shakes like a stone boulder threatening to fall off the precipice, “Himchan-hyung has to do it.”
And Jiho knows that it’s not Kyung who Daehyun envisions behind bars if they fell away from this con without finishing it through and eliminating the evidence. Jiho knows that this con is too big to be called off without any track marks left behind, and he knows that finishing it is a safer bet for all of them than stopping halfway and attempting to hastily cover the footprints. He pulls his arm out of Daehyun’s grasp and bows his head, eyes lowered as he looks back at Taeil. “It’s a good plan,” Jiho repeats, glancing once more at Kyung who raises his eyebrows and nods. Jiho clenches his jaw. “Let’s go with it.”
When Jiho, Kyung, and Daehyun leave to go talk building design in the next room over, Jihoon touches Taeil’s hand. The older man looks up from plugging in the last of the cables. Jihoon chews his bottom lip for a moment before forging on, still wondering if maybe he should’ve spoken up about this earlier, “Hyung,” Jihoon frowns, “Himchan-hyung isn’t sleeping well either, though. You think he’ll be okay enough to track Dongsun?”
Taeil blinks. Leans forward and kisses Jihoon shortly. Shrugs. “I don’t feel like going to prison,” Taeil says simply. “And I want the money.”
Jihoon stands up and holds a hand out. Taeil lets Jihoon pull the older man to his feet. “I thought Himchan-hyung’s your friend.”
“On a job,” Taeil says, sitting down in his usual chair in front of the monitors, flicking them on and warming up the ones that’ve fallen asleep, “he’s my crewmate. And these days, I don’t feel all that sorry for someone who lets their partner go to prison.”
Jihoon’s frown deepens. “What if he couldn’t-”
The look that Taeil turns on the younger man silences him. “You think,” Taeil says slowly, voice low, “Kim Himchan couldn’t find a way?” Taeil adjusts the focus on the monitors watching the east wing of the resort and the left side of the casino floor.
“I like him,” Jihoon says, sitting down on the chair beside Taeil. He gazes out absently at the monitor in front of him-the one of the door to Dongsun’s office.
“Me, too,” Taeil’s tone is just the same-even and simple, collected and unaffected. “But you don’t have to like your crewmates, Jihoon-ah, y’know? You just make sure they get things done so you get your money and you don’t go to prison.” He stands suddenly with a last click of a key. His hand tousles Jihoon’s hair. “You’re on surveillance duty tonight-don’t fall asleep.”
Jihoon leans back in his chair as he feels Taeil’s lips brush his mouth a last time before the older man walks away.
To be blunt, Jongup knew it was him.
The moment Himchan walked into the studio with Yongguk at his side, even if Jongup had no actual rationale for it-no emotions to stir the reasoning, no jealousy, no irritation, nothing-he simply, instinctively knew. Something, several things, clicked in his mind and he knew without a doubt, without the information that he now had, that this must be him. This shadow of a man, with clothes hanging off of his hollow frame and eyes that hadn’t seen proper sleep in weeks, must be the king of thieves that Jongup could never overcome in Kim Himchan’s eyes no matter what he gave or what he became.
The last Jongup had seen of Himchan before just a month ago had been when they’d kissed goodbye in front of the very studio they’d first met at. Jongup would like to think that Himchan had looked as healthy as a person with nightmares plaguing him all too often could ever look when they’d parted, but seeing Himchan walk through the doors with Yongguk, Jongup had to dash even those hopes.
By no means did Himchan look healthy, but Himchan looked better (better than when he was with Jongup). He didn’t look happier, but there was something about him-something different in how he walked and held himself together when Yongguk was beside him, regardless of how hostile the atmosphere between them was, that was marginally different from how Himchan had been when he was just with Jongup and Yongguk had been in prison.
Jongup wonders what they’d been like back then-back before everything-back before the dark times that no one else on the crew even dared to mention to each other-possibly to even think about. He wonders-
“-s that okay?”
-and puts a hasty halt to his thoughts, blinking up quickly at Yongguk’s face to let the older man know that he wasn’t really spacing out.
“Yeah,” Jongup says a little too fast. He blinks again, once at the design of the vault-in-progress and once again at Yongguk. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
“Being stuck in an enclosed space with a limited amount of oxygen is fine?” Yongguk asks.
Jongup stares at the plans. “Wait-what-” He double-takes back at Yongguk, and the older man has laughter somewhere in those eyes.
Yongguk punches Jongup’s arm lightly. “We’ll give you a tank enough for two hours, just in case,” Yongguk says, grinning, “Don’t worry-I don’t let my guys die.”
(my guys?)
Jongup clears his throat, angling the plans towards himself so he can get a better look (and reaffirm what’d been said to him in the past ten minutes that he hadn’t really heard). They’d secured the vault plans since the beginning of the operation, but they’d been under lock and key here at the warehouse until just this week. Only the people who’d been at the warehouse had seen them, and the others had only been sent digital, 3D copies, via Taeil’s personal, private computers. “So,” he says, hoping that he at least somehow subconsciously picked up the gist of it to repeat back, “I just have to wait in here while Jiho-shii and Kyung-shii wheel me in?”
“In theory,” Yongguk says, “yeah. If everything goes the way it should, then yeah, you’ll be there before you open your eyes, kid.” He smiles. “We’ll give you a couple magazines-maybe some manga-it’ll just be like waiting at the doctor’s. Sing yourself a song like you did in the suitcase, and it’ll go pretty fast. Just don’t be anxious that something’s going wrong when it starts to feel like you’re in there longer than you should.”
“Sure that time always goes by slower when you might suffocate to death,” Jongup mutters before he can stop himself. He blinks at Yongguk.
But Yongguk is still grinning-laughing-and it’s kind of abrupt, and kind of hugely welcome because something in Jongup unknots and he’s not sure he even knew he’d been tied up inside in the first place. He meets Yongguk’s gaze just then, as Yongguk reaches out to point at the next step after Jiho and Kyung leave Jongup in the vault, and for that moment, Jongup can’t even see the shadows that surround Yongguk’s eyes-can’t see the pallid skin, can’t see the thinness of his face, can’t see protruding cheekbones-all Jongup sees is a dangerous amount of presence and charm and Jongup is nearly ready to let himself be purely enamored by it.
He smiles a little on the inside, whether in resignation or acceptance he’s not sure, but he supposes that there never could’ve been any competition to begin with. Jongup can’t compete with a king, and now, he’s not even sure he wants to anymore.
(no wonder Himchan couldn’t stop loving Yongguk-not even for a moment
not even for Jongup)
Himchan squints. “What’s a pinch?”
Youngjae opens his mouth blankly. “A thing,” he explains, making a circle with his arms, ears turning red as Himchan regards him solemnly. “We’ll need it to take the power out.” He clears his throat and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “It’s big-it’s like-it’ll take the power out for about a minute-through the whole city-and that’ll be enough time for them to drop down the shaft, past the lasers, right?”
“More than enough,” Himchan says thoughtfully. He sits down at the edge of the table, and he and Youngjae look up at the progress of the vault. The construction workers have gone out for lunch. “Where do we get one?”
Youngjae rubs the back of his neck, leaning against the corner and pursing his lips. “I think I can source one, but we’ll have to-er-” He grins sheepishly at Himchan, and the older man blinks for a good, full minute before he bursts into laughter.
“That’s our job,” Himchan says cheerily and claps Youngjae on the back. His eyes meet Youngjae’s directly, and Youngjae inadvertently finds himself quickly scanning that gaze for anything that might seem off-anything that might clue Youngjae in on why everything feels off even though nothing is. But as discreet and brief as Youngjae tries to be about it will never be discreet and brief enough for someone who’s made a living out of hiding and masking himself for years on years. Himchan looks away with an air of finality, and sets his sights back on the vault.
For the past day that they’ve been here, Youngjae, regardless of how he tried, if he was honest with himself, couldn’t detect anything abnormal about the way Himchan was. They haven’t been in close quarters like this since the job they’d pulled together back when Himchan and Jongup had still been together, and during that period of time, the abnormal was too easy to detect-the cracks were too obvious and too large in Himchan’s armor. Now, however, while the cracks were no longer visible, Youngjae knows they still must be there. Himchan has just found a way in the interim to seal them in with something difficult and convincible.
The only noticeable difference is the glaring, painfully present, horribly existent difference in how Himchan treated Yongguk.
Or-no longer treated Yongguk.
Youngjae thinks he would possibly prefer them screaming into each other’s faces, however uncharacteristic that impossibility is, because at least there would be noise-there would be communication-there would be something other than the stifling politeness Himchan seems to be determined to impose upon him and Yongguk for the time being (for forever, Youngjae’s brain has begun to say-they can’t, Youngjae’s heart vehemently denies). Whenever Himchan replies in the unfamiliar, in cold formality, Youngjae can’t even look at Yongguk-Youngjae can’t watch the light threaten to flicker out in Yongguk’s eyes permanently.
(doesn’t understand how Himchan can’t see that with every passing moment that he refuses to reconcile with Yongguk-regardless of who needs to apologize and who needs to forgive-Yongguk is gets closer to falling off an edge no one will be able to pull him up from)
“Hyung,” Youngjae says, heart thudding in his chest as Himchan glances back at him from the plans he has sprawled on his lap.
Himchan blinks, waiting.
Youngjae swallows dryly. “Why aren’t you and Yongguk-hyung together anymore?”
The reaction is as anticlimactic as it is horrifying.
Himchan looks Youngjae squarely in the eye. “People break-up,” he shrugs, and turns back to the blueprints.
In their line of work, safety is a nonissue.
Most of them feel bored when they feel secure-most of them don’t like feeling secure. No one becomes a thief because they like feeling safe just like no one becomes a bodyguard because they like feeling safe. All the same, there are some types of security that Minhyuk likes feeling, however much of a luxury those types of safety might be. The most extravagant, the rarest and most valued, feeling of security-one that Minhyuk doesn’t associate with boredom at all-is the one he feels when he and Yukwon are working together on the floor for the first time in what feels like too long.
(really it’s only been a few weeks but it still feels like Minhyuk has been behind the cameras too many times watching Yukwon take on Dongsun alone)
Normally, though, working separately for them is a nonissue as well. And Minhyuk isn’t quite ready yet to admit that Dongsun is different in ways that no one wants to talk about. Least of all Yukwon, and Minhyuk isn’t sure it’s a conversation he wants to have either.
“Hyung,” and it’s whispered into his ear, unfamiliar and breathy, the way Yukwon never speaks to him. Minhyuk blinks out of his thoughts, emerging with flashing teeth and pressed dimples as he regards the other players around the table.
“Sorry,” Minhyuk says lightly, pulling an arm around Yukwon’s shoulders. The younger man burrows deep against Minhyuk’s side, and Minhyuk glances down at the cards in his hand. Beneath the table, against Minhyuk’s thigh, Yukwon’s fingers are pressed against the cloth. The game goes on and Minhyuk narrows his eyes at his cards, as the other players (all businessmen, here at this VIP table), start setting their own hands out. Minhyuk pretends to be lost in further thought, stalling only as long as the other players are distracted with posturing and bluffing.
Minhyuk is shit at poker.
Minhyuk knows shit about poker.
The fingers against Minhyuk’s thigh start to tap softly, and Minhyuk’s eyes slide to the side, glancing discreetly at Yukwon’s suddenly lowered eyes. There’s an infinitesimal tilt of Yukwon’s head, and in the split moment that everyone else at the table is taken away by a hand played by an executive from Hong Kong, Yukwon meets Minhyuk’s eyes and blinks once. Yukwon leans in to kiss Minhyuk and as the table erupts with excitement from the executive’s revealed hand, Minhyuk feels Yukwon’s hand slip over his own (feels a card slip against his thumb).
Minhyuk allows himself a little grin as he clears his throat with a distinct, “Gentleman.” Eight sets of eyes around the table hone in on him. He meets every single pair of eyes cheerfully, extends his hands, and slaps his cards up on the table.
The look in each pair of eyes tightens, smiles drawn along with them, as one of the employees begins to politely rake the chips towards Minhyuk. “Must be your good luck charm,” the Hong Kong executive says in curt, accented English, not even bothering to conceal his irritation as his eyes flicker waspishly to where Yukwon blinks, blank and unassuming at Minhyuk’s side.
Minhyuk merely smiles.
“Must be,” a voice from behind them says, and a hand presses down on Minhyuk’s shoulder as Dongsun steps to his side, other hand leaning on the edge of the poker table. “Good evening,” he says in perfect English, and looks around at the other players-top clients. Dongsun goes one round around the table, shaking hands, greeting and offering drinks and anything else to make your stay more pleasurable, gentlemen. There’s business talk scattered through in there, and Yukwon’s fingers are back at work against Minhyuk’s thigh-rapid Morse code to discuss because tonight, Taeil is busy tinkering with the casino’s security system. The surveillance in the suite isn’t in use and Minhyuk and Yukwon know they’re flying solo.
They’re both taped up with recording equipment, tiny and hidden well in places that Dongsun hopefully won’t come to see tonight for whatever reason, but Minhyuk doesn’t expect to get anything useful out of Dongsun today if they haven’t for the past few weeks. They’ve been coming up dry and he only hopes that having Himchan take over will do some, if any, good.
“Minhyuk-shii,” Dongsun says, once he finishes addressing the others on the status of their visits, “could I have a word with you? It’s about your incoming package.”
Minhyuk rises to his feet, and Yukwon slowly does the same. Minhyuk bows once to the others at the table, smiles, and loops an arm around Yukwon’s waist, pulling him along as they follow Dongsun out of the room.
Yukwon is made to wait outside, and he keens and whimpers and pouts and Minhyuk silences him with a glare that seems to bring a smile to Dongsun’s face. Dongsun steps into his office first, which leaves Minhyuk to close the door behind him and, as Dongsun turns away and Minhyuk is left to lock the door, Yukwon looks at him and grins. Minhyuk raises his eyebrows playfully before closing the door and pressing in the lock.
As soon as Minhyuk turns around, Dongsun says, “I always wondered why someone like you wants him so much.”
Minhyuk inclines his head.
“You aren’t old or fat,” Dongsun goes on. “There’s no reason to keep someone like him around. He isn’t that amazing of a fuck.”
“You seemed to think so,” Minhyuk says with a faint smile. “You kept him around for a while.”
Dongsun blinks for a moment, before breaking in to a responding smile, walking to the glass table pressed against the side of the room. “Touché,” he says lightly, tugging off the cork of a tall, bulbous bottle and pouring Minhyuk out something dark and amber. He hands the tumbler over. Minhyuk shakes his head. Dongsun blinks again, and shrugs, sipping half of it down himself.
“Maybe I love him,” Minhyuk says, as Dongsun settles against the edge of his desk and Minhyuk picks the armrest of a leather chair at the corner of the room.
“Right,” Dongsun lets out a bark of a laugh and rolls his eyes. He snorts. “You’re just with him to fuck with me.” He raises the tumbler as if to toast Minhyuk. “I like that, though-it’s a pretty touch. I applaud you, and all that shit. I like ballsy guys.”
Minhyuk folds his arms and smirks, narrowing his eyes in a look of playful conspiracy. He tilts his chin up. “How d’you know if I love him or not? You’ve never been in love.”
Dongsun rounds off the bourbon slowly, eyes focused on his lap suddenly and while there’s still something of a twist tugging at his lips, the atmosphere in the room suddenly shifts to something terribly unfamiliar. Minhyuk feels the familiar bitter control ebbing away and he feels vulnerable as Dongsun’s head slowly lifts to look at Minhyuk back in the eyes. Minhyuk is good at reading people-he’s excellent at dissection intentions and desires and there is nothing intentional in the way Dongsun looks at Minhyuk.
He knows that at that moment Dongsun still thinks that he’s looking at Minhyuk with power and control. He knows that at that moment Dongsun has no idea that he’s looking at Minhyuk with an expression Minhyuk would have ripped his own organs out before he’d ever expect to see Dongsun wear.
Dongsun looks human.
“How d’you know if I’ve ever been in love?” Dongsun says, acidic and teasing and yet horribly, terribly, frighteningly vulnerable and Minhyuk feels frozen in place.
He whips himself out of it and manages to say with hardly a crack in his voice, “I would’ve never guessed.” The smirk on his face no longer feels as natural as it should-it feels stiff and inappropriate even as Dongsun smirks back, but the vulnerability is still there (the humanity is still there) and Minhyuk wants to rip the recorded audio into pieces before any of the others hear it. He clears his throat. “Anyway-but about my package-”
Dongsun straightens off the desk, changing gears along with Minhyuk and flicking on his laptop. “When does it come in again?”
Minhyuk licks his lips. “Two weeks approximately.”
Author: himawarixxsandz
Rating: PG-13
Pairing(s): BangHim, ZiKyung, U-Bomb, TaePyo, DaeJae, JongLo
Summary: Thirteen is their lucky number
A/N: belated bday present for amy ;A; i wanted to get it up yesterday but baccalaureate and a whole of other hullabaloo things got in the way. but also once again still couldn't do this w/o all the screeches i get from bee and arii that give me life /i am nothing without your screeches/ and im so sorry to everyone that it's literally been over two months OTL
The Crew / The Crew II / Infiltration / Infiltration II / Infiltration III // Reconnaissance // Construction // Interlude // Recon(struction) // Interlude II
Arrives at the hotel by seven in the morning, has a quick breakfast in one of the hotel bistros with the manager of the hotel and the manager of the casino, ensconced in his office by nine, won’t be expected to come back out until lunch. Junhong loiters casually in the foyer between the Italian restaurant just outside of the lobby and the doors that led towards the staff hallways. He knows that a two left turns and one right, and Dongsun’s office should be staring him in the face. The only person, up to this point, who’s been in there is Yukwon-and, Junhong supposes, Jongup, if the air vents count as part of the office.
So far, Junhong can count only two instances where Dongsun might have caught whiff of something amiss with Junhong’s tailing. There was once when Junhong got a little too close and stayed a little too long during casino hours while Dongsun was on the floor, and another when Junhong had been distracted and nearly locked eyes with Dongsun near the lobby fountain. Both times, however, were spread out over the past few weeks-far enough in time that Dongsun hopefully would have forgotten about one when faced with the other.
He wonders if asking Minhyuk to tell him everything had been a mistake.
Junhong has to know. That’s doubtless. If he wants to stay alive, if he wants to stay out of prison, if he wants to get his proper share of the millions, then he knows he had to ask. Maybe that wasn’t the mistake. Maybe the mistake was just assuming that he could go on tailing Dongsun unaffectedly because as professional as Junhong wants to think he is (as much as he wants to do Hyosung proud-show that her training hasn’t been wasted on him), he can’t follow Dongsun around indifferently anymore.
Rather than just being another mark, Dongsun fascinates Junhong now. It distracts Junhong from the things that matter to the job-where Dongsun goes in the afternoon, how he takes his early evening wine, where he heads after dinner, times of the day that he’s in his office, times of the night that he’s on the casino floor, which guests he asks after the most-and redirects Junhong’s attention on things that shouldn’t matter but suddenly do (the brisk smiles Dongsun gives to the guests in passing, the commanding tone of voice Dongsun uses for the employees, the firm handshakes Dongsun uses for visiting businessmen, the searching way Dongsun’s dark eyes scan his surroundings).
In all honesty, Junhong isn’t even sure what he’s looking for. He knows he isn’t looking for anything in the way of determining what kind of man Dongsun is because that’s irrelevant to the job, and gathering excess information is just a waste of Junhong’s time and energy. He doesn’t care about Yukwon, and he doesn’t care about Himchan. There’s nothing protective or concerned in what’s making Junhong’s gaze shift from precise to contemplative as he echoes Dongsun’s steps. Knowing Dongsun was a thief and good enough to have been Himchan’s partner and lover is what piques Junhong’s interest enough that he now needs to consciously reign in the tiny pricks of desire he has to follow Dongsun more closely than is safe.
Junhong’s phone vibrates in his pocket.
“Mm?” He turns away from the direction of the doors.
“Junhong-ah,” Daehyun says, “you can head up now. Minhyuk-hyung and Yukwon-hyung are taking over in an hour.”
Junhong takes the phone away from his ear for a moment to glance at the time. “Will do,” he says, phone back up. “Bye.”
Jiho remembers a breezy, spring day on the outskirts of Washington D.C., with cherry blossoms all a bloom and the petals light in the air. He remembers the weight of Kyung’s hand in his back pocket and the weight of Yongguk’s arm around his shoulders. He remembers Himchan’s smile overtaking his entire face, contagious to the rest of them, and how Kyung ducked again and again to avoid getting his hair tousled by the details man. He remembers Yongguk and Himchan’s voices, simultaneously sarcastic and grateful for being introduced to Yukwon and Minhyuk a month earlier. He remembers goodbye hugs and handshakes, slaps on shoulders and clasped hands-and Yongguk’s grin as he tells Jiho that Yongguk and Himchan are headed to look for a con in Seoul.
It was the last time Jiho saw Yongguk for four years.
The next time Jiho sees Yongguk, he sees him walking through the front door of Jaehyo’s pool house in the middle of the Las Vegas desert and he hardly recognizes him.
Oh-he recognizes him-recognizes that same unmistakable voice that’d spoken to him over the phone just a week prior, but Jiho doesn’t recognize him. He doesn’t know how to reconcile the man-the hyung-he’d watched walk away on a sunny, bright day in a foreign country’s capitol city with a grin bigger than life, a swagger in his step, and a dance in his eyes with the man he’d watched walk towards him with a parody of that grin, a weight weighing down every step he took, and pain every time he met Jiho’s gaze. Even the clothes told the story of the lie that Yongguk can’t tell anymore-the exact sort of sharp suit that Jiho had seen Yongguk fill out time and time again, tailored to look like a king of thieves, and now it hangs on his hollow frame.
Yongguk only eats when they watch him, and Jiho can hear him rustle around working in the middle of the night to avoid sleeping. The solution is so obviously there-the beginnings of what could possibly fix all this, could possibly fix (heal) Yongguk, and yet it’s out of their reach. It’s utterly out of Jiho’s reach to help Yongguk because Jiho isn’t Kim Himchan. Going to the warehouse had been a mistake-it’d been a huge mistake, and Jiho had barely been able to restrain himself from punching Himchan out until the man lost his teeth and mind.
Maybe Himchan thought he’s pulling a convincing act, but all it looks like to Jiho is a man who’s left and abandoned the person he used to love and Jiho doesn’t know how anyone could do that. There was nothing friendly, nothing that gave any indication that they’d at least worked things out and decided to stay friends, about the way Himchan avoided even handing things to Yongguk-the way Himchan almost refused every single suggestion Yongguk made whether it was changing to material of the vault’s ceiling to fixing the paint on the vault’s logo.
“It’s not happening,” Jiho says. He leans against the armrest of one of the sofas in the suite living room, and glances from Kyung to Daehyun. “We’re not getting anything more-anything useful-out of Dongsun, and this job just won’t happen if Yongguk-hyung-”
“Then what should we do?” Daehyun straightens up from his position against the wall, voice rising and tight. “Ditch the job and run for it?”
“No one’s running,” Kyung says, taking a step forward with an arm outstretched over Daehyun’s chest. He angles himself imperceptibly between Daehyun and Jiho.
Across the room, Jihoon is helping Taeil rewire the monitors before Taeil goes in tonight to personally hack into the main security of the casino floor. Taeil glances up, taking a string of metal out of his mouth and waves one gloved hand at Jiho. “For the recon on Dongsun,” he says, “if Yukwonie isn’t getting us what we need, what if we try Himchan?”
Jiho feels it as if it was only his own body-he feels Daehyun and Kyung freeze without looking at them. He feels himself stiffen, and at the same time, he feels the cogs and gears in his mind instantly clicking as though this was the true alternate solution all along and they’d just needed someone to uncover it-to state it and make it obvious. He waits another moment before he dares to raise his head and meet Kyung’s eyes first. The conclusion in Kyung’s expression is instantaneous. Jiho tears his gaze away and looks at Daehyun only to find the exact same end in those eyes as well.
Jihoon stands up to gather the thicker cord rolled up on one of the desk chairs, leaning down to help Taeil unfurl it around the left monitor. Jiho walks over, careful to step over the already lain out cables and wires. “It’s a good idea,” Jiho says slowly, hands in his pockets. He waits for Taeil and Jihoon to finish rolling out the thick cable, plugging it into the proper sockets and screens.
“But?” Taeil prods with a grin as he meets Jiho’s eyes, and then looks past him to glance at Kyung and Daehyun.
“But doesn’t matter,” Kyung says matter-of-factly, before Jiho can interject exactly what the but is. “We’re deep enough in this that even if we wanted to call it quits, there’s already a trail for the cops to sniff at. When Jaehyo-hyung gets back from his meeting, we’re sending him down to run construction and Himchan-hyung is coming here to do recon with Yukwonie and Minhyuk-hyung.”
Daehyun grips Jiho’s arm, meets his eyes and Jiho finds reluctant but burning resolve in the younger man’s. He leans in close enough to Jiho’s ear that the whisper would only carry as far as it needed to. “If you don’t want to see Park Kyung behind bars,” Daehyun murmurs, and his voice shakes like a stone boulder threatening to fall off the precipice, “Himchan-hyung has to do it.”
And Jiho knows that it’s not Kyung who Daehyun envisions behind bars if they fell away from this con without finishing it through and eliminating the evidence. Jiho knows that this con is too big to be called off without any track marks left behind, and he knows that finishing it is a safer bet for all of them than stopping halfway and attempting to hastily cover the footprints. He pulls his arm out of Daehyun’s grasp and bows his head, eyes lowered as he looks back at Taeil. “It’s a good plan,” Jiho repeats, glancing once more at Kyung who raises his eyebrows and nods. Jiho clenches his jaw. “Let’s go with it.”
When Jiho, Kyung, and Daehyun leave to go talk building design in the next room over, Jihoon touches Taeil’s hand. The older man looks up from plugging in the last of the cables. Jihoon chews his bottom lip for a moment before forging on, still wondering if maybe he should’ve spoken up about this earlier, “Hyung,” Jihoon frowns, “Himchan-hyung isn’t sleeping well either, though. You think he’ll be okay enough to track Dongsun?”
Taeil blinks. Leans forward and kisses Jihoon shortly. Shrugs. “I don’t feel like going to prison,” Taeil says simply. “And I want the money.”
Jihoon stands up and holds a hand out. Taeil lets Jihoon pull the older man to his feet. “I thought Himchan-hyung’s your friend.”
“On a job,” Taeil says, sitting down in his usual chair in front of the monitors, flicking them on and warming up the ones that’ve fallen asleep, “he’s my crewmate. And these days, I don’t feel all that sorry for someone who lets their partner go to prison.”
Jihoon’s frown deepens. “What if he couldn’t-”
The look that Taeil turns on the younger man silences him. “You think,” Taeil says slowly, voice low, “Kim Himchan couldn’t find a way?” Taeil adjusts the focus on the monitors watching the east wing of the resort and the left side of the casino floor.
“I like him,” Jihoon says, sitting down on the chair beside Taeil. He gazes out absently at the monitor in front of him-the one of the door to Dongsun’s office.
“Me, too,” Taeil’s tone is just the same-even and simple, collected and unaffected. “But you don’t have to like your crewmates, Jihoon-ah, y’know? You just make sure they get things done so you get your money and you don’t go to prison.” He stands suddenly with a last click of a key. His hand tousles Jihoon’s hair. “You’re on surveillance duty tonight-don’t fall asleep.”
Jihoon leans back in his chair as he feels Taeil’s lips brush his mouth a last time before the older man walks away.
To be blunt, Jongup knew it was him.
The moment Himchan walked into the studio with Yongguk at his side, even if Jongup had no actual rationale for it-no emotions to stir the reasoning, no jealousy, no irritation, nothing-he simply, instinctively knew. Something, several things, clicked in his mind and he knew without a doubt, without the information that he now had, that this must be him. This shadow of a man, with clothes hanging off of his hollow frame and eyes that hadn’t seen proper sleep in weeks, must be the king of thieves that Jongup could never overcome in Kim Himchan’s eyes no matter what he gave or what he became.
The last Jongup had seen of Himchan before just a month ago had been when they’d kissed goodbye in front of the very studio they’d first met at. Jongup would like to think that Himchan had looked as healthy as a person with nightmares plaguing him all too often could ever look when they’d parted, but seeing Himchan walk through the doors with Yongguk, Jongup had to dash even those hopes.
By no means did Himchan look healthy, but Himchan looked better (better than when he was with Jongup). He didn’t look happier, but there was something about him-something different in how he walked and held himself together when Yongguk was beside him, regardless of how hostile the atmosphere between them was, that was marginally different from how Himchan had been when he was just with Jongup and Yongguk had been in prison.
Jongup wonders what they’d been like back then-back before everything-back before the dark times that no one else on the crew even dared to mention to each other-possibly to even think about. He wonders-
“-s that okay?”
-and puts a hasty halt to his thoughts, blinking up quickly at Yongguk’s face to let the older man know that he wasn’t really spacing out.
“Yeah,” Jongup says a little too fast. He blinks again, once at the design of the vault-in-progress and once again at Yongguk. “Yeah, that’s fine.”
“Being stuck in an enclosed space with a limited amount of oxygen is fine?” Yongguk asks.
Jongup stares at the plans. “Wait-what-” He double-takes back at Yongguk, and the older man has laughter somewhere in those eyes.
Yongguk punches Jongup’s arm lightly. “We’ll give you a tank enough for two hours, just in case,” Yongguk says, grinning, “Don’t worry-I don’t let my guys die.”
(my guys?)
Jongup clears his throat, angling the plans towards himself so he can get a better look (and reaffirm what’d been said to him in the past ten minutes that he hadn’t really heard). They’d secured the vault plans since the beginning of the operation, but they’d been under lock and key here at the warehouse until just this week. Only the people who’d been at the warehouse had seen them, and the others had only been sent digital, 3D copies, via Taeil’s personal, private computers. “So,” he says, hoping that he at least somehow subconsciously picked up the gist of it to repeat back, “I just have to wait in here while Jiho-shii and Kyung-shii wheel me in?”
“In theory,” Yongguk says, “yeah. If everything goes the way it should, then yeah, you’ll be there before you open your eyes, kid.” He smiles. “We’ll give you a couple magazines-maybe some manga-it’ll just be like waiting at the doctor’s. Sing yourself a song like you did in the suitcase, and it’ll go pretty fast. Just don’t be anxious that something’s going wrong when it starts to feel like you’re in there longer than you should.”
“Sure that time always goes by slower when you might suffocate to death,” Jongup mutters before he can stop himself. He blinks at Yongguk.
But Yongguk is still grinning-laughing-and it’s kind of abrupt, and kind of hugely welcome because something in Jongup unknots and he’s not sure he even knew he’d been tied up inside in the first place. He meets Yongguk’s gaze just then, as Yongguk reaches out to point at the next step after Jiho and Kyung leave Jongup in the vault, and for that moment, Jongup can’t even see the shadows that surround Yongguk’s eyes-can’t see the pallid skin, can’t see the thinness of his face, can’t see protruding cheekbones-all Jongup sees is a dangerous amount of presence and charm and Jongup is nearly ready to let himself be purely enamored by it.
He smiles a little on the inside, whether in resignation or acceptance he’s not sure, but he supposes that there never could’ve been any competition to begin with. Jongup can’t compete with a king, and now, he’s not even sure he wants to anymore.
(no wonder Himchan couldn’t stop loving Yongguk-not even for a moment
not even for Jongup)
Himchan squints. “What’s a pinch?”
Youngjae opens his mouth blankly. “A thing,” he explains, making a circle with his arms, ears turning red as Himchan regards him solemnly. “We’ll need it to take the power out.” He clears his throat and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “It’s big-it’s like-it’ll take the power out for about a minute-through the whole city-and that’ll be enough time for them to drop down the shaft, past the lasers, right?”
“More than enough,” Himchan says thoughtfully. He sits down at the edge of the table, and he and Youngjae look up at the progress of the vault. The construction workers have gone out for lunch. “Where do we get one?”
Youngjae rubs the back of his neck, leaning against the corner and pursing his lips. “I think I can source one, but we’ll have to-er-” He grins sheepishly at Himchan, and the older man blinks for a good, full minute before he bursts into laughter.
“That’s our job,” Himchan says cheerily and claps Youngjae on the back. His eyes meet Youngjae’s directly, and Youngjae inadvertently finds himself quickly scanning that gaze for anything that might seem off-anything that might clue Youngjae in on why everything feels off even though nothing is. But as discreet and brief as Youngjae tries to be about it will never be discreet and brief enough for someone who’s made a living out of hiding and masking himself for years on years. Himchan looks away with an air of finality, and sets his sights back on the vault.
For the past day that they’ve been here, Youngjae, regardless of how he tried, if he was honest with himself, couldn’t detect anything abnormal about the way Himchan was. They haven’t been in close quarters like this since the job they’d pulled together back when Himchan and Jongup had still been together, and during that period of time, the abnormal was too easy to detect-the cracks were too obvious and too large in Himchan’s armor. Now, however, while the cracks were no longer visible, Youngjae knows they still must be there. Himchan has just found a way in the interim to seal them in with something difficult and convincible.
The only noticeable difference is the glaring, painfully present, horribly existent difference in how Himchan treated Yongguk.
Or-no longer treated Yongguk.
Youngjae thinks he would possibly prefer them screaming into each other’s faces, however uncharacteristic that impossibility is, because at least there would be noise-there would be communication-there would be something other than the stifling politeness Himchan seems to be determined to impose upon him and Yongguk for the time being (for forever, Youngjae’s brain has begun to say-they can’t, Youngjae’s heart vehemently denies). Whenever Himchan replies in the unfamiliar, in cold formality, Youngjae can’t even look at Yongguk-Youngjae can’t watch the light threaten to flicker out in Yongguk’s eyes permanently.
(doesn’t understand how Himchan can’t see that with every passing moment that he refuses to reconcile with Yongguk-regardless of who needs to apologize and who needs to forgive-Yongguk is gets closer to falling off an edge no one will be able to pull him up from)
“Hyung,” Youngjae says, heart thudding in his chest as Himchan glances back at him from the plans he has sprawled on his lap.
Himchan blinks, waiting.
Youngjae swallows dryly. “Why aren’t you and Yongguk-hyung together anymore?”
The reaction is as anticlimactic as it is horrifying.
Himchan looks Youngjae squarely in the eye. “People break-up,” he shrugs, and turns back to the blueprints.
In their line of work, safety is a nonissue.
Most of them feel bored when they feel secure-most of them don’t like feeling secure. No one becomes a thief because they like feeling safe just like no one becomes a bodyguard because they like feeling safe. All the same, there are some types of security that Minhyuk likes feeling, however much of a luxury those types of safety might be. The most extravagant, the rarest and most valued, feeling of security-one that Minhyuk doesn’t associate with boredom at all-is the one he feels when he and Yukwon are working together on the floor for the first time in what feels like too long.
(really it’s only been a few weeks but it still feels like Minhyuk has been behind the cameras too many times watching Yukwon take on Dongsun alone)
Normally, though, working separately for them is a nonissue as well. And Minhyuk isn’t quite ready yet to admit that Dongsun is different in ways that no one wants to talk about. Least of all Yukwon, and Minhyuk isn’t sure it’s a conversation he wants to have either.
“Hyung,” and it’s whispered into his ear, unfamiliar and breathy, the way Yukwon never speaks to him. Minhyuk blinks out of his thoughts, emerging with flashing teeth and pressed dimples as he regards the other players around the table.
“Sorry,” Minhyuk says lightly, pulling an arm around Yukwon’s shoulders. The younger man burrows deep against Minhyuk’s side, and Minhyuk glances down at the cards in his hand. Beneath the table, against Minhyuk’s thigh, Yukwon’s fingers are pressed against the cloth. The game goes on and Minhyuk narrows his eyes at his cards, as the other players (all businessmen, here at this VIP table), start setting their own hands out. Minhyuk pretends to be lost in further thought, stalling only as long as the other players are distracted with posturing and bluffing.
Minhyuk is shit at poker.
Minhyuk knows shit about poker.
The fingers against Minhyuk’s thigh start to tap softly, and Minhyuk’s eyes slide to the side, glancing discreetly at Yukwon’s suddenly lowered eyes. There’s an infinitesimal tilt of Yukwon’s head, and in the split moment that everyone else at the table is taken away by a hand played by an executive from Hong Kong, Yukwon meets Minhyuk’s eyes and blinks once. Yukwon leans in to kiss Minhyuk and as the table erupts with excitement from the executive’s revealed hand, Minhyuk feels Yukwon’s hand slip over his own (feels a card slip against his thumb).
Minhyuk allows himself a little grin as he clears his throat with a distinct, “Gentleman.” Eight sets of eyes around the table hone in on him. He meets every single pair of eyes cheerfully, extends his hands, and slaps his cards up on the table.
The look in each pair of eyes tightens, smiles drawn along with them, as one of the employees begins to politely rake the chips towards Minhyuk. “Must be your good luck charm,” the Hong Kong executive says in curt, accented English, not even bothering to conceal his irritation as his eyes flicker waspishly to where Yukwon blinks, blank and unassuming at Minhyuk’s side.
Minhyuk merely smiles.
“Must be,” a voice from behind them says, and a hand presses down on Minhyuk’s shoulder as Dongsun steps to his side, other hand leaning on the edge of the poker table. “Good evening,” he says in perfect English, and looks around at the other players-top clients. Dongsun goes one round around the table, shaking hands, greeting and offering drinks and anything else to make your stay more pleasurable, gentlemen. There’s business talk scattered through in there, and Yukwon’s fingers are back at work against Minhyuk’s thigh-rapid Morse code to discuss because tonight, Taeil is busy tinkering with the casino’s security system. The surveillance in the suite isn’t in use and Minhyuk and Yukwon know they’re flying solo.
They’re both taped up with recording equipment, tiny and hidden well in places that Dongsun hopefully won’t come to see tonight for whatever reason, but Minhyuk doesn’t expect to get anything useful out of Dongsun today if they haven’t for the past few weeks. They’ve been coming up dry and he only hopes that having Himchan take over will do some, if any, good.
“Minhyuk-shii,” Dongsun says, once he finishes addressing the others on the status of their visits, “could I have a word with you? It’s about your incoming package.”
Minhyuk rises to his feet, and Yukwon slowly does the same. Minhyuk bows once to the others at the table, smiles, and loops an arm around Yukwon’s waist, pulling him along as they follow Dongsun out of the room.
Yukwon is made to wait outside, and he keens and whimpers and pouts and Minhyuk silences him with a glare that seems to bring a smile to Dongsun’s face. Dongsun steps into his office first, which leaves Minhyuk to close the door behind him and, as Dongsun turns away and Minhyuk is left to lock the door, Yukwon looks at him and grins. Minhyuk raises his eyebrows playfully before closing the door and pressing in the lock.
As soon as Minhyuk turns around, Dongsun says, “I always wondered why someone like you wants him so much.”
Minhyuk inclines his head.
“You aren’t old or fat,” Dongsun goes on. “There’s no reason to keep someone like him around. He isn’t that amazing of a fuck.”
“You seemed to think so,” Minhyuk says with a faint smile. “You kept him around for a while.”
Dongsun blinks for a moment, before breaking in to a responding smile, walking to the glass table pressed against the side of the room. “Touché,” he says lightly, tugging off the cork of a tall, bulbous bottle and pouring Minhyuk out something dark and amber. He hands the tumbler over. Minhyuk shakes his head. Dongsun blinks again, and shrugs, sipping half of it down himself.
“Maybe I love him,” Minhyuk says, as Dongsun settles against the edge of his desk and Minhyuk picks the armrest of a leather chair at the corner of the room.
“Right,” Dongsun lets out a bark of a laugh and rolls his eyes. He snorts. “You’re just with him to fuck with me.” He raises the tumbler as if to toast Minhyuk. “I like that, though-it’s a pretty touch. I applaud you, and all that shit. I like ballsy guys.”
Minhyuk folds his arms and smirks, narrowing his eyes in a look of playful conspiracy. He tilts his chin up. “How d’you know if I love him or not? You’ve never been in love.”
Dongsun rounds off the bourbon slowly, eyes focused on his lap suddenly and while there’s still something of a twist tugging at his lips, the atmosphere in the room suddenly shifts to something terribly unfamiliar. Minhyuk feels the familiar bitter control ebbing away and he feels vulnerable as Dongsun’s head slowly lifts to look at Minhyuk back in the eyes. Minhyuk is good at reading people-he’s excellent at dissection intentions and desires and there is nothing intentional in the way Dongsun looks at Minhyuk.
He knows that at that moment Dongsun still thinks that he’s looking at Minhyuk with power and control. He knows that at that moment Dongsun has no idea that he’s looking at Minhyuk with an expression Minhyuk would have ripped his own organs out before he’d ever expect to see Dongsun wear.
Dongsun looks human.
“How d’you know if I’ve ever been in love?” Dongsun says, acidic and teasing and yet horribly, terribly, frighteningly vulnerable and Minhyuk feels frozen in place.
He whips himself out of it and manages to say with hardly a crack in his voice, “I would’ve never guessed.” The smirk on his face no longer feels as natural as it should-it feels stiff and inappropriate even as Dongsun smirks back, but the vulnerability is still there (the humanity is still there) and Minhyuk wants to rip the recorded audio into pieces before any of the others hear it. He clears his throat. “Anyway-but about my package-”
Dongsun straightens off the desk, changing gears along with Minhyuk and flicking on his laptop. “When does it come in again?”
Minhyuk licks his lips. “Two weeks approximately.”