Forget Me Not (And Don't Move On) [1/7]
Forget Me Not (And Don’t Move On)
Kim Jongin is a notorious underground criminal and Do Kyungsoo is a less than obvious film student. They’ll find each other, inevitably, because that’s just how love stories go.
(That, however, is only the beginning.)
Length: ~57,145 words
Rating: 14A, NC-17 after part V
Warnings: non-EXO minor and slightly less minor character death, age switch, age gap (like 7 years), violence, top!Kai, swearing, slowburn, extraneous use of sub-par crack
I
It's cold today, Kyungsoo thinks as he turns up the collar of his dark grey tweed jacket; a feeble attempt at shielding his neck from the chilling wind.
He's walking down one of the busy streets characteristic of Seoul, weaving his way between passing pedestrians like himself. He's supposed to meet Baekhyun at the café close to their apartment, the one with the warm mocha interior and the barista who always smiles too much at Kyungsoo (not that he notices). But Kyungsoo is late, twenty minutes to be exact, and as he hurries down the sidewalk he curses the nip in the air and sniffles irritably.
It's not his fault that Baekhyun lost his keys to their apartment and took Kyungsoo’s instead, without telling the latter mind you, leaving him to tear apart their living room for twenty minutes in search before dejectedly giving up. So now aside from stressing over arriving late, there's an added weight in Kyungsoo’s mind that some stranger is going to steal everything (which isn't much) that the two own. They don't live in a sketchy part of town, per se, just not the nicest. But it's been working for them for the last three years, so neither of them can really complain.
Kyungsoo huffs out a breath that resembles smoke in the frosty November afternoon as the café sign comes into view. He grabs the door handle with fingers stiff from the cold and pulls, the door refusing to budge, before he remembers it's a push and embarrassingly shoves his way inside.
Heat, he notes with relief, flexing his fingers and thanking every living soul that this café isn't modest with their energy consumption. The warmth spreads through the tips of his fingers and he feels grateful to have refuge from the bitter winter air.
He lets out a breath when a sound startles him from the back. “H-hello Kyungsoo-ssi,” says the barista timidly, a small smile gracing her lips and a faint blush tinting her cheeks. Her pink apron lies slightly askew on her body and she fidgets nervously.
“Hey Hyejin-ssi,” Kyungsoo greets back, rolling his wrists and smiling at the girl. “Pretty chilly today, isn’t it?” He asks. Hyejin nods quickly and looks away. Huh.
“And if it isn't the man of the hour.” Baekhyun calls from their regular table by the window front. The backlighting gives him an almost angelic look ,but Kyungsoo knows from far too much experience that Baekhyun is anything but.
“And just on time too.” He adds cheekily, raising an eyebrow in wait for an explanation.
“Sorry Baek,” Kyungsoo greets, sliding into the seat across from his roommate. “I couldn't find my keys.”
“You mean these?” Baekhyun asks, dangling a key ring teasingly in front of Kyungsoo’s nose, the jingling sound echoing in his ears. He snaps the ring back into his palm and closes his slim fingers around it before grinning.
“You bastard.” Kyungsoo mutters, shaking his head with an annoyed sigh but not really meaning it. He snatches back the ring, not missing Baekhyun’s snigger.
“Still got that Pororo charm, huh?” He asks while raising an eyebrow, causing Kyungsoo to flush pink (the barista accordingly freaks out at a distance behind the glass container of biscotti on the counter).
“What the hell Baekhyun.” Kyungsoo stuffs his keys into his pocket, ignoring the smug look on his shithhead of a friend’s face. The charm was a gift from his first grade crush, and everytime he looks at it he remembers Cheolsu’s warm smiles and soft eyes, so screw whatever Baekhyun says, he’s keeping it.
“Goddamn Kyung, aren't you 21 or something?”
Kyungsoo pats the keys in his pocket absentmindedly, the corners of his mouth turning upwards in something resembling a wistful smile.
“It's sentimental, alright?”
“Sentimental my ass. You're just an 8 year old boy trapped in an old man’s body.” He knows him too well.
Baekhyun leans back in his chair and once-overs Kyungsoo amusedly, eyes slightly squinting as he chuckles lightly.
Kyungsoo grins. “If this is what being an old man looks like, sign me up.”
Baekhyun just eyes the other skeptically, because honestly he looks more like a hermit than anything else, all small shoulders and fluffy sweaters.
“Soo, when's the last time you did something remotely active?” Baekhyun questions.
“I walked here.”
Baekhyun laughs, a sharp sound that speaks of an old friendship and too many years spent together (but in a good way).
“Okay, Soo, okay.”
Kyungsoo smiles and leans back in his chair as well. He and Baekhyun have been roommates for three years, and friends since birth. It was one of those friendships born out of your parents forcing you on play dates, and as a kid you pretty much get along with anyone. And after seeing each other almost every weekend for the entirety of their childhoods, they inevitably grew closer until it was too late for Kyungsoo to escape from Baekhyun.
But Kyungsoo is glad to have the other. He keeps him level with his head on straight, because for all of Baekhyun's bullshit he won't take bullshit from anyone else, much less allow them to give it to Kyungsoo.
And Kyungsoo knows that Baekhyun is glad to have him too. It's hard to accommodate a personality as large as his roommate’s- Kyungsoo knows this far too well- but he's always been there for Baekhyun when others have turned away.
It's a mutual friendship, and a good one at that, Kyungsoo thinks with a nod.
He lets out a contented exhale and looks around the café. It's been the same for the past three years, a timeless comfort in an ever changing world.
The few scattered pot lights provide a dim glow, just barely illuminating the round wooden tables and rickety wooden chairs. The walls are painted a stormy grey and behind the barista’s counter lies an organized mess of aluminum and copper coffee machines and brewers. A few paintings decorate the walls, modern pieces comprised of only shapes and edges, limited to varying shades of grey. Coupled with the scuffed mahogany flooring, the cafe reminds Kyungsoo of home, or rather, of a home away from home.
A clearing of the throat that comes out as more of a squeak breaks Kyungsoo out of his reverie, his head snapping up to see Hyejin anxiously holding a short and wide porcelain teacup on top of a small saucer.
She sets it down on the table in front of Kyungsoo when he notices her presence and manages to peep out, “Chai latte as usual, Kyungsoo-ssi!”
Kyungsoo smiles up at her warmly. “Thank you.” She only nods once in acknowledgement before furiously scrambling away.
Kyungsoo frowns, because Hyejin has always been this way with him. Minimal eye contact, short conversation, blushing cheeks. It confuses him, because she seems perfectly fine around Baekhyun, and there’s no way that there’s something wrong with him and not his roommate.
Said roommate barks out a laugh.
“You really are a sorry bastard.” He tsks across the table, tongue clacking loudly against his teeth.
“Um, what?”
Baekhyun sighs. “She obviously likes you Kyungsoo. Really, it's like your head is made of sand.”
“She does not!” Kyungsoo protests.
“Kyung, she doesn't know what my usual is.”
“That's just called being nice Baekhyun. People do that when you show them good manners.”
Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “I call bullshit. She wants in your pants, and I say go for it.” Kyungsoo chokes on his own spit, collecting himself before shaking his head dismissively. It's better to just ignore Baekhyun sometimes.
“Any special girl in your life, Byun?” Kyungsoo counters, eyebrow arched. He knows it's a low blow but Baekhyun's pulled lower.
A scoff. “You'd know if there was.” The other grumbles, arms folding across his chest and gaze dropping to the table.
“I'm kidding Baek,” Kyungsoo says with a laugh. “I know I'm the only special woman in your life.”
Baekhyun snaps his head up to look at him disapprovingly and he winks.
His roommate’s arms uncross slowly. “You're lucky I put up with you Soo.”
“Likewise.”
There's a moment of silence as the two size each other up, Baekhyun being the first to back down and change the subject.
“Anyways, how's that semester-long project thingy going?” He asks with a vague flick of his wrist.
Kyungsoo pinches his lips together. “It's not.”
“Aw come on, it can't be that bad.” Baekhyun coaxes. “What's wrong?”
Kyungsoo sighs, running a hand through his short black hair. “I haven't started yet Baekhyun.” A small inhale from the other. “I just have no clue what to do.”
The other seems to think for a moment before supplying unhelpfully, “You could always do a porno starring yours truly.”
“I'm serious Baek,” Kyungsoo’s eyebrows knit together. “It's an issue. I only have like, a month left to finish it.”
Kyungsoo was a film student at the Korean Academy of Film Arts, almost done his second semester of third year. This semester’s final project was to create a short film, 10 minutes in length, and then hand it in for marking. The top 30 marks passed the course. It wasn't the most ambitious project ever, but with more and more students being cut from his program with each passing semester, it was just as, if not more, important than any other large scale project.
He knew the vague concept of what he wanted to do, just didn’t know how to execute it. He wanted to capture something ordinary, something everyday, and turn it into something… well, not-so-everyday. The only thing he was, was what that he had no clue what that something was.
He couldn't exactly turn his leaking bathroom faucet into a cinematic masterpiece.
Baekhyun sighs. Having known Kyungsoo for as long as he has, he's proud to say he can read the other pretty well. And he can tell that this is eating at his friend. Kyungsoo is a worrier by nature, always finishing projects weeks ahead, not because he wants to impress but because he just genuinely enjoys doing what he does. So for the man sitting across from him to have nothing and only a month to go, there has to be something seriously wrong.
“Do you have anything?”
Kyungsoo briefly explains his inkling of an idea and Baekhyun nods. “So, you're just waiting on inspiration, correct?” A yes from Kyungsoo. “Well, my friend, you better get out there and go get started.”
Kyungsoo pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. “I know that Baekhyun, but it's not as easy as you think. “
“Sure it is,” The other replies earnestly. Kyungsoo looks up him tiredly, not even needing to roll his eyes because the message is already conveyed in his body language.
“I'm not kidding, Kyung. We live in Seoul, one of the most goddamned beautiful places on the planet, and if you can't find inspiration here then what the fuck are we even doing?”. He sighs. “Just go for a walk, go to a park, do something relaxing. Because the more you push it the harder it’ll be. Just let it come to you naturally, is my best advice.”
Kyungsoo pouts, leaning back in his chair and throwing his hands up in defeat. “That's what I've been doing for four months Baek, and look where it's gotten me. Shit.”
He drops the now empty teacup back onto the saucer a little too harshly, the clang ringing through the café.
His roommate's voice softens.
“Just try it, Soo. Go for a walk. I've heard cold November days provide the perfect melancholic inspiration.”
Kyungsoo looks at him skeptically before he sighs one last time.
“Go. I'll still be here when you come back if that's what you're worried about.”
“Fuck you, Byun.”
“Gladly.”
“Gross.”
Kyungsoo pushes back from his seat and tells Baekhyun that he’ll be back never because he’s still five years old and Baekhyun still has cooties. He pays Hyejin at the counter and awkwardly leaves a generous tip for the mess that his roommate is bound to leave behind, before exiting out the front and back into the stinging afternoon air.
He strolls aimlessly down the street, in the direction away from the centre of the city, while letting his legs swing and shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. He whistles a tune under his breath and watches as each exhale blows a bout of steam from his lips.
He's fucked, he really is, and he knows it. A month is barely enough time to film and edit a 10-minute piece, and he thinks that he could do it, if only he had something to do. But his brain is giving him nothing and that really sucks because he really wants to stay at his school and get his degree. He's always loved film arts, capturing scenes and arranging them in ways that could make people cry. He's good at it too, being one of the top in his class for three years running.
Not that that streak will last much longer.
Just last semester one of Kyungsoo's closest friends in the program handed in something that the professor deemed was sub-par, leading him to get kicked out as he, “just wasn't keeping up”. And for Kyungsoo, it’s not even that he’s handing in something sub-par, he’s not handing in anything at all, which is definitely going to be an issue.
He kicks an aluminum can, watching it roll away clumsily until it hits a chain link fence about ten feet ahead. Kyungsoo hadn't even realized he had walked so far, now at the end of the dead-end street and staring at the paved parking lot beyond it. His song comes to an end as well, leaving him to stare blankly into space with his breaths the only sounds keeping him company.
A car goes off in the distance and he squints at the parking lot behind the fence. It stretches far back and to the side, and it has a kind of nice vintage look to it. But as much as he turns his head this way and that, he just can't think of any way to capture it in film.
Useless, he huffs in his head, turning around and leaning back against the flimsy fence, letting his head bang against it. His eyes shut and he leans his body weight into the chain links, heartbeat slowing in his chest.
I could just drop out, he thinks, it would be less embarrassing than getting kicked out.
He lets out a sharp laugh before exhaling and just letting it be.
Somewhere behind him he hears birds chirping as they make their way away from the city, wishing that he could leave with them. It’s days like this when Kyungsoo hates birds the most, days when the air is dry and the sky seems bleakly pale. It reminds him too much of a time in his life that was full of hurried decisions and rushed packing and panicked driving.
When he flew away himself.
He sighs into the fence and shakes his head bitterly, because there’s no point in dwelling on the past.
Wait.
Wait.
Past.
Dwelling.
Hold on.
He's thinking.
He’s thinking, and just maybe, he has it.
With a hurried hand he pulls his phone out from his back pocket and unlocks it, opening the notes app and rapidly writing down words. It’s annoying because autocorrect keeps changing the words as his fingers fly across the keyboard, but he doesn’t care if it doesn’t make total sense right now because he has an idea, he has an idea, he has an idea.
He could capture someone running away, but make it realistic. No wide-angles, too cinematic. Only close-ups, to really show the emotion. He’ll need an extremely talented actor but right now he's not even concerned because he has a fucking idea! It's perfect too, if he does so say so himself. People run away all the time, from over controlling parents and judging eyes. But the general public doesn't get that. They don't understand the logic behind running away, what it really means to be the runner.
Kyungsoo knows this from experience, having run away at the age of 18. His parents were abhorrently against their only son pursuing a floppy career in the film industry, refusing to allow him to go to KAFA.
So like the logical person he is, he ran.
He knows better than anyone that running away is not necessarily an attention grab, but it's more like a means of coping. If he could capture the essence of that in ten minutes, he's sure it would win over his undercover sap of a professor (he once saw the man crying while watching Marley and Me in his office).
He thinks that he could get Baekhyun to be his main actor. His roommate understands, for the most part, what Kyungsoo went through when he ran away, and when he's enlisted his friend’s help before he’s always done an exemplary job. It's his eyes that are the most expressive, Kyungsoo finds, making him perfect for the sharp and messy cuts of close-ups that he wants to achieve.
Kyungsoo turns around and kicks the fence in a sort of fuck you manner, a few pieces of trash flying up at the disturbance. He grabs the fence through some of the links and rests his forehead against it. Thank God, he smiles. The cold doesn't bug him, the metal fence digging into his forehead. He's happy, ecstatic even, and he pushes off the fence to return to the café. Hopefully Baekhyun is still ther-
His head whips around when he hears the sound of screeching tires in the parking lot behind him. A small and sleek black limo pulls in quickly, coming to a halting stop parallel to the abandoned warehouse on the far side of the lot about 30 feet away from Kyungsoo. A figure emerges from a small door in the side of the warehouse, gesturing wildly and shouting something at the driver who has exited the car and opens the door on the side closest to Kyungsoo.
The shouting one walks around the limo and Kyungsoo sees that he’s dressed in a suit, probably Italian, because it looks more expensive than everything he owns combined. His voice is a low timbre even when he's shouting, and something about it sends a chill down Kyungsoo’s spine. The car doesn't look cheap either, polished black exterior complete with blacked out windows.
The whole ordeal is extremely out of place in a sketchy parking lot that hasn't been used in God knows how long.
The man doesn't seem to notice Kyungsoo, who is admittedly just standing there dumbly. The film student in him is quite enamoured by this scene, and he wishes he had his camera right now. But he regains his senses and realizes this is probably not something he should be eavesdropping in on, and he takes a step back as the man ducks into the car.
Crunch. He steps on a twig and the sound is loud, causing him to cringe. It echoes in the otherwise silent air, and the man in the suit pauses, halfway into the limo. He looks up, straight at Kyungsoo, and even from thirty feet away Kyungsoo thinks,
He's beautiful.
•
I don't fucking have time for this, Jongin thinks impatiently, dress-shooed foot tapping against the concrete of the warehouse floor. His driver was supposed to arrive fifteen minutes ago, and if there's one thing Jongin doesn't tolerate, it's tardiness.
He shoves his phone back inside the pocket of his suit jacket after seeing that the driver is still two minutes away, breath huffing out sharply.
He's supposed to be on his way to a gala right now, celebrating Korean National Bank’s 25th anniversary. Jongin’s target for the night is Mr. Song Geunho, vice-president of KNB, a man who’s known for his strategic smiles and endless chequebook. It’s simple really, Jongin will spark up conversation, then after an appropriate amount of drinks get the wrinkly old bastard to provide the whereabouts and the knowhow to get into the main vault of the bank’s Gangnam branch.
An easy task for Jongin, who’s accustomed to smooth talking high-ranking dignitaries and socialites. He's spent countless hours perfecting the game that is social interaction, and he wouldn’t hesitate to say that he always comes out as the winner.
But he can't very well be doing his job if he’s stuck in a fucking warehouse.
Minseok steps up from the shadows, bowing his head. “Sir, Mr. Song has arrived at the gala, but it seems that the Syndicate is already all over him. Would you like me to set up preventative-”
Jongin holds up a hand, not caring to hear about the Syndicate at the current moment, or about their bastard of a leader, Lee Taemin. They’ve been causing far too many problems lately for him and his men, more commonly known as the Family, or Seoul’s most lethal underground crime group. Whichever works best.
“Please Minseok, not now. I'll deal with it when I get there.”
“Yes Sir.” Minseok nods and stands down, disappearing again and leaving Jongin alone.
Jongin sighs, rolling his head to the right and releasing it with a satisfying crack. His phone beeps, signalling the arrival of his driver, and he adjusts his suit as Minseok opens the heavy metal door for him.
Fucking Lee Taemin, the little leech.
Jongin walks outside to be met by the overly apologetic face of his driver.
“Sir, I-”
“Save it. I'm trying to run a business operation and you can't seem to get your fucking head out of your ass. Fuck up again and you'll never be seen again, am I clear?” Jongin walks around to the far side of the car where the driver holds the door open, not bothering to look the quivering man in the eye.
There's no response.
“AM I CLEAR?” Jongin spits venomously, slamming his hand down onto the hood of the car and towering over his driver, icy look in his eyes.
“Y-yes Sir,” The man whimpers, slumping in relief when Jongin backs away a second later.
“Good. Now do your job and drive. Get me there in 5 minutes.”
The driver nods eagerly and Jongin ducks into the car when a noise pauses him. It's a crunch, coming from the chain link fence at the opposite end of the parking lot.
He looks up, and straight into the wide eyes of a stranger.
From this distance all he can see is a sharp tweed jacket undercut by a boyish mess of black hair, a fairly unassuming look. The chain link man looks at him curiously, head tilting to the side and fingers threading through the links of the fence.
Who the fuck does this kid think he is? Jongin thinks when the other remains unmoving. He knows that he's terrifying, even from a distance, but apparently this kid doesn't. Fucking hell.
He cocks his head to the side, staring for a moment longer before shaking his head ducking the rest of the way inside the car. The driver slams the door behind him, getting into his own seat and pedalling away.
Jongin peels his phone from his pocket, dialling his number two speed dial before pressing the device against his ear.
It only rings once before he hears a, “Sir.”
“Minseok. Street across from the warehouse. Chain link fence. Find out who that is.”
“Yes Sir.”
He shuts his phone.
At least one person knows how to do their job.
•
The party is in full swing by the time Jongin arrives.
He’s immediately met with a wall of people, the large ballroom absolutely stuffed. They’re all impeccably dressed, satin gowns and silk suits mingling together to create a blinding image of the wealthy and the well-to-do. Jongin doesn’t look too shabby himself, his finely-pressed suit tailored to show off his rather impressive physique. Tall stature, broad shoulders, and trousers a little tight in the butt, just in case Song is into that kind of thing.
Servers run back and forth in their crisp white dress shirts overlaid by black vests, carrying elegantly perched silver trays in their hands, an assortment of small pastries and fluted glasses of champagne on top. A small white cloth hangs over each of their extended forearms, completing the effect that they all have massive sticks up their asses, Jongin thinks with a quiet snort.
He sweeps his eyes around the ballroom, noting the high vaulted ceilings and the plush maroon carpet underfoot. Several white-clothed tables lie around the room, standing up to a person’s rib cage and holding a centrepiece of flowers. Each table is crowded with people dying for a chance to set their drinks down, to rest an elbow for a minute. If Jongin squints he can see the far end of the ballroom clearly, a good 100 feet away.
He immediately feels comfortable in the setting, being used to attending high-profile parties, to coaxing secrets and passcodes out of slightly-buzzed lips in dark corners. It’s what the Family specializes in, grand heists and famous assassinations that never fail to make the front page.
And this, is the perfect place to leave their mark.
A throat is cleared a few feet to his left, a young woman sitting behind a low rectangular table. She wears a satin dress in emerald green, luscious black hair piled on her head in a delicate knot. She smiles at Jongin sweetly, white teeth shining, before asking him his name.
“Kim Kai.” He says with an air of distaste. It’s his charm he’s been told, to be a heartbreakingly beautiful asshole.
The woman flips through the guestlist in front of her, a small frown wrinkling her forehead. “I’m sorry sir, but there is no Kim Kai on this list.” She glances up at him curiously.
Jongin is momentarily surprised and arches an eyebrow. Minseok had told him all of his arrangements had been taken care of. Guestlist included. He takes back what he said earlier.
“Miss, I’m positive my name is on that list. Perhaps you need to have your eyesight assessed.” He says back sweetly with a bit of a bite.
The woman looks flustered. “Sir, I must insist, there really is no-”
“It’s fine, Yerim.” A smoothly dressed man almost as beautiful as Jongin himself glides up to the table. “He’s with me.” The man lets out a dazzling smile and the woman, Yerim it seems, can only nod dumbfoundedly before waving Jongin through.
The man motions silently for Jongin to follow him, and he fixes the cuff on his right wrist as he strolls further into the ballroom, trailing closely behind. He tucks the gold bangle that lies permanently on his wrist farther up his sleeve to hide it from prying eyes, to hide it from the few here tonight who might know what it means. Jongin isn’t surprised to see the countless pairs of eyes that follow him throughout the room as he walks, some staring out of curiosity and others blatantly undressing him with their eyes.
He looks forward to the man and at the tattoo peeking out the back of his collar, a swirl of black ink that resembles a dragon breathing fire. He’s seen this symbol more times than he cares to count, and the way the ink is so stark against the pale skin makes his lips curl and his stomach churn. He wonders why this man has never heard of concealer, because Jongin at least attempts to cover his markings.
How obvious.
The two stop once they reach one of the tall tables in the back corner of the room, where the lights from the centre of the floor are dimmer, the music less of an assault on the ears and more of a dull thud. Jongin looks expectantly at the man across from him, eyebrow raised and waiting for him to speak first.
The man shakes his head with a laugh, his platinum blonde hair shaking along with it like a cascade of white gold. He settles his chin to the left and once overs Jongin, none too subtly.
“Kim Kai, what a pleasure it is to see you tonight.”
Jongin’s blood freezes at the other’s voice, because he’s always seemed to have that effect on him.
“Likewise, Taemin-ssi.” He responds coolly with a tip of his head, hands coming up to shove casually inside his pants pockets in a disinterested stance. He doesn’t enjoy Taemin’s company, to say the least. It brings up too many hard feelings, too many unresolved issues, too many memories of earlier days spent laughing in the backyard. Jongin remembers too much of his past when he’s with the blonde, and he prefers to forget.
It’s always been what he does best.
“Please, no need for formalities. I’d say we’re far past that.” Taemin says charmingly.
Jongin frowns. “We’re far past many things Taemin, one of them being smalltalk.” He shifts his weight to the other foot and glares coldly. “What do you want?”
Taemin holds his chest in mock offence. “And what makes you think I want anything from you?”
Jongin scoffs. “This is hardly your crowd, Taemin. You wouldn’t be here unless you wanted something.”
Taemin drops his hand. “Right you are my brother.” Jongin scowls at his use of the word, the blonde ignoring it. “I really do hate crowded rooms. They make me nervous.” He pauses.
“Nervous?” Jongin questions with an eyebrow. “I didn’t think that word was in your vocabulary. You’ve never had an issue being a backstabbing bastard.” the jab is loaded but apparently Taemin doesn’t notice.
“Too many witnesses.” Taemin waves his hand dismissively. “Makes it harder to kill people quietly.”
“Well then maybe the Syndicate needs better hitmen.”
“Oh Kai, I don’t need a hitman to do my work for me.”
Jongin breathes out through clenched teeth, because he knows that that statement is true from personal experience.
Fucking Lee Taemin.
“Enough.” He practically growls. “Tell me what you want or have a pleasant evening without me.”
Taemin looks at him thoughtfully, and speaks after a long and tensely silent moment. “I know why you’re here tonight.”
His head whips up.
“Don’t worry Kai, you don’t have any worms in your… company.” He winks. “It’s simply intuition.”
Jongin regards him pensively, having learned that you can never fully trust anything the blonde says to you. Can never even partially trust anything he tells you. He hates Lee Taemin, and he cannot stress that point nearly enough.
“If you’re so intuitive, Taemin, then tell me: how does this night end?”
The blonde waves his hand vaguely beside his ear.
“As it always does Mr. Kim. With a winner, and a loser, and I think we both know who is who.”
And with that he looks at Jongin once more he walks away with long strides, disappearing into the sea of people.
“Fuck,” Jongin says under his breath. Taemin has always been like this, dealing in cryptic messages and unclear words. It’s his way, and as long as Jongin has had to deal with him it hasn’t made him any more understandable. And it’s been a long time.
He's been sold out, and he knows it, but he doesn't have long to dwell on that. He came here with a purpose and he might as well fulfill it. Bring something back to headquarters, to show his men how real leaders handle themselves in surveillance missions.
He taps the clear earpiece resting on the inner shell of his ear, static crackling and a deep voice coming into focus.
“Evening, Sir. A pleasure to be working with you tonight.”
“Chanyeol.” He dips his head slightly even though the other can’t see it. “Where is he?”
“The target is located in the northeast corner of the ballroom, about 35 feet away from you.” Chanyeol’s voice takes on a creepy quality. “And if I may so myself Sir, he's already got some… pretty decent company, if you know what I mean.”
Jongin ignores him. “I'm trying not to, Chanyeol. Moving in.”
“Gotcha.” The earpiece goes dead and Jongin makes his way northeast across the floor.
Chanyeol has been his human computer and resident tech guy for the past 6 years, ever since the Syndicate murdered his fiancé-to-be. Coincidentally on the night he was going to propose to her. Chanyeol had come to him, and although Jongin strongly dislikes working with people with vendettas, finds it always gets messy, Chanyeol has been loyal so far and proven himself to be anything but a hassle.
As Jongin weaves his way through tightly-packed bodies and wandering hands, his eyes scan back and forth for Song, glancing at each face he passes and cross-checking his memory for any matches to the pictures he had seen of the man earlier that day. Jongin spots Mr. Song ahead of him, and he speeds up just barely.
The vice-president is in the company of a fine young woman, as Chanyeol had mentioned, voluptuous figure outlined in a floor length but immodestly tight black dress. Jongin had given up any pretense of a libido years ago, but even he would admit that Chanyeol was right. The woman was attractive, and the only thing about Song that could possibly compare was his money.
As he approaches the older man the woman spots him over his shoulder. Her eyes glaze over with something hungry, and Jongin just hopes it won't be too much of an issue to get rid of her for the time being. Woman can be so relentless, he thinks.
“Mr. Song.”
The VP turns around slowly, pupils dilated from whatever alcohol he's already consumed and also presumably from sexual attraction to the female he's with. He looks slightly annoyed at being interrupted, but after detailing Jongin’s relaxed and confident posture, the annoyed look is replaced with one of curiosity. He faces Jongin fully and brings his companion around to stand by his side on his arm.
“That would be me.” He says evenly. “And you are?”
“Kim Kai, sir. A pleasure.” He holds out his hand and Song replies with a firm shake. Jongin takes half a step back as a submissive gesture, allowing the other to assume to dominant role in the discussion and be less wary of him in general.
“Likewise.” A pause. “Tell me, Mr. Kim, are you enjoying the night’s festivities?”
Jongin nods, charming smile overtaking his features. “Absolutely, sir. Congratulations, by the way, to the bank for 25 years, and also for throwing a spectacular party.”
Song shrugs with a good-natured grin. “We do what we can.” He says in an amused tone, clearly warming up to Jongin.
The woman accompanying the vice-president looks bored at his side, glancing at her nails and obviously not interested in the political interactions of an important man. Song seems to notice her irritation and pulls her closer to his side.
“What can I do for you this evening?” He asks.
Jongin rolls his shoulders, pretending like he’s a young man trying to get insider info on how to survive in the world of stocks and mortgages. “Well sir, as an aspiring businessman myself,” A partial truth, “When I saw that you would be in attendance tonight I knew that I had to speak with you. Your work has been nothing short of sensational, inspiring even, and I only wanted a moment of your time to find out your secret to being so successful. If you're willing to share, that is.” Jongin replies with a bantering lilt in his voice.
Song smiles playfully. “A magician never reveals his secret, but he'll tell you anything short of it.” He adjusts his grip on his glass of champagne and takes a slow sip. “I'm impressed, young man. Not many have the courage to approach a senior officer of the bank.”
Now it’s Jongin’s turn to shrug, sheepish expression creeping in. “I'm curious sir, and I'm ambitious. It seemed as good a mix as any.” He replies modestly. “Please, allow me to buy you and this lovely lady something more... refreshing to drink.”
In other words, please let me get you drunk.
But Song is a careful man.
“More refreshing than champagne? You must be out of your mind.” It's a joke but Jongin can hear the cautious tones that are beginning to grow underneath it.
In his head he backpedals for a second.
Clearly Song isn’t as willing or as stupid as he was told he would be, so he needs to switch his angle. Getting him drunk is no longer an option, so he’ll have to just find a way to make the man like him. If he can forge enough of a bond, he knows he can convince the vice-president to offer to set up a meeting, or even to show him around the bank someday or something ridiculous like that. From there he can find the main vault himself. Not exactly what he came here for, but it’ll have to do.
“I must be,” Jongin says with an apologetic laugh. “Forgive me, sir, if I overstepped any boundaries.”
The older man seems to calm down at this, the aggressive flare in his eyes from moments earlier rapidly receding. His shoulders deflate slightly and he sinks back into his heels.
“Nonsense, young man. I'm simply a businessman, and being as such makes you wary of every other man. Come, let's go talk somewhere a little quieter, and maybe I'll tell you my secrets, as you've so kindly asked.” Song smiles at Jongin.
“Thank you, sir.”
The vice-president looks at his companion and taps her shoulder twice, a seeming signal that she is dismissed. The woman shrugs and struts away, generous hips swinging back and forth and she merges into the crowd.
“I’m sure you don’t have much time sir, so I promise I won’t take too much of it. ”
Song lets out a sharp laugh. “Well said, Mr. Kim. No time for chitchat. Everyone these days seem to be all for long and unnecessary conversation, never really getting to the point. All this sidestepping, it makes an old man like myself tired.” He motions for Jongin to lead the way. “So, what can I help you with?”
Jongin shifts his weight in preparation to start walking. “Ah, well you see sir-”
He pauses.
To the untrained ears it’s nothing, background noise.
But Jongin hears it.
A click.
Then Song’s eyes widen impossibly, breath coming in a sharp intake before he suddenly falls forward, right onto the floor in front of Jongin.
The ballroom goes silent for a second, all heads turning one by one to see what the noise was. And with each and every pair of eyes that swing his way, they gasp.
It’s then that one woman screams in horror, followed by another, and then by another. Quickly Jongin’s ears are filled with shouts from all around him, and in the corners of his eyes he sees people scrambling away towards the xits madly.
It’s chaos, the music cutting off in a horrible screech as the guests run in every direction. A shout meets his ear, someone telling everyone to get out.
But Jongin isn’t listening.
He looks down at the now deceased body of Mr. Song, red oozing from the bullet hole in the centre of his head. A clean shot, and a remarkably good one at that.
As Jongin looks up after noting the workmanship of the wound, he’s met with the sight of none other than Lee fucking Taemin, twenty feet away.
The blonde smirks as he unscrews the silencer from his pistol and stores both inside his suit jacket, all the while looking Jongin straight in the eye.
He chuckles sardonically as what Taemin had said earlier clicks. He knew Jongin was here for Song, and in his own petty way saw to it that Jongin wouldn’t be leaving with his prize. After all this time it’s still typical Taemin behaviour, always trying to place the Jongin in second and rise up on top.
But he never succeeds, and Jongin is confident that he never will.
He’ll make sure of it.
The party ends with a scene of pandemonium around them as Taemin winks at the only other person in the room that isn’t terrified.
Jongin blinks and he’s gone.
•
Kim Jongin is a notorious underground criminal and Do Kyungsoo is a less than obvious film student. They’ll find each other, inevitably, because that’s just how love stories go.
(That, however, is only the beginning.)
Length: ~57,145 words
Rating: 14A, NC-17 after part V
Warnings: non-EXO minor and slightly less minor character death, age switch, age gap (like 7 years), violence, top!Kai, swearing, slowburn, extraneous use of sub-par crack
I
It's cold today, Kyungsoo thinks as he turns up the collar of his dark grey tweed jacket; a feeble attempt at shielding his neck from the chilling wind.
He's walking down one of the busy streets characteristic of Seoul, weaving his way between passing pedestrians like himself. He's supposed to meet Baekhyun at the café close to their apartment, the one with the warm mocha interior and the barista who always smiles too much at Kyungsoo (not that he notices). But Kyungsoo is late, twenty minutes to be exact, and as he hurries down the sidewalk he curses the nip in the air and sniffles irritably.
It's not his fault that Baekhyun lost his keys to their apartment and took Kyungsoo’s instead, without telling the latter mind you, leaving him to tear apart their living room for twenty minutes in search before dejectedly giving up. So now aside from stressing over arriving late, there's an added weight in Kyungsoo’s mind that some stranger is going to steal everything (which isn't much) that the two own. They don't live in a sketchy part of town, per se, just not the nicest. But it's been working for them for the last three years, so neither of them can really complain.
Kyungsoo huffs out a breath that resembles smoke in the frosty November afternoon as the café sign comes into view. He grabs the door handle with fingers stiff from the cold and pulls, the door refusing to budge, before he remembers it's a push and embarrassingly shoves his way inside.
Heat, he notes with relief, flexing his fingers and thanking every living soul that this café isn't modest with their energy consumption. The warmth spreads through the tips of his fingers and he feels grateful to have refuge from the bitter winter air.
He lets out a breath when a sound startles him from the back. “H-hello Kyungsoo-ssi,” says the barista timidly, a small smile gracing her lips and a faint blush tinting her cheeks. Her pink apron lies slightly askew on her body and she fidgets nervously.
“Hey Hyejin-ssi,” Kyungsoo greets back, rolling his wrists and smiling at the girl. “Pretty chilly today, isn’t it?” He asks. Hyejin nods quickly and looks away. Huh.
“And if it isn't the man of the hour.” Baekhyun calls from their regular table by the window front. The backlighting gives him an almost angelic look ,but Kyungsoo knows from far too much experience that Baekhyun is anything but.
“And just on time too.” He adds cheekily, raising an eyebrow in wait for an explanation.
“Sorry Baek,” Kyungsoo greets, sliding into the seat across from his roommate. “I couldn't find my keys.”
“You mean these?” Baekhyun asks, dangling a key ring teasingly in front of Kyungsoo’s nose, the jingling sound echoing in his ears. He snaps the ring back into his palm and closes his slim fingers around it before grinning.
“You bastard.” Kyungsoo mutters, shaking his head with an annoyed sigh but not really meaning it. He snatches back the ring, not missing Baekhyun’s snigger.
“Still got that Pororo charm, huh?” He asks while raising an eyebrow, causing Kyungsoo to flush pink (the barista accordingly freaks out at a distance behind the glass container of biscotti on the counter).
“What the hell Baekhyun.” Kyungsoo stuffs his keys into his pocket, ignoring the smug look on his shithhead of a friend’s face. The charm was a gift from his first grade crush, and everytime he looks at it he remembers Cheolsu’s warm smiles and soft eyes, so screw whatever Baekhyun says, he’s keeping it.
“Goddamn Kyung, aren't you 21 or something?”
Kyungsoo pats the keys in his pocket absentmindedly, the corners of his mouth turning upwards in something resembling a wistful smile.
“It's sentimental, alright?”
“Sentimental my ass. You're just an 8 year old boy trapped in an old man’s body.” He knows him too well.
Baekhyun leans back in his chair and once-overs Kyungsoo amusedly, eyes slightly squinting as he chuckles lightly.
Kyungsoo grins. “If this is what being an old man looks like, sign me up.”
Baekhyun just eyes the other skeptically, because honestly he looks more like a hermit than anything else, all small shoulders and fluffy sweaters.
“Soo, when's the last time you did something remotely active?” Baekhyun questions.
“I walked here.”
Baekhyun laughs, a sharp sound that speaks of an old friendship and too many years spent together (but in a good way).
“Okay, Soo, okay.”
Kyungsoo smiles and leans back in his chair as well. He and Baekhyun have been roommates for three years, and friends since birth. It was one of those friendships born out of your parents forcing you on play dates, and as a kid you pretty much get along with anyone. And after seeing each other almost every weekend for the entirety of their childhoods, they inevitably grew closer until it was too late for Kyungsoo to escape from Baekhyun.
But Kyungsoo is glad to have the other. He keeps him level with his head on straight, because for all of Baekhyun's bullshit he won't take bullshit from anyone else, much less allow them to give it to Kyungsoo.
And Kyungsoo knows that Baekhyun is glad to have him too. It's hard to accommodate a personality as large as his roommate’s- Kyungsoo knows this far too well- but he's always been there for Baekhyun when others have turned away.
It's a mutual friendship, and a good one at that, Kyungsoo thinks with a nod.
He lets out a contented exhale and looks around the café. It's been the same for the past three years, a timeless comfort in an ever changing world.
The few scattered pot lights provide a dim glow, just barely illuminating the round wooden tables and rickety wooden chairs. The walls are painted a stormy grey and behind the barista’s counter lies an organized mess of aluminum and copper coffee machines and brewers. A few paintings decorate the walls, modern pieces comprised of only shapes and edges, limited to varying shades of grey. Coupled with the scuffed mahogany flooring, the cafe reminds Kyungsoo of home, or rather, of a home away from home.
A clearing of the throat that comes out as more of a squeak breaks Kyungsoo out of his reverie, his head snapping up to see Hyejin anxiously holding a short and wide porcelain teacup on top of a small saucer.
She sets it down on the table in front of Kyungsoo when he notices her presence and manages to peep out, “Chai latte as usual, Kyungsoo-ssi!”
Kyungsoo smiles up at her warmly. “Thank you.” She only nods once in acknowledgement before furiously scrambling away.
Kyungsoo frowns, because Hyejin has always been this way with him. Minimal eye contact, short conversation, blushing cheeks. It confuses him, because she seems perfectly fine around Baekhyun, and there’s no way that there’s something wrong with him and not his roommate.
Said roommate barks out a laugh.
“You really are a sorry bastard.” He tsks across the table, tongue clacking loudly against his teeth.
“Um, what?”
Baekhyun sighs. “She obviously likes you Kyungsoo. Really, it's like your head is made of sand.”
“She does not!” Kyungsoo protests.
“Kyung, she doesn't know what my usual is.”
“That's just called being nice Baekhyun. People do that when you show them good manners.”
Baekhyun rolls his eyes. “I call bullshit. She wants in your pants, and I say go for it.” Kyungsoo chokes on his own spit, collecting himself before shaking his head dismissively. It's better to just ignore Baekhyun sometimes.
“Any special girl in your life, Byun?” Kyungsoo counters, eyebrow arched. He knows it's a low blow but Baekhyun's pulled lower.
A scoff. “You'd know if there was.” The other grumbles, arms folding across his chest and gaze dropping to the table.
“I'm kidding Baek,” Kyungsoo says with a laugh. “I know I'm the only special woman in your life.”
Baekhyun snaps his head up to look at him disapprovingly and he winks.
His roommate’s arms uncross slowly. “You're lucky I put up with you Soo.”
“Likewise.”
There's a moment of silence as the two size each other up, Baekhyun being the first to back down and change the subject.
“Anyways, how's that semester-long project thingy going?” He asks with a vague flick of his wrist.
Kyungsoo pinches his lips together. “It's not.”
“Aw come on, it can't be that bad.” Baekhyun coaxes. “What's wrong?”
Kyungsoo sighs, running a hand through his short black hair. “I haven't started yet Baekhyun.” A small inhale from the other. “I just have no clue what to do.”
The other seems to think for a moment before supplying unhelpfully, “You could always do a porno starring yours truly.”
“I'm serious Baek,” Kyungsoo’s eyebrows knit together. “It's an issue. I only have like, a month left to finish it.”
Kyungsoo was a film student at the Korean Academy of Film Arts, almost done his second semester of third year. This semester’s final project was to create a short film, 10 minutes in length, and then hand it in for marking. The top 30 marks passed the course. It wasn't the most ambitious project ever, but with more and more students being cut from his program with each passing semester, it was just as, if not more, important than any other large scale project.
He knew the vague concept of what he wanted to do, just didn’t know how to execute it. He wanted to capture something ordinary, something everyday, and turn it into something… well, not-so-everyday. The only thing he was, was what that he had no clue what that something was.
He couldn't exactly turn his leaking bathroom faucet into a cinematic masterpiece.
Baekhyun sighs. Having known Kyungsoo for as long as he has, he's proud to say he can read the other pretty well. And he can tell that this is eating at his friend. Kyungsoo is a worrier by nature, always finishing projects weeks ahead, not because he wants to impress but because he just genuinely enjoys doing what he does. So for the man sitting across from him to have nothing and only a month to go, there has to be something seriously wrong.
“Do you have anything?”
Kyungsoo briefly explains his inkling of an idea and Baekhyun nods. “So, you're just waiting on inspiration, correct?” A yes from Kyungsoo. “Well, my friend, you better get out there and go get started.”
Kyungsoo pinches the bridge of his nose and squeezes his eyes shut. “I know that Baekhyun, but it's not as easy as you think. “
“Sure it is,” The other replies earnestly. Kyungsoo looks up him tiredly, not even needing to roll his eyes because the message is already conveyed in his body language.
“I'm not kidding, Kyung. We live in Seoul, one of the most goddamned beautiful places on the planet, and if you can't find inspiration here then what the fuck are we even doing?”. He sighs. “Just go for a walk, go to a park, do something relaxing. Because the more you push it the harder it’ll be. Just let it come to you naturally, is my best advice.”
Kyungsoo pouts, leaning back in his chair and throwing his hands up in defeat. “That's what I've been doing for four months Baek, and look where it's gotten me. Shit.”
He drops the now empty teacup back onto the saucer a little too harshly, the clang ringing through the café.
His roommate's voice softens.
“Just try it, Soo. Go for a walk. I've heard cold November days provide the perfect melancholic inspiration.”
Kyungsoo looks at him skeptically before he sighs one last time.
“Go. I'll still be here when you come back if that's what you're worried about.”
“Fuck you, Byun.”
“Gladly.”
“Gross.”
Kyungsoo pushes back from his seat and tells Baekhyun that he’ll be back never because he’s still five years old and Baekhyun still has cooties. He pays Hyejin at the counter and awkwardly leaves a generous tip for the mess that his roommate is bound to leave behind, before exiting out the front and back into the stinging afternoon air.
He strolls aimlessly down the street, in the direction away from the centre of the city, while letting his legs swing and shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. He whistles a tune under his breath and watches as each exhale blows a bout of steam from his lips.
He's fucked, he really is, and he knows it. A month is barely enough time to film and edit a 10-minute piece, and he thinks that he could do it, if only he had something to do. But his brain is giving him nothing and that really sucks because he really wants to stay at his school and get his degree. He's always loved film arts, capturing scenes and arranging them in ways that could make people cry. He's good at it too, being one of the top in his class for three years running.
Not that that streak will last much longer.
Just last semester one of Kyungsoo's closest friends in the program handed in something that the professor deemed was sub-par, leading him to get kicked out as he, “just wasn't keeping up”. And for Kyungsoo, it’s not even that he’s handing in something sub-par, he’s not handing in anything at all, which is definitely going to be an issue.
He kicks an aluminum can, watching it roll away clumsily until it hits a chain link fence about ten feet ahead. Kyungsoo hadn't even realized he had walked so far, now at the end of the dead-end street and staring at the paved parking lot beyond it. His song comes to an end as well, leaving him to stare blankly into space with his breaths the only sounds keeping him company.
A car goes off in the distance and he squints at the parking lot behind the fence. It stretches far back and to the side, and it has a kind of nice vintage look to it. But as much as he turns his head this way and that, he just can't think of any way to capture it in film.
Useless, he huffs in his head, turning around and leaning back against the flimsy fence, letting his head bang against it. His eyes shut and he leans his body weight into the chain links, heartbeat slowing in his chest.
I could just drop out, he thinks, it would be less embarrassing than getting kicked out.
He lets out a sharp laugh before exhaling and just letting it be.
Somewhere behind him he hears birds chirping as they make their way away from the city, wishing that he could leave with them. It’s days like this when Kyungsoo hates birds the most, days when the air is dry and the sky seems bleakly pale. It reminds him too much of a time in his life that was full of hurried decisions and rushed packing and panicked driving.
When he flew away himself.
He sighs into the fence and shakes his head bitterly, because there’s no point in dwelling on the past.
Wait.
Wait.
Past.
Dwelling.
Hold on.
He's thinking.
He’s thinking, and just maybe, he has it.
With a hurried hand he pulls his phone out from his back pocket and unlocks it, opening the notes app and rapidly writing down words. It’s annoying because autocorrect keeps changing the words as his fingers fly across the keyboard, but he doesn’t care if it doesn’t make total sense right now because he has an idea, he has an idea, he has an idea.
He could capture someone running away, but make it realistic. No wide-angles, too cinematic. Only close-ups, to really show the emotion. He’ll need an extremely talented actor but right now he's not even concerned because he has a fucking idea! It's perfect too, if he does so say so himself. People run away all the time, from over controlling parents and judging eyes. But the general public doesn't get that. They don't understand the logic behind running away, what it really means to be the runner.
Kyungsoo knows this from experience, having run away at the age of 18. His parents were abhorrently against their only son pursuing a floppy career in the film industry, refusing to allow him to go to KAFA.
So like the logical person he is, he ran.
He knows better than anyone that running away is not necessarily an attention grab, but it's more like a means of coping. If he could capture the essence of that in ten minutes, he's sure it would win over his undercover sap of a professor (he once saw the man crying while watching Marley and Me in his office).
He thinks that he could get Baekhyun to be his main actor. His roommate understands, for the most part, what Kyungsoo went through when he ran away, and when he's enlisted his friend’s help before he’s always done an exemplary job. It's his eyes that are the most expressive, Kyungsoo finds, making him perfect for the sharp and messy cuts of close-ups that he wants to achieve.
Kyungsoo turns around and kicks the fence in a sort of fuck you manner, a few pieces of trash flying up at the disturbance. He grabs the fence through some of the links and rests his forehead against it. Thank God, he smiles. The cold doesn't bug him, the metal fence digging into his forehead. He's happy, ecstatic even, and he pushes off the fence to return to the café. Hopefully Baekhyun is still ther-
His head whips around when he hears the sound of screeching tires in the parking lot behind him. A small and sleek black limo pulls in quickly, coming to a halting stop parallel to the abandoned warehouse on the far side of the lot about 30 feet away from Kyungsoo. A figure emerges from a small door in the side of the warehouse, gesturing wildly and shouting something at the driver who has exited the car and opens the door on the side closest to Kyungsoo.
The shouting one walks around the limo and Kyungsoo sees that he’s dressed in a suit, probably Italian, because it looks more expensive than everything he owns combined. His voice is a low timbre even when he's shouting, and something about it sends a chill down Kyungsoo’s spine. The car doesn't look cheap either, polished black exterior complete with blacked out windows.
The whole ordeal is extremely out of place in a sketchy parking lot that hasn't been used in God knows how long.
The man doesn't seem to notice Kyungsoo, who is admittedly just standing there dumbly. The film student in him is quite enamoured by this scene, and he wishes he had his camera right now. But he regains his senses and realizes this is probably not something he should be eavesdropping in on, and he takes a step back as the man ducks into the car.
Crunch. He steps on a twig and the sound is loud, causing him to cringe. It echoes in the otherwise silent air, and the man in the suit pauses, halfway into the limo. He looks up, straight at Kyungsoo, and even from thirty feet away Kyungsoo thinks,
He's beautiful.
•
I don't fucking have time for this, Jongin thinks impatiently, dress-shooed foot tapping against the concrete of the warehouse floor. His driver was supposed to arrive fifteen minutes ago, and if there's one thing Jongin doesn't tolerate, it's tardiness.
He shoves his phone back inside the pocket of his suit jacket after seeing that the driver is still two minutes away, breath huffing out sharply.
He's supposed to be on his way to a gala right now, celebrating Korean National Bank’s 25th anniversary. Jongin’s target for the night is Mr. Song Geunho, vice-president of KNB, a man who’s known for his strategic smiles and endless chequebook. It’s simple really, Jongin will spark up conversation, then after an appropriate amount of drinks get the wrinkly old bastard to provide the whereabouts and the knowhow to get into the main vault of the bank’s Gangnam branch.
An easy task for Jongin, who’s accustomed to smooth talking high-ranking dignitaries and socialites. He's spent countless hours perfecting the game that is social interaction, and he wouldn’t hesitate to say that he always comes out as the winner.
But he can't very well be doing his job if he’s stuck in a fucking warehouse.
Minseok steps up from the shadows, bowing his head. “Sir, Mr. Song has arrived at the gala, but it seems that the Syndicate is already all over him. Would you like me to set up preventative-”
Jongin holds up a hand, not caring to hear about the Syndicate at the current moment, or about their bastard of a leader, Lee Taemin. They’ve been causing far too many problems lately for him and his men, more commonly known as the Family, or Seoul’s most lethal underground crime group. Whichever works best.
“Please Minseok, not now. I'll deal with it when I get there.”
“Yes Sir.” Minseok nods and stands down, disappearing again and leaving Jongin alone.
Jongin sighs, rolling his head to the right and releasing it with a satisfying crack. His phone beeps, signalling the arrival of his driver, and he adjusts his suit as Minseok opens the heavy metal door for him.
Fucking Lee Taemin, the little leech.
Jongin walks outside to be met by the overly apologetic face of his driver.
“Sir, I-”
“Save it. I'm trying to run a business operation and you can't seem to get your fucking head out of your ass. Fuck up again and you'll never be seen again, am I clear?” Jongin walks around to the far side of the car where the driver holds the door open, not bothering to look the quivering man in the eye.
There's no response.
“AM I CLEAR?” Jongin spits venomously, slamming his hand down onto the hood of the car and towering over his driver, icy look in his eyes.
“Y-yes Sir,” The man whimpers, slumping in relief when Jongin backs away a second later.
“Good. Now do your job and drive. Get me there in 5 minutes.”
The driver nods eagerly and Jongin ducks into the car when a noise pauses him. It's a crunch, coming from the chain link fence at the opposite end of the parking lot.
He looks up, and straight into the wide eyes of a stranger.
From this distance all he can see is a sharp tweed jacket undercut by a boyish mess of black hair, a fairly unassuming look. The chain link man looks at him curiously, head tilting to the side and fingers threading through the links of the fence.
Who the fuck does this kid think he is? Jongin thinks when the other remains unmoving. He knows that he's terrifying, even from a distance, but apparently this kid doesn't. Fucking hell.
He cocks his head to the side, staring for a moment longer before shaking his head ducking the rest of the way inside the car. The driver slams the door behind him, getting into his own seat and pedalling away.
Jongin peels his phone from his pocket, dialling his number two speed dial before pressing the device against his ear.
It only rings once before he hears a, “Sir.”
“Minseok. Street across from the warehouse. Chain link fence. Find out who that is.”
“Yes Sir.”
He shuts his phone.
At least one person knows how to do their job.
•
The party is in full swing by the time Jongin arrives.
He’s immediately met with a wall of people, the large ballroom absolutely stuffed. They’re all impeccably dressed, satin gowns and silk suits mingling together to create a blinding image of the wealthy and the well-to-do. Jongin doesn’t look too shabby himself, his finely-pressed suit tailored to show off his rather impressive physique. Tall stature, broad shoulders, and trousers a little tight in the butt, just in case Song is into that kind of thing.
Servers run back and forth in their crisp white dress shirts overlaid by black vests, carrying elegantly perched silver trays in their hands, an assortment of small pastries and fluted glasses of champagne on top. A small white cloth hangs over each of their extended forearms, completing the effect that they all have massive sticks up their asses, Jongin thinks with a quiet snort.
He sweeps his eyes around the ballroom, noting the high vaulted ceilings and the plush maroon carpet underfoot. Several white-clothed tables lie around the room, standing up to a person’s rib cage and holding a centrepiece of flowers. Each table is crowded with people dying for a chance to set their drinks down, to rest an elbow for a minute. If Jongin squints he can see the far end of the ballroom clearly, a good 100 feet away.
He immediately feels comfortable in the setting, being used to attending high-profile parties, to coaxing secrets and passcodes out of slightly-buzzed lips in dark corners. It’s what the Family specializes in, grand heists and famous assassinations that never fail to make the front page.
And this, is the perfect place to leave their mark.
A throat is cleared a few feet to his left, a young woman sitting behind a low rectangular table. She wears a satin dress in emerald green, luscious black hair piled on her head in a delicate knot. She smiles at Jongin sweetly, white teeth shining, before asking him his name.
“Kim Kai.” He says with an air of distaste. It’s his charm he’s been told, to be a heartbreakingly beautiful asshole.
The woman flips through the guestlist in front of her, a small frown wrinkling her forehead. “I’m sorry sir, but there is no Kim Kai on this list.” She glances up at him curiously.
Jongin is momentarily surprised and arches an eyebrow. Minseok had told him all of his arrangements had been taken care of. Guestlist included. He takes back what he said earlier.
“Miss, I’m positive my name is on that list. Perhaps you need to have your eyesight assessed.” He says back sweetly with a bit of a bite.
The woman looks flustered. “Sir, I must insist, there really is no-”
“It’s fine, Yerim.” A smoothly dressed man almost as beautiful as Jongin himself glides up to the table. “He’s with me.” The man lets out a dazzling smile and the woman, Yerim it seems, can only nod dumbfoundedly before waving Jongin through.
The man motions silently for Jongin to follow him, and he fixes the cuff on his right wrist as he strolls further into the ballroom, trailing closely behind. He tucks the gold bangle that lies permanently on his wrist farther up his sleeve to hide it from prying eyes, to hide it from the few here tonight who might know what it means. Jongin isn’t surprised to see the countless pairs of eyes that follow him throughout the room as he walks, some staring out of curiosity and others blatantly undressing him with their eyes.
He looks forward to the man and at the tattoo peeking out the back of his collar, a swirl of black ink that resembles a dragon breathing fire. He’s seen this symbol more times than he cares to count, and the way the ink is so stark against the pale skin makes his lips curl and his stomach churn. He wonders why this man has never heard of concealer, because Jongin at least attempts to cover his markings.
How obvious.
The two stop once they reach one of the tall tables in the back corner of the room, where the lights from the centre of the floor are dimmer, the music less of an assault on the ears and more of a dull thud. Jongin looks expectantly at the man across from him, eyebrow raised and waiting for him to speak first.
The man shakes his head with a laugh, his platinum blonde hair shaking along with it like a cascade of white gold. He settles his chin to the left and once overs Jongin, none too subtly.
“Kim Kai, what a pleasure it is to see you tonight.”
Jongin’s blood freezes at the other’s voice, because he’s always seemed to have that effect on him.
“Likewise, Taemin-ssi.” He responds coolly with a tip of his head, hands coming up to shove casually inside his pants pockets in a disinterested stance. He doesn’t enjoy Taemin’s company, to say the least. It brings up too many hard feelings, too many unresolved issues, too many memories of earlier days spent laughing in the backyard. Jongin remembers too much of his past when he’s with the blonde, and he prefers to forget.
It’s always been what he does best.
“Please, no need for formalities. I’d say we’re far past that.” Taemin says charmingly.
Jongin frowns. “We’re far past many things Taemin, one of them being smalltalk.” He shifts his weight to the other foot and glares coldly. “What do you want?”
Taemin holds his chest in mock offence. “And what makes you think I want anything from you?”
Jongin scoffs. “This is hardly your crowd, Taemin. You wouldn’t be here unless you wanted something.”
Taemin drops his hand. “Right you are my brother.” Jongin scowls at his use of the word, the blonde ignoring it. “I really do hate crowded rooms. They make me nervous.” He pauses.
“Nervous?” Jongin questions with an eyebrow. “I didn’t think that word was in your vocabulary. You’ve never had an issue being a backstabbing bastard.” the jab is loaded but apparently Taemin doesn’t notice.
“Too many witnesses.” Taemin waves his hand dismissively. “Makes it harder to kill people quietly.”
“Well then maybe the Syndicate needs better hitmen.”
“Oh Kai, I don’t need a hitman to do my work for me.”
Jongin breathes out through clenched teeth, because he knows that that statement is true from personal experience.
Fucking Lee Taemin.
“Enough.” He practically growls. “Tell me what you want or have a pleasant evening without me.”
Taemin looks at him thoughtfully, and speaks after a long and tensely silent moment. “I know why you’re here tonight.”
His head whips up.
“Don’t worry Kai, you don’t have any worms in your… company.” He winks. “It’s simply intuition.”
Jongin regards him pensively, having learned that you can never fully trust anything the blonde says to you. Can never even partially trust anything he tells you. He hates Lee Taemin, and he cannot stress that point nearly enough.
“If you’re so intuitive, Taemin, then tell me: how does this night end?”
The blonde waves his hand vaguely beside his ear.
“As it always does Mr. Kim. With a winner, and a loser, and I think we both know who is who.”
And with that he looks at Jongin once more he walks away with long strides, disappearing into the sea of people.
“Fuck,” Jongin says under his breath. Taemin has always been like this, dealing in cryptic messages and unclear words. It’s his way, and as long as Jongin has had to deal with him it hasn’t made him any more understandable. And it’s been a long time.
He's been sold out, and he knows it, but he doesn't have long to dwell on that. He came here with a purpose and he might as well fulfill it. Bring something back to headquarters, to show his men how real leaders handle themselves in surveillance missions.
He taps the clear earpiece resting on the inner shell of his ear, static crackling and a deep voice coming into focus.
“Evening, Sir. A pleasure to be working with you tonight.”
“Chanyeol.” He dips his head slightly even though the other can’t see it. “Where is he?”
“The target is located in the northeast corner of the ballroom, about 35 feet away from you.” Chanyeol’s voice takes on a creepy quality. “And if I may so myself Sir, he's already got some… pretty decent company, if you know what I mean.”
Jongin ignores him. “I'm trying not to, Chanyeol. Moving in.”
“Gotcha.” The earpiece goes dead and Jongin makes his way northeast across the floor.
Chanyeol has been his human computer and resident tech guy for the past 6 years, ever since the Syndicate murdered his fiancé-to-be. Coincidentally on the night he was going to propose to her. Chanyeol had come to him, and although Jongin strongly dislikes working with people with vendettas, finds it always gets messy, Chanyeol has been loyal so far and proven himself to be anything but a hassle.
As Jongin weaves his way through tightly-packed bodies and wandering hands, his eyes scan back and forth for Song, glancing at each face he passes and cross-checking his memory for any matches to the pictures he had seen of the man earlier that day. Jongin spots Mr. Song ahead of him, and he speeds up just barely.
The vice-president is in the company of a fine young woman, as Chanyeol had mentioned, voluptuous figure outlined in a floor length but immodestly tight black dress. Jongin had given up any pretense of a libido years ago, but even he would admit that Chanyeol was right. The woman was attractive, and the only thing about Song that could possibly compare was his money.
As he approaches the older man the woman spots him over his shoulder. Her eyes glaze over with something hungry, and Jongin just hopes it won't be too much of an issue to get rid of her for the time being. Woman can be so relentless, he thinks.
“Mr. Song.”
The VP turns around slowly, pupils dilated from whatever alcohol he's already consumed and also presumably from sexual attraction to the female he's with. He looks slightly annoyed at being interrupted, but after detailing Jongin’s relaxed and confident posture, the annoyed look is replaced with one of curiosity. He faces Jongin fully and brings his companion around to stand by his side on his arm.
“That would be me.” He says evenly. “And you are?”
“Kim Kai, sir. A pleasure.” He holds out his hand and Song replies with a firm shake. Jongin takes half a step back as a submissive gesture, allowing the other to assume to dominant role in the discussion and be less wary of him in general.
“Likewise.” A pause. “Tell me, Mr. Kim, are you enjoying the night’s festivities?”
Jongin nods, charming smile overtaking his features. “Absolutely, sir. Congratulations, by the way, to the bank for 25 years, and also for throwing a spectacular party.”
Song shrugs with a good-natured grin. “We do what we can.” He says in an amused tone, clearly warming up to Jongin.
The woman accompanying the vice-president looks bored at his side, glancing at her nails and obviously not interested in the political interactions of an important man. Song seems to notice her irritation and pulls her closer to his side.
“What can I do for you this evening?” He asks.
Jongin rolls his shoulders, pretending like he’s a young man trying to get insider info on how to survive in the world of stocks and mortgages. “Well sir, as an aspiring businessman myself,” A partial truth, “When I saw that you would be in attendance tonight I knew that I had to speak with you. Your work has been nothing short of sensational, inspiring even, and I only wanted a moment of your time to find out your secret to being so successful. If you're willing to share, that is.” Jongin replies with a bantering lilt in his voice.
Song smiles playfully. “A magician never reveals his secret, but he'll tell you anything short of it.” He adjusts his grip on his glass of champagne and takes a slow sip. “I'm impressed, young man. Not many have the courage to approach a senior officer of the bank.”
Now it’s Jongin’s turn to shrug, sheepish expression creeping in. “I'm curious sir, and I'm ambitious. It seemed as good a mix as any.” He replies modestly. “Please, allow me to buy you and this lovely lady something more... refreshing to drink.”
In other words, please let me get you drunk.
But Song is a careful man.
“More refreshing than champagne? You must be out of your mind.” It's a joke but Jongin can hear the cautious tones that are beginning to grow underneath it.
In his head he backpedals for a second.
Clearly Song isn’t as willing or as stupid as he was told he would be, so he needs to switch his angle. Getting him drunk is no longer an option, so he’ll have to just find a way to make the man like him. If he can forge enough of a bond, he knows he can convince the vice-president to offer to set up a meeting, or even to show him around the bank someday or something ridiculous like that. From there he can find the main vault himself. Not exactly what he came here for, but it’ll have to do.
“I must be,” Jongin says with an apologetic laugh. “Forgive me, sir, if I overstepped any boundaries.”
The older man seems to calm down at this, the aggressive flare in his eyes from moments earlier rapidly receding. His shoulders deflate slightly and he sinks back into his heels.
“Nonsense, young man. I'm simply a businessman, and being as such makes you wary of every other man. Come, let's go talk somewhere a little quieter, and maybe I'll tell you my secrets, as you've so kindly asked.” Song smiles at Jongin.
“Thank you, sir.”
The vice-president looks at his companion and taps her shoulder twice, a seeming signal that she is dismissed. The woman shrugs and struts away, generous hips swinging back and forth and she merges into the crowd.
“I’m sure you don’t have much time sir, so I promise I won’t take too much of it. ”
Song lets out a sharp laugh. “Well said, Mr. Kim. No time for chitchat. Everyone these days seem to be all for long and unnecessary conversation, never really getting to the point. All this sidestepping, it makes an old man like myself tired.” He motions for Jongin to lead the way. “So, what can I help you with?”
Jongin shifts his weight in preparation to start walking. “Ah, well you see sir-”
He pauses.
To the untrained ears it’s nothing, background noise.
But Jongin hears it.
A click.
Then Song’s eyes widen impossibly, breath coming in a sharp intake before he suddenly falls forward, right onto the floor in front of Jongin.
The ballroom goes silent for a second, all heads turning one by one to see what the noise was. And with each and every pair of eyes that swing his way, they gasp.
It’s then that one woman screams in horror, followed by another, and then by another. Quickly Jongin’s ears are filled with shouts from all around him, and in the corners of his eyes he sees people scrambling away towards the xits madly.
It’s chaos, the music cutting off in a horrible screech as the guests run in every direction. A shout meets his ear, someone telling everyone to get out.
But Jongin isn’t listening.
He looks down at the now deceased body of Mr. Song, red oozing from the bullet hole in the centre of his head. A clean shot, and a remarkably good one at that.
As Jongin looks up after noting the workmanship of the wound, he’s met with the sight of none other than Lee fucking Taemin, twenty feet away.
The blonde smirks as he unscrews the silencer from his pistol and stores both inside his suit jacket, all the while looking Jongin straight in the eye.
He chuckles sardonically as what Taemin had said earlier clicks. He knew Jongin was here for Song, and in his own petty way saw to it that Jongin wouldn’t be leaving with his prize. After all this time it’s still typical Taemin behaviour, always trying to place the Jongin in second and rise up on top.
But he never succeeds, and Jongin is confident that he never will.
He’ll make sure of it.
The party ends with a scene of pandemonium around them as Taemin winks at the only other person in the room that isn’t terrified.
Jongin blinks and he’s gone.
•