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Chapter Text

Minho takes a drag of his cigarette as he watches the city convulse below him. 

He’s so high up on the hotel roof that all the lights and cars and people look like the night sky from above, if the stars came in a multitude of colours. Minho likes it. It’s something to soothe over the loss of the real stars, he thinks, because they are never visible in the city. 

He watches as he waits. It’s so late at night that only a couple of the many windows of the opposite building are illuminated. There’s a meeting going on in one of the windows, four businessmen sitting around a long table. A couple of windows further to the right, a dozen or so college students are living it up in the living room of their apartment. Minho can see their bodies writhing to inaudible music, multi-coloured LEDs flashing in time to the beat. 

He finishes his cigarette, stubbing the butt out on his boot before placing it in the sleek silver case he carries in his breast pocket for this exact purpose. He’s already itching for another one, but then his phone screen lights up. 

It’s a text from Seungmin. 

Lawyer Kim [11.33 p.m.] 

Done. 

In the opposite window, the businessmen end their meeting. Minho inhales crisp, clean night air and puts his phone back in his pocket. Then, he starts disassembling his sniper rifle. 

It’s muscle memory by now. He takes off the scope and ammunition clip, making sure the safety is switched on even if there’s no bullets left to fire before he stows all the parts away in their designated foam cut-outs.Once he’s done and the case is closed, it doesn’t look any different than any other briefcase. He doesn’t look different than any other salaryman, carrying it through the halls of the hotel on his way to the underground parking garage. 

He’s the first one back at the car. 

He’s about to light another cigarette when the exit door at the other end of the parking garage opens. Seungmin comes through first, carrying a briefcase not dissimilar to Minho’s own. His is filled with stacks of signed papers. Minho can tell by the self-satisfied smile on his face. 

Seungmin gives him no more than a small wave before he heads for the R8 parked halfway between them. He came in his own car. Seungmin never works after 10 p.m. and if he gets called out of bed on rare occasions like this, he always leaves first. Minho admires him for his consistency. Then again, if he had someone to come home to, maybe he’d be the same.

Chan doesn’t say much as he comes towards him. There is no need for words between them. Chan gets into the back of the limousine and Minho gets into the driver’s seat and like that they are off. Minho doesn’t even have to ask where Chan wants to go. 

They used to spend the nights in bars or hotels or visiting different developmental properties throughout the city, all so Chan didn’t have to go home to a husband who hated him. Now, home is the only place Chan ever wants to go. The devil, brought to his knees by a boy with sparkling eyes and a heart way too soft to be married to a man like him. 

Minho isn’t paid to judge them so he doesn’t. You can’t save everyone, his instructor used to say when Minho was still under contract at a private security firm, only do what you are paid to do. 

Minho is very good at only doing what he gets paid to do. 

It’s not even midnight when he parks the car below the high-rise that Chan resides in. He gets out first, opening the door for Chan, and together they take the elevator all the way to the top floor. 

“Channie!” 

Minho takes a step back once they enter the penthouse.

Chan easily catches the flurry of bright eyes and duck-print pyjamas that shoots at him like a cannonball. He greets Felix with a kiss, deep and undemanding. “Hi, angel.” 

Felix grins at Chan and in return, for the first time that night, Minho sees his boss smile. 

“I missed you.”  

Felix’s hair is up in two cute little pig tails and there’s a bit of greek yoghurt stuck to the side of his face. Face masks and cucumbers were the plan for the night, Minho remembers. A glimpse into the living room reveals Felix’s friends, Hyunjin and Jisung. Changbin is there too. The sweatpants he’s wearing tell Minho that Changbin and Hyunjin are probably staying the night, as he’s seen them do a number of times. Felix is fond of dishing out invitations like that. He wants everyone close all of the time. 

With his back pressed to Changbin’s chest, Hyunjin is sprawled out over his husband like a starfish, ignoring the fact that there’s a whole lot more sofa for him to sit on. That’s what a normal, adjusted person would do and Minho knows that neither of them are anywhere close to normal. In truth, Minho knows too much about Hyunjin and Changbin’s origins to not feel a small shiver run down his spine every time he sees them, but he also knows they keep their specific brand of crazy contained to themselves. They are not a threat to his employer so Minho doesn’t waste time worrying about them. 

Again, he is very good at only doing what he gets paid to do. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay the night?” Hyunjin asks Jisung, who is busy stacking the mixing bowls spread all over the coffee table into neat little towers. 

Jisung shakes his head, his thumb rubbing along the edge of one of the bowls. His eyes stay there too. “It’s better if I go home. My mom already called twice.” 

Changbin’s head pops up over Hyunjin’s shoulder. “Aren’t you twenty-three? And you still have a curfew?” 

Jisung blushes and Changbin splutters when Hyunjin elbows him in the ribs. “Yah!” 

“Don’t be rude, ” Hyunjin scolds him before he turns to Jisung with the sweetest smile. “It’s fine if you have to leave, Sungie. I just asked because I’d love it if you stayed the night, you know? Then we could make this into a real slumber party! We still have that waxing kit left that Felix bought.” 

Jisung’s shoulders draw up to his shoulders. “I’m sorry.” 

“Oh, no, Sungie, that’s not what I meant!” 

Hyunjin is quick. He slides off Changbin’s lap and hurries around the coffee table. Where Jisung is still sitting on his haunches, Hyunjin pushes him onto his back, burying Jisung underneath him. There’s no fight in Jisung as he lets himself be flattened to the floor like a pancake. Running a hand through Jisung’s deep blue hair, Hyunjin pouts down at his friend in apology. It brings their mouths very close. 

Minho takes a step forward. 

“You know it’s not a problem that you have to go,” Hyunjin says, “I’m sorry for bringing it up. I’ll send you the photos we took earlier so you can prove to your mum that we only did what you told her, okay? And we’ll do the waxing kit next time!” 

Jisung nods. His voice sounds breathless even though Hyunjin is keeping his weight off him. “Thank you.” 

“Of course.” 

Hyunjin grins, not stopping until Jisung gives him a smile in return. Only then does he swoop down to kiss Jisung’s cheek. 

Minho reaches for the inside of his suit jacket. 

Changbin is quicker. “Hyunjin.” 

Both Jisung and Hyunjin turn their heads towards the sofa. Changbin looks distracted where he sits, scrolling through his phone, but Minho knows he is not. The light of his phone reflects in his eyes when he looks up. Staring at Hyunjin, he raises a single brow. 

Hyunjin grins and springs to his feet. He all but skips back to the sofa, rubbing himself all over Changbin as he sinks back down. 

Jisung remains lying on the floor, heaving a deep breath before he goes back to cleaning up the coffee table. Minho is forced to look away from him when a hand touches his arm. 

Felix’s smile is beatific. Minho is a sinner so he doesn’t smile back. It doesn’t keep Felix from leaning into him.

“Minho-hyung,” he purrs in that specific tone that every single rich brat Minho’s ever known has down to a tee. It translates to something along the lines of ‘give me whatever I’m asking for, you know you want to.’ Usually it makes bile rise in Minho’s throat when he has to hear it, but it’s different coming from Felix. Felix is an angel. 

“What is it?” he gruffs. 

“Can you drive Jisung home?” 

The clinking and clattering of metal bowls echoes through the room when the tower Jisung was assembling topples over. 

Minho looks over his shoulder at Chan, who is watching him and Felix. Minho knows that if his boss and Felix were still on bad terms, then Felix snuggling up to Minho would have undoubtedly made Chan defenestrate him, but as it is, Chan only watches. 

Minho looks back at Felix. He could say no, but then denying Felix anything isn’t really an option with Chan right there, ensuring that Felix gets what Felix wants. Whatever he wants.

Minho nods his head. 

Felix beams at him before running off to his friends. “Sungie! Good luck! Minho-hyung is going to drive you home!”

Minho watches the way Jisung smiles at his friend, at Hyunjin too when the two of them start to say their goodbyes to him. It looks realer there, Jisung’s smile, once he is in his friends’ arms. 

Minho turns his head when Chan steps up beside him. He’s watching the trio in the middle of the living room just like Minho is. The only difference between them is that Chan has the right to look. 

“I’ll pay you the over-time. Just make sure he gets home okay.” 

Minho hums in assent. He’s not going to argue against more money. 

He’s about to head towards the door when Chan holds him back. “And Minho?” 

“Yes?” 

There’s a furrow between Chan’s brows, the meaning of which Minho can’t figure out. “Report back to me what you see, would you?” 

Now it’s on Minho to frown. “What I see?”

“The Hans. Someone is going to open the door for Jisung. If you can, take a video. If you can’t, just describe it to me.” 

Minho considers this for a moment. “Why? Are you planning another acquisition? Do you want me to do some recon?” 

Chan shakes his head, looking over to where Jisung is still being smothered by Felix. “No.” 

Minho doesn’t ask any further. It’s not his place. He merely bows and goes to put his shoes back on.

Felix is still clinging to his friend when Jisung comes to join him. He glances at Minho only briefly before he scrambles to lace himself into his combat boots. It takes an inordinate amount of time—about as much time as Minho imagines that Jisung spent wriggling himself into the very tight leather pants he’s wearing—but Felix fills the minutes just fine by babbling on about this and that and honestly Minho doesn’t mind. It’s not like he has a curfew. Even his cats won’t miss him until it’s time for him to feed them in the morning. 

Jisung still looks bashful as he pulls himself upright. Once more, he doesn’t dare to do more than glance at Minho. Minho wonders what’s going through Jisung’s head. He wonders whether Jisung knows about him, about what Minho does. He wonders why that thought leaves an acidic taste in his mouth. 

“Text me once you’re in your room, okay?” Felix says, pulling Jisung into one last hug. 

Jisung nods. 

Minho opens the door for him and like that they are off. 

*

Jisung is quiet in the elevator, his fingers knitting and unknitting themselves as he watches the number on the little display above the doors go down. Minho withstands the urge to place his hand on the small of his back as he guides him to the car, just so Jisung doesn’t trip over his shaking legs. 

He’s polite, though. 

“Thank you,” he mumbles when Minho opens the car door for him and just for a moment their eyes meet. Jisung’s eyes are big and beautiful and filled with terror.

Minho is usually indifferent when people look at him in fear. To him, it only means that he is good at his job. It doesn’t feel good when Jisung looks at him like that. 

“You’re safe with me, Jisung.” 

It’s stupid. Minho never speaks without being prompted to and suddenly the words are out there. 

Jisung startles. He bodily startles , jolting away from him as his eyes widen in shock and his heart-shaped lips form a perfect o.  

“In the car, I mean,” Minho hastily corrects himself. He didn’t wince the last time he broke someone’s bones, but he winces right now. “It is safe to drive with me.”  

Jisung nods, still slack-jawed and then he kind of just falls, right into the backseat where he’s supposed to be.  

Minho is tempted to lean over and help him get buckled in, but then Jisung is touching him. His fingers wrap around the sleeve of Minho’s suit, honey skin covering stark black fabric. Jisung is touching him. 

“Thank you,” Jisung’s quiet when he speaks too, but Minho knows he’s sincere. He can see it in his big, round eyes and the squeeze of his fingers which are still wrapped around his wrist. 

Speaking didn’t work out the first time so Minho only nods and takes a step back. Jisung’s hand falls from his arm. Minho closes the car door and gets into the front seat. 

He turns on the radio the moment the engine’s on. Usually, he doesn’t listen to music in the car and if he does, he sets the station to a channel playing unobtrusive classical music, but right now the silence in the car feels suffocating. If he doesn’t fill it with sound, he’s going to start counting Jisung’s breaths and that would be too much. It already is now. 

A short glance into the rearview mirror reveals that Jisung is looking at him. His hands are curled around his seatbelt, his bottom lip stuck between his teeth as he bounces his left leg. A sign of impatience? Right, Minho should probably start driving. 

He steers the car out of the underground garage, feeling his shoulders relax once they’re out on the streets. Driving always helps. This is where he feels most at home, navigating the streets of a city he knows like the back of his hand, a million lights passing by the tinted windows. He doesn’t need instructions. The route to the Han house is a familiar one. Minho has dropped Jisung off countless times by now, but there was always Felix in the car with them. 

Now, it’s just Minho and Jisung. Minho’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. They left Jisung alone with him. 

The car is idling at a red light when Jisung starts humming. Minho isn’t familiar with the piano piece that’s currently playing, but Jisung must know it well, judging by the way his fingers press invisible keys on his seatbelt. Minho turns up the volume. Jisung isn’t looking at him. He’s looking out the window, but even through the rearview mirror, Minho can see the tiny smile tugging at the curve of his lips. Minho feels his heart swell inside his chest. The light turns green and Minho keeps driving. Jisung keeps humming. 

Soon enough—too soon—they reach the bar gates of the gated community in which the Han family home is located. In the beginning, Jisung had to get out and manually confirm that Minho’s license plate was on the list of approved visitors. By now, the bar gate lifts by itself, a green light flashing above the camera which scans all incoming vehicles. 

Minho steers the car through the gate and shifts down, letting the car roll down the deserted streets. There is no traffic here, only big houses hidden behind wall-high fences. The Han house stands a little way up the hill, hidden behind an insurmountable brick wall and a gate made from a solid sheet of metal. 

Minho stops the car at the curb. 

Despite having been here a number of times before, Jisung is very particular about the way he likes to be dropped off. Minho, whether Felix is in the car with them or not, is only allowed to drive up to the curb in front of the house. There, Jisung will get out. Not even Felix is allowed to come up to the house. 

“My mum would invite you in,” is what Jisung mumbles every time that Felix offers. 

Minho wonders whether Mrs Han would invite him in too. Whether she’d ever let him get this close to her son. Whether she’d see what Jisung doesn’t. Then again, he’s only a driver. He gets treated as if he’s invisible at best and the dirt under someone’s shoe at worst. He doubts she’d have more for him than a derisive snort. 

The click of Jisung’s seat belt is jarringly loud inside the quiet of the car. Minho turned the radio down when they entered the gated community so he can hear Jisung’s breathing. He can hear the rustle of his clothes, the way he shifts in his seat. He doesn’t get out right away. 

“Thank you.” 

Minho is only a driver and so he shouldn’t turn around, but Jisung won’t let Minho open the door for him so these last few precious seconds are all he has. He turns around in his seat to look at Jisung, really look at him. 

“You’re welcome. Have a good night, Jisung.”

Jisung nods, his bottom lip disappearing between his teeth once more. His eyes are huge in the low light, pupils dilated and then he blinks. Then, he starts leaving. 

“Wait!” 

Jisung freezes, his hand on the door handle. He stares at Minho, doesn’t even breathe until Minho reaches over the middle console and touches his neck. With his fingers sliding over his pulse point, Minho can feel the way Jisung’s heartbeat is rabbiting. 

Gently, as gently as he possibly can, he drags his thumb across the delicate skin right below Jisung’s ear. Jisung continues to stare at him, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. He doesn’t take another breath until Minho lifts his hand off his neck. 

Minho shows him his thumb, the smudge of white on it. “You had a little bit of greek yoghurt…right here.” Minho gestures at his own ear. 

Jisung flushes. Even in the low light, Minho can see the way the flush crawls up his neck. 

“Thankyou,” Jisung says in one breath and then he’s scrambling to get out of the car, all but falling onto the curb outside. 

Minho watches him. He’s not allowed to do more than that. 

The gate to the Han home is already sliding open and Jisung hurries through, jogging up the gravel driveway. The front door opens just as he reaches the house. Much like Minho expected, it’s Jisung’s mother who welcomes him home.

He only has a couple of seconds to watch as she grabs Jisung by the arm and drags him inside. Minho can’t read her lips from this far away, but her body language is enough. Jisung’s head nearly disappears between his shoulders, like a turtle trying to hide, when he’s dragged into the house. Minho doesn’t get to see more than that. Before he can, the metal gate slides close and obscures his vision. 

He remains sitting where he is for several minutes, considering and reconsidering before he forces himself to turn the engine back on, to drive away from a house he has no right to linger in front of. 

He waits until he’s back in the inner city before he pulls off to the city off the road. It takes him considerably more effort than it should to get his phone out of his pocket. His fingers are shaking too much. He blames it on the lack of nicotine in his system. It makes it impossible to text.

Lee Minho [typing]

His mother’s a bitch all right. She opened the door and dragged him inside like he’s some kind of criminal. I don’t think he’s safe. 

He deletes that text and retypes. His hands won’t stop shaking so he curls his right hand into a fist and types with his left. 

Lee Minho [0.46 a.m.]

Nothing unusual, though Mrs Han seemed a little tense when she opened the door. JS seemed tense too. I don’t think she was very happy with him. The boy didn’t seem happy either. Would have to see more to say more. 

He hits send on this one and waits. His phone pings with an answer no more than a minute later. 

Bang Chan [0.47 a.m.]

Got it. I’ll see you tomorrow. Take a rest now. 

Minho laughs. Finally, he laughs. Really, it feels so good that he can’t stop laughing. He doesn’t know how long he stays there, at the side of the road, willing himself not to turn his car around. 

*

“What do you think about this?”

Minho considers the baby blue blouse Felix is holding up, but even more so he considers the expectant look in Felix’s eyes. 

“It’s pretty.” 

“Liar.” Felix whines, putting the hanger back onto the rack. “You’ve said that about everything I’ve shown you so far!”

Minho suppresses a sigh. “I’m sorry. I don’t know a lot about fashion.” 

Felix pouts, picking another hanger from the rack. This one’s got a shimmery black top draped around it. It’s so asymmetrically shaped that Minho honestly wouldn’t know how to put it on. He’s not here because he’s got fashion expertise, though. He’s here because he’s got a gun hidden underneath his suit jacket and the good will to use it should anyone try to hurt the pouting boy in front of him.

“It’s not about fashion, dummy.” Felix continues (both to pout and with his speech.) “It’s about whether I’m going to look good in it or not.”

“You look good in everything.” 

It’s not a lie, nor is it flattery. Felix really does look good in everything he wears and Minho thought he knew that. The slouch of Felix’s shoulders tells a different story, though. 

“Why are you concerned about this?” 

“Just cause.” Felix shrugs. 

Minho frowns, studying Felix’s body language while the younger regards the top which, upon closer inspection, could also be a skirt. “Felix.” 

Usually, Minho wouldn’t dig but they’ve got twenty minutes left until Chan is going to wrap up the business meeting currently taking place at the restaurant three floors above them and if he delivers Felix back to his boss with teary eyes then it’s Minho who’s going to swallow a bullet by the end of the night. He’d really rather avoid that. 

“What’s really going on here?” he asks. It’s awkward, trying to sound empathetic when his voice always comes out a little too flat, but he tries. 

Luckily, Felix is not the type to bottle up his feelings. He has too many of them. They don’t all fit inside his body and so he has to spit them out pretty regularly. Usually, he does this in the presence of his friends, but right now Minho will have to do. 

“Do you remember the party last Saturday?”

Minho nods. A company event, three hours in length, no incidents except that someone toppled over the champagne pyramid. Minho’s back was hurting by the end of it, he stood around motionless for so long. 

“Remember what happened with the champagne pyramid?”

“I do.” 

“That was Mrs Kim, one of my mum’s friends.” 

Minho frowns, trying to remember the incident more clearly. “Was she drunk?”

“No, she was angry. She caught her husband cheating on her on the balcony.” 

Minho blinks. He didn’t know that, but then he also doesn’t see how this is relevant to Felix’s wardrobe. “Okay?” 

“What if that happens to me?” 

Minho frowns. “You want to smash a champagne pyramid?” 

“No! What if I get cheated on?”

Minho laughs. He can’t help it. “Who would ever cheat on you, Felix?”

Felix only stares at him. 

“Felix.” Minho doesn’t mean to sound patronising, but this is ridiculous. “You can’t be serious.” 

And it wouldn’t be serious, except Felix looks genuinely heartbroken and terribly meek in a way he never is. Minho’s known him for a year now. Felix is supposed to be carefree and spoilt and sweet, above all other things, not unhappy. Never unhappy. 

“It happens, you know! My dad cheated on my mum too, lots of times. He always says marrying her was the best decision of his life, but…” Felix shrugs. “Doesn’t seem like it mattered much once his midlife crisis hit.” 

Minho huffs air out through his nose. “First of all, Chan is thirty-two, not fifty. He’s a ways away from any midlife crisis. Secondly, he loves you.” I don’t think you understand how much. 

“What if that’s not enough? My dad—”

Minho growls. He can’t help it. He was there for that part too. Your father is a spineless rat who sold his own son just so he didn’t have to erase his name from the side of a company building. “Chan is not your father, Felix.” 

Felix’s face is entirely serious when he says, “I’m going to die if he leaves me.” 

It’s dramatic and sincere and reminds Minho that Felix is still at the beginning of his twenties so he withstands the urge to roll his eyes. 

Felix doesn’t know, Minho has to remind himself. He wasn’t there to witness Chan during the six months between their wedding and that fateful car ride during which Felix and he worked out their differences. Felix wasn’t privy to the endless sleepless nights Chan put himself through, trying to figure out how he could make his angel happy, now that he’d plucked him from heaven.  

Minho was there, though so he can confidently say, “Chan would rather die than leave you. You know that, right?” 

Felix sniffles. “He only married me because I’m pretty. One look, he always says, all it took was one look. What if one day I’m not pretty anymore? It’s fine now, but one day I’ll be old and saggy too! What if he leaves me then?” 

“Felix.” Minho is honestly a little baffled. He’s young, Minho has to remind himself, these things matter to him. “It was never about the way you look. Well, sure, technically you’re right about the love at first sight thing, but it was never about the way you look . Even Chan wouldn’t have done what he did just because you’re pretty.”

“Then why did he want to marry me? I’ve never heard anything else.” 

Minho knows he has to choose his words carefully. He can’t give Felix so much of the truth that it’s going to scare him, but it can’t be so little that he’d realise Minho is coddling him. A middle ground. 

“Do you know what bad men dream of, Felix?”

Felix shrugs, looking petulant. “Blood, violence and world domination?” 

Minho snorts. 

Felix’s features soften into something fragile, something curious and maybe even scared. “What do bad men dream of, Minho?” 

“Peace, and a place to rest their head.” Minho knows his words come out a little too sincerely. He’s been awake for a very long time, too. “More than a pretty face to look at, you gave your husband a reason to come home at night. A family. Now you’re his reason for everything. You’ve got nothing to worry about, Felix.” 

Felix blinks several times, staring at Minho in disbelief before he smiles. His eyes are still a little teary, but he smiles. 

Minho himself doesn’t smile often, but it’s not a burden to smile back when it’s Felix. 

“You really think so?”

“I know so.” Again, Minho was there. 

He’s surprised when Felix grabs onto his arm, pressing against him with that bright-eyed, eager energy that tells Minho his lovely pest of a charge will be just fine. 

“You’re way more observant than you let on, hyungie.” 

Pointedly ignoring the form of address, Minho scoffs, but it doesn’t feel bad to be seen by Felix. Maybe it even feels nice. 

“Come on,” he says and finally waves over the sales assistant that’s been waiting to approach them ever since they walked in. “Enough with the emotional babble. You’ve got about fifteen minutes to spend as much money as you can. Make it count.” 

Felix doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s good at this and not just in a vapid rich kid way. He’s got a sense for style, for colour composition and the way different fabrics come together. Fashion design was his minor in university, if Minho recalls correctly, complementing an obligatory business degree. 

Minho lets himself fade into the background. The store they’re at is pricey enough that the staff has been vetted so he doesn’t have to be too concerned about how close they come to Felix. He allows himself to relax a little, splitting his attention between Felix and the door. 

The air shifts when Bang Chan comes in. 

It always does, but Minho still finds it fascinating to watch, the way Chan’s arrival sends ripples through the atmosphere like a stone hitting the still surface of a pond. Suddenly, there’s way more staff on the floor than before. Busy hands tug clothes into order, both on people and mannequins. At least three sales assistants approach him at the same time. 

Minho finds it amusing. The staff recognises Chan, of course, but they don’t really recognise him. They see him for who he is, not what he is. Sometimes, Minho entertains himself by imagining what would happen if they knew the truth. Sometimes, he entertains himself by imagining what would happen if people saw him for what he is. 

Chan skillfully dodges the staff trying to approach him and heads straight for Minho. “Where is he?”

Minho rolls his eyes at the lack of a greeting and points at the changing booth which Felix disappeared into not a minute earlier. 

“Right in there, trying on a pretty outfit so you’ll think he’s pretty too.” 

A furrow appears between Chan’s brows. “He’s always pretty.” 

“That’s what I told him too.” 

Chan shoots him a smile that is more dangerous and more honest than any of the perfunctory smiles he’s given the staff. Minho sees it for the sign of affection that it is and waves him away. 

“Keep it decent, yeah? There’s no real door, only a curtain.” 

Chan shoots him a nasty grin before he walks off. Minho watches him go as is his job to do. He doesn’t follow. He’s got a good view of the entire store right where he is. He doesn’t need to bring himself, or his poor ears, any closer. He remains standing where he is and imagines. 

*

Generally speaking, Minho would really rather stab his own hand with a screwdriver than attend one of the parties that fill his boss’s social calendar. Unfortunately for him, Chan not so jokingly once said that it’s where he needs him the most and so Minho goes to every single event Chan does. Unwillingly and insisting on double the pay, but he goes. 

The problem with these parties is that they aren’t even fun. Minho is not there to have fun, obviously, but no one else is having fun either. All the guests are just here to show off, to convince everyone else that they are better and richer than the next person. Minho thinks it’s pathetic. It’s like watching a bunch of wax dolls joke and drink and brown-nose their way up the social hierarchy, flashing glittery watches and nice suits and 210-gsm-paper business cards. 

A circus, if his parents had ever taken Minho to one. 

Minho misses Seungmin in these moments. At least he used to have the lawyer to hang out with—since Seungmin shares his disdain for the upper echelons of society—but Seungmin stopped coming to these things a year ago. Minho understands why. He understands that Jeongin is more important than any company event could ever be. Minho just wishes he had someone else to entertain him as he stands there, his back pressed to the wall like all the other security personnel who have been allowed inside but not invited to participate. 

Here, he’ll remain for the rest of the evening. He won’t leave his post until either Chan or Felix needs him. For anything else, he is not getting paid. 

When it happens anyway, it’s not Minho’s fault. Unlike Changbin’s deviant of a husband, he’s not a stalker. It’s not Minho’s fault that the circle of middle-aged women ends up moving to where he’s standing. It’s not his fault that Jisung and his mother are a part of it. 

Minho could ignore them. He tries to ignore them like he tries to ignore everyone else, but—

But. 

Mrs Han’s laughter is sharp, as sharp as Minho imagines the talons to be which she has dug into Jisung’s shoulder. Jisung looks lovely tonight. The deep grey of his suit complements the deep blue of his hair and his eyes catch the light like they always do. He’s the loveliest boy in the world, yet Mrs Han is talking about her other son. 

“Of course, we’re so lucky with our Jiho,” she gushes. “He’s business-minded, just like his father. Really, we’re not worried at all. He’ll lead the company to great success when the time comes.”

“You’re so lucky.” One of the other women sighs. “Try as I might, I can’t get my son to care about our family business at all.” 

“Well, I got lucky with one out of two. Because Jiho is such a good sport, it’s not as big of a deal that Jisungie here didn’t inherit the business gene. Not that we didn’t try.” Mrs Han laughs and her friends do too. Only Jisung doesn’t laugh. “Three years we let him waste on an Economics degree, but he kept begging us to let him study what he wanted and, well, of course you say yes when it’s your child.” 

A round of sympathetic, synthetic nods. 

Mrs Han finishes with a sigh and a sip of champagne. “So now he studies Art.” 

“Music production, eomma, I’m in—”

“Right, whichever one it was…diversion is important! I’m just glad all those piano lessons aren’t going to waste.” She laughs. “My son might as well fill his time like this until he’s figured out what he really wants to do.” 

“It’s not some pastime , eomma , it’s what I really want to do. I—”

Mrs Han cuts her son off with a smile. She smiles at Jisung in the same way parents smile at their toddlers when they are presented with macaroni art. Loving, but with a hint of condescension mixed in. It makes Jisung snap his mouth shut. It makes Minho want to snap her neck. 

“Sorry,” Jisung whispers. 

His mother pats his arm, clearly proud that he’s finally gotten the hint, and turns back to her friends. Jisung doesn’t say any more. He just stands there, his lips pressed together so tightly that it looks like the heart they form has been squished. 

Minho watches him. He thinks about nothing. He thinks about how fast his car can go. He thinks about nothing. He thinks about country lines and red-eye flights. He watches. He watches when Jisung finally, finally frees himself from his mother’s grip and excuses himself to the bar. 

Minho isn’t allowed to follow him. There’s a very clear, invisible line drawn on the floor that forbids him from drawing any closer and mixing his sullied self with the guests at this party. Minho is not supposed to cross the line. He doesn’t get paid to do it. He shouldn’t, but—

But. 

The bar is a vantage point too. It makes sense for Minho to go there. He is just making sure that he’s got a good view of the entire venue, that he’s not losing sight of Chan and Felix, eager as the crowd is to swallow them. He’s not disturbing anyone as he sidles up to the bar, to the boy in the midst of ordering, 

“One, uh, one Virgin Mojito, please.” 

Minho is too close. He shouldn’t be this close. He can be very quiet if he wants to be. Jisung doesn’t hear him coming. He doesn’t have a chance to escape until Minho is right behind him. Like an animal, he could close his teeth around the back of Jisung’s neck and bite. 

“Virgin, huh?” 

Jisung startles, whipping around so he’s facing Minho, his back pressing into the bar. “Minho-hyung! I mean Minho-ssi, I mean—” 

“Hyung is okay.” 

It’s not okay and Minho says it too fast, but the rational part of his brain is overruled by the part that is replaying the way Jisung said his name. Jisung said his name and called him hyung. He wants to call him hyung. He wants them to be that close. He trusts Minho.

“Hyung,” Jisung says softly, looking at Minho with unforeseen vulnerability before he seems to remember himself. “What are you doing here?” 

It’s a stupid question. Jisung realises this at the same time that Minho does. 

“Right,” he coughs, embarrassment colouring his cheeks. Minho wants to touch them. He wants to know whether they are as soft as they look. “You’re working, of course.” 

Minho nods, just once. I have a really fast car, he wants to say. I could take you wherever you want to go, he wants to say. It doesn’t have to be your home. It could be mine. You could be mi—

“Han Jisung!” 

Someone pushes themself between them. It’s not right. Minho’s hackles rise as his view of Jisung is obstructed, but he’s not stupid. He makes space instead of crowding in. He’s just the driver. Not even Jisung’s driver. He doesn’t get paid to do this. 

“Who are you?” Disdainful eyes meet his own. 

The only nice thing Minho has to say about Han Jiho is that he shares Jisung’s face. They’re not twins—Jiho is closer to Minho’s age than Jisung’s—but they might as well have been. The only significant difference between them is that Jiho’s eyes are darker. Jisung’s eyes hold the light, sparkle with the wonder he has left for the world. Jiho’s eyes are dead. There’s no light in them and Minho doubts there ever was. 

He knows from personal experience that people like Jiho aren’t made to be the way they are. They are born like it, just a little to the left of right. 

Jiho frowns at him when Minho doesn’t answer him. He turns to his little brother. “Jisung, who are you talking to?” 

Jisung startles. “Oh, hyung!” 

Minho swallows the snarl building up behind his teeth. Jiho doesn’t deserve that title. Whether he shares Jisung’s blood or not, Minho has never seen Jiho do anything to protect his little brother. Not like Minho could. If only Jisung would look at him again, but Jisung isn’t looking in his direction at all. He’s looking at his brother, eyes flicking all over Jiho’s face to look for signs of irritation. 

“I was just getting myself something to drink.” 

“Good.” Jiho relaxes and Jisung does too. Another difference: Jiho’s laugh is ugly. He laughs like it hurts him to do so. “For a moment there, I thought you were trying to make friends with the staff.” 

“N-no.” Jisung eyes flicker over to Minho nervously, apologetically. 

“That’s what I thought.” Jiho huffs. “Don’t talk to him. I know you’re no good at socialising with anyone important, but trying to make friends with the help is too embarrassing, even for you.” 

There are twenty-six bones in a human foot. It’s the one part of the human body that should never end up broken, because no surgeon in the world will be able to put all those fine, brittle bones back together should they ever be crushed properly. 

Minho could do it. There’s a layer of steel worked into the soles of his dress shoes. It hurts a lot when he kicks something and it’s crushing when he steps on something. It’d only take a single step forward. One step forward and he could break Jiho’s foot. He could add a well-aimed kick to his ankle and make sure he never walks right again. 

He doesn’t. It’s not what he’s here for. He doesn’t get paid for this. On the contrary, Chan would probably fire him for causing such a scene. 

Jisung is looking at him. Jisung is looking at him and he’s flushed, but not in the lovely, flustered way that Minho loves to tease out of him. He’s embarrassed. He’s begging Minho with his eyes not to do anything, to forgive him (as if any of this was ever his fault). 

Minho doesn’t move a muscle. It’s the best he can do right now. 

Jiho huffs, as if he doesn’t know whether to be offended or amused by Minho ignoring him. Before he can make himself into a real problem, they’re joined by another person. It’s a familiar voice this time, one that helps remind Minho that he hasn’t been hired to murder anyone. 

“Han Jiho.” 

Jiho is quick with it. He must recognise the owner of the voice before even Minho does. When he turns, his entire demeanour turns with him. Minho wants to laugh. That’s the thing about rich brats like him. They fold themselves down as easily as they blow themselves up, all to climb the next step of the ladder. 

“Oh my God,” Jiho breathes out in real awe, “you’re Seo Changbin.” 

Changbin’s grin is award-winning as he joins their circle. “The one and only.” He offers Jiho his hand. “I heard you were at this party.” 

“You—you heard about me?” Jiho’s eyes go wide and for the first time, Minho sees the family resemblance. 

“Sure did. I’m here to invite you for a drink, actually.” Changbin points to the opposite side of the room where a large group of very drunk men in very expensive suits are gathered. “C’mon now, the big boys are drinking at the whisky bar.” 

“You—you want me to join you? I mean, yes, of course, sir, uh…I mean, can I—should I call you ‘sir’ or…” 

Changbin doesn’t offer him anything. He simply walks away. Jiho hurries after him like a puppy following its owner. Minho convinces himself not to throw one of the heavy glass ashtrays that are lining the bar after him. He’s still convincing himself when the space Changbin and Jiho have left is filled with another familiar body. 

For the first time in a long time, Minho is glad that Hyunjin is touchy with his friends, that he gets all up in Jisung’s space and pulls him into his arms as if Jisung belongs to him and not—

“Sungie! Are you all right?” 

It’s good that Hyunjin is here. It’s good that Jisung has friends. 

“I’m so sorry, baby, I sent Changbin over as soon as I saw Jiho with you, but there were so many people that wanted to greet him on the way over. It took him a moment to get to you.” 

Jisung looks a little dazed where he’s squished against Hyunjin’s chest. His gaze clears soon enough, though. He takes a single deep breath and then he’s wriggling out of Hyunjin’s arms. He’s smiling so brightly it’s blinding. Not like the sun, though, but rather like an offensively bright billboard. Fake. 

The chuckle that leaves his lips is uncomfortably awkward. “You didn’t have to do that, Hyunnie. I’m fine.” 

Hyunjin doesn’t believe him. Minho is so glad Hyunjin doesn’t believe him. 

“Your brother is an asshole,” Hyunjin says without preamble, pushing his hands into Jisung’s hair to brush back the deep blue strands. “Let me poison his whisky, yeah?” 

Jisung pouts. “It’s not funny.” 

The expression on Hyunjin’s face tells Minho that Hyunjin wasn’t joking at all. 

“What about a scandal, then? Give me twenty minutes and the password to your VPN. I doubt your parents are going to keep kissing his ass if he sullies your family name.”

Jisung scowls. “No.”

“But—” 

“Hyunjin. He’s my brother. I admit he’s not…the nicest person in the world, but still…” Jisung looks genuinely anxious as he says it. 

Hyunjin sighs dramatically, but it all morphs into an indulgent smile. “Fine, then. It’s your family so I won’t do anything you don’t want.” 

Jisung visibly relaxes. “Thank you.” 

Hyunjin pulls him back into his side. “You got it, baby. You know I only want what’s best for you, yeah?”

“I know.” Jisung’s smile is small, but real. Without prompting, he puts his head on Hyunjin’s shoulder and Hyunjin looks like the happiest person in the world. 

Minho can’t even begrudge him. He’s pretty sure he’d feel the exact same. 

“Let’s go find, Felix. You need some Felix time and I do too.” 

Jisung only nods, looking unwilling to lift his head from Hyunjin’s shoulder now that he’s found a place to rest it there. 

Minho has to watch him leave. He can’t follow Jisung and Hyunjin into the crowd. He’s already gone too far past the line. It’s time for him to go back, remember his place and stay there. He shouldn’t even be looking at Jisung. 

Otherwise, he’ll inevitably find himself past the point of no return. 

*

Two hours later, Minho is wondering whether he should train himself into being able to sleep with his eyes open when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Now, him getting a call is nothing unusual. The fact that he can feel it is different. 

He’s only got two numbers set to vibrate on a phone that is always set to silent mode and Minho can see Chan from where his boss is standing at the whisky bar, surrounded by people who’d give their left leg to strike a deal with him. Maybe, Minho thinks with trepidation, one of them finally figured out how to really make him listen. 

He starts walking as he puts his phone to his ear. “Felix?” 

“Minho-hyung!” Felix’s voice comes through muffled, as if his hand is covering the microphone. Even so, Minho can hear that he’s upset. Felix should never be upset. “Where are you?”

“Where are you?” Minho asks, quickly scanning the perimeter of the hotel venue with his eyes. 

And then he hears something that makes him stop all movement, “Jisung, stop! No, it’s not. Of course not. It’s Minho-hyung! He’ll know what to do. Just hold on a second, okay?” 

A sob, even more muffled than Felix’s voice. 

Minho moves twice as fast as before. Not the cocktail bar, not the sofas. “Where are you, Felix?” 

“Bathroom,” Felix pants. “We’re in the bathroom. We—wait, fuck, Jisung, don’t do that! You’re making it worse. Minho-hyung, can you come?” 

Minho is already there. He pushes the door open with his shoulder, pulling his gun at the same time. It’s a practised movement. The way his hand starts to shake when he sees Jisung and Felix is not. 

They’re standing by the sink. Felix looks just like he did the last time Minho saw him. His hair is a little more dishevelled from how many times he must have run his hand through it, but apart from that he looks fine. Jisung does not. The front of his pristine white dress shirt is soaked in red, deep crimson red.   

Minho is on him within the blink of an eye, putting his gun on the sink so he can rip open Jisung’s shirt. 

“Hyung!” Jisung squeaks, trying to cover himself. 

Minho ignores him and puts his hands on his chest. The ribs first. Jisung squirms and swats at him, but he doesn’t scream. His ribs aren’t fractured. Minho moves his hands lower, palpating his stomach. His fingers find no open wounds, no signs of blunt force trauma either. Where is the blood coming from? Where is—He gags at the smell that fills his nose. 

“This is—” He lifts his hands, now stained red, to his nose. “Is this wine?”

“I spilled my glass on him,” Felix whines from behind him, draping himself over Minho’s shoulders. Maybe he knows that Minho is really close to picking his gun back up and start shooting.

Minho grows very, very still. He stares at Jisung and Jisung stares right back at him. His eyes are huge, glimmering with tears. Embarrassment, not fear. He still trusts Minho. Minho takes a deep breath and forces himself to calm down. Jisung is fine. He’s not hurt. He’s upset, yes, and he looks really close to crying, but he’s not hurt. No one has hurt him and so Minho doesn’t have to kill anybody. Except for the boy hanging off his back, maybe. 

Minho shakes Felix off so he can turn around and face him. Despite the anger still simmering under his skin, he keeps his voice level. Yelling would only upset Jisung further and Minho doesn’t want that. 

His voice comes out in a chilling whisper, “You called me in here because your friend has a wine stain on his shirt?” 

Jisung whimpers. For the first time in a long time, Minho withstands the urge to look at him. He stares down Felix, whose eyes grow impossibly wide. He’s really not used to people holding him accountable for his actions. 

“But…but, hyung…”

“Sorry,” Jisung gasps. 

Minho turns around and looks at him. He slowly raises his hand. Jisung doesn’t flinch like Minho expected him to. The curl of his shoulders is instinctual, but he trusts Minho. He is not scared of him. 

Jisung’s breathing ceases when Minho touches him. Minho finds out that the skin of his cheek is as soft as it looks. He slides his hand down to his chin, gripping it so Jisung is forced to look at him.

“Why is a spilled drink such a big deal to you?”

Jisung looks at him pleadingly, silently begging Minho not to make him say it and if Minho was a nicer man, he’d let it slide. He’s not nice, though. He’s used to making people talk.

He waits, patiently, unwaveringly, until Jisung inhales, exhales and finally breaks.

“It’s my mum,” he mutters. He tries to avert his eyes, but Minho squeezes his chin. Jisung is a good boy so he immediately corrects himself, looking back into Minho’s eyes. “She—She can’t see me like this. She’ll call me a mess and say that I embarrass her. She might ground me and then I won’t— please, that can’t happen.” 

“Can you drive him home?” Felix asks.

Minho nods. Just once, he strokes his fingers over Jisung’s cheek. He wants Jisung to know that he did well, telling Minho all this. However brief it is, Jisung presses into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut and shoulders relaxing. He’s starved, Minho realises. Not in the same way that Minho is, but his beautiful boy is starving all the same.

Minho looks at Felix. “I can’t drive your friend home.”

“What?” Felix’s eyes widen in shock, as if he really didn’t expect this. “Why not?” 

Minho has to take a step back, both physically and in the confines of his own, skewed mind. “Your friend is not who I’m hired to protect, Felix, you are. I can’t just abandon my post. Your husband will kill me.” 

“Chan doesn’t have to know!” Felix’s answer comes way too quickly. Clearly, he’s thought this through. Clearly, he’s thought of everything. “I can distract him.” 

Minho raises an eyebrow at him. “For an hour?” 

“Longer if necessary.” Felix flips his hair behind his shoulder. “As long as you need, really. He’s not even going to notice that you’re gone, I promise you. Please, just…just drive Jisung home, okay?” 

Minho should say no. He has to say no, but…

But. 

Warmth presses against his back. Only for a moment, but the touch is real. Jisung is real. He’s real while Chan is only hypothetically murdering Minho right now. 

“An hour and ten,” Minho says. He can speed on the way back, but not while Jisung is in the car with him. Given that it’s a Saturday and the hotel venue they’re at is in the middle of the city, he’ll need at least forty minutes to get to the Han residence.

“No problem.” Felix licks his lips before he slowly, deliberately presses his tongue against the inside of his own cheek. The image he creates is obscene. Pulling his tongue back, Felix grins. “I’m a great distraction, if you haven’t noticed.” 

Minho wonders whether Felix knows that the edges of his white angel wings are turning black and leathery. Felix doesn’t look like he cares as he sidesteps Minho to get to Jisung. He pulls his friend into his arms. 

Minho lets them whisper to each other while he busies himself with picking his gun back up, checking that the safety is still on before he straps it back into the harness. Once that’s done, he turns the location services off on his phone and like that he’s ready. 

“Felix.”

Felix pulls away from Jisung with reluctance, but he meets Minho’s stormy expression with a bright smile. “I’m ready!” 

You better be, Minho thinks. 

“Don’t move,” he tells Jisung, who immediately freezes. It would endear Minho if he wasn’t busy trying to come up with an extraction plan. “I’ll bring Felix to Chan and then I’m coming right back for you.” 

Jisung nods, his cheek hollowing out with how harshly he’s chewing on the inside of it. It’s a wretched, inverted mirror image of what Felix did earlier. Minho doesn’t have the time to correct that behaviour. He takes Felix by the shoulder and leads him out of the bathroom. 

Outside, the party is going on as if nothing ever happened. And to everyone else, it didn’t. Minho is going to make sure it stays that way. It’s not hard to locate Chan. He’s right where Minho last saw him, still holding court at the whisky bar. Before Felix can march straight to him, Minho briefly holds him back. 

“Text me in case the ruse is up, okay? Don’t get yourself in trouble or try to lie to your husband outright. Just text me.” 

“Aw, hyungie,” Felix’s eyes sparkle as he clutches his own chest, “are you worried about me? Don’t worry! Channie never gets mad at me. Not that he’s even going to notice. I’m very good at holding his attention.” 

“For at least an hour and ten minutes,” Minho reminds him. 

“You know,” Felix sniffs, “I really don’t appreciate the way you underestimate my husband’s stamina, or mine for that matter. An hour is nothing.” 

Minho swallows down the answer bubbling up his throat. He wants to snark back, but he also doesn’t want to scar Felix for life. So instead of shocking him into silence, Minho just shakes his head. He really needs a cigarette. 

“Just go.” 

Felix grins at him before he skips away. Minho has to commend the younger man for his gall. It’s bold of him to disrupt the tight circle of middle-aged businessmen that have gathered around Chan. It’s not a friendly atmosphere. Polished and polite, yes, but definitely tense. Everyone wants the ear of the king. 

Felix pushes right past them to put himself at the front of the line. Immediately, Chan’s attention snaps to him. In a movie-worthy performance, Felix trips the last step. Chan catches him easily, his hand coming to rest on the small of Felix’s back. Over Felix’s shoulder, he searches the crowd until he finds Minho, who’s long since schooled his face into the same bored expression he always wears at this type of event. 

They exchange a nod and then Chan’s attention is all on Felix again, smiling when Felix whispers into his ear, following him when he starts leading Chan away from the crowd. The moment they’re out of sight, Minho hurries back into the bathroom. 

Just as instructed, Jisung is right where he left him. He hasn’t even bothered to fix his shirt yet, though Minho doubts that there’s any saving it. Several of the buttons are scattered on the tiled floor between them. 

“Hyung,” Jisung breathes out, taking a step toward him. Safety. Minho feels safe to him. Minho can see it in Jisung’s eyes that he does, like Minho is his saviour. And he will be. 

He unceremoniously starts unbuttoning his dress shirt. 

Jisung squawks. 

Minho rolls his eyes. It takes a moment to shrug off his jacket and harness, but then he’s holding out the shirt for him. “Here. It’s not as nice as what you’re wearing, but I doubt anybody will be able to tell the difference if you button up your blazer.” 

Jisung stares at him, stares at the shirt and then slowly, very slowly takes it. 

“Jisung.”

Jisung startles, pulling his hand back as if burned, as if Minho’s shirt was some kind of treasure that he got caught reaching for. “Sorry, I—” 

Minho shakes his head. “You have to hurry, Jisung. ” He’d love to coddle Jisung any other day, but they’re in a time crunch right now. 

Luckily, Jisung works quickly even with shaking hands. Once he’s out of his own, soiled shirt, Minho takes it and stuffs it into the paper towel bin, covering it with balled-up wads of paper until there’s not even an inch of wine-stained fabric left visible. It’s not like any of the guests at this party would ever willingly reach into the trash, but it’s better to be thorough. 

“But, uhm, hyung…”

Minho looks up and ignores the way his stomach does a funny little flip. His shirt is big on Jisung. Not in the shoulders but in the waist. Against the harsh overhead lights, Minho can make out the way his shoulders taper off. It makes Jisung look very…grabbable. 

“...what are you going to wear?” 

Minho smiles, slipping back into his suit jacket. Buttoned up, it leaves a great deal of his chest exposed, but he’s just ‘the help’ so no one will notice. Jisung does seem to notice, though, his eyes sticking themselves to the bare V of Minho’s chest and staying there. He licks his lips. 

Minho takes him by the arm. He’d really love to explore this kind of reaction any other day, but they don’t have time right now. Keeping his hand on the small of Jisung’s back, he leads him out onto the hallway, and then he steps away from him. 

“Go straight to the elevator. Press the button P for parking garage. Wait there for me, right by the elevator doors. Don’t wander.” 

“Wait,” Jisung immediately panics, “you’re not coming with me? But—” 

Minho soothes him by running his hand up and down his back, just once. “I’ll be right behind you. Separate but not separated, okay?” 

It’s a promise and the look in Jisung’s eyes tells him that Jisungs understands this. Jisung nods, visibly working himself up to it before he starts moving. 

Minho forces himself to count to twenty in his head before he follows him. Jisung is already by the elevators when he steps back into the main room. Good boy, Minho thinks. Jisung’s back is to the room, his foot anxiously tapping on the floor as he waits for the elevator to come. 

Minho does a quick scan of the room. There is no one near Jisung. No one is even coming his way except—Minho curses under his breath— except for his brother. Minho just so withstands the urge to pull the gun strapped against his bare ribs. 

The frown on Jiho’s face tells Minho that he’s got something to say about Jisung leaving early. Really, Minho should have foreseen this. Maggots like Jiho always have something to say. 

Before Minho can enact one of the dozen plans of extermination forming in his mind, Jiho’s determined stride is cut short by someone colliding with him. Really, it’s almost drama-worthy, the way Hyunjin just walks right into him, his drink falling, glass shattering on the marble floor, golden champagne splashing their shoes and catching everyone’s attention. 

Jiho recoils. His entire body draws taut and he looks close to slapping Hyunjin before he seems to realise who he is looking at and suddenly he’s the most helpful person in the world. Minho can read it on his lips, the endless string of “I’m so sorry” and “my fault” and “your husband” that comes out of his mouth. 

Hyunjin smiles in return, bowing when Jiho does. When he comes back up, his eyes meet Minho’s for no more than a split second. Minho wonders whether Hyunjin knows what he’s doing, what they are doing. The sparkle in his eyes tells him that he does. 

Crazy fucking stalker. 

Minho loves him. 

Hyunjin has never pretended to be an angel. His wings have been black and leathery from the beginning, but they span widely, protectively and his talons are very, very sharp. Minho is grateful for every skewed neuron in Hyunjin’s brain. 

He reaches the elevators. The little number above the door tells him that Jisung has reached the parking garage. Impatiently, he pushes the button, keeping an eye on the main room.

He’d be worried about Jiho excusing himself from his encounter with Hyunjin too quickly, but then Changbin joins the scene. He unceremoniously pushes Jiho out of the way before he crouches down at Hyunjin’s feet, drying off Hyunjin’s shoes with the wad of napkins in his hand. Once that’s done, he starts dabbing at Hyunjin’s face with his pocket square, carefully cleaning his husband’s face of any stray drops of champagne. Then, and only then, does he turn around. 

Minho imagines bolts of lightning hitting the floor behind Changbin when he looks at Jiho. The elevator doors open and Minho slips inside, immediately pressing the button to close the doors. The last thing he sees is Hyunjin draping himself across his husband’s back, no doubt whispering in his ear what Changbin is thinking anyways. 

Minho hopes there will be blood. 

The rational part of him knows that there won’t be, that there are too many people present for that to happen, but that doesn’t mean whatever Changbin has up his sleeve is not going to be violent. Words are a powerful weapon and Minho knows few people who use them as well, or nefariously, as his lawyer friend can. A part of Minho wishes he could stay and watch. The bigger part of him is eager to get back to the only Han boy he actually cares about. 

It’s quiet in the parking garage when he steps out of the elevator. Too quiet. Immediately, Minho’s ears and eyes strain to find any hint of Jisung. His stomach sinks when he’s greeted with silence, but then there is a flash of deep blue in his peripheral vision and Jisung jumps out from around the corner. 

“Hyung!” 

Minho doesn’t hesitate. He takes Jisung’s hand, pulling him close. Fine, Jisung is still fine. Looking a little like a deer in the headlights, but nothing has happened to him during the two minutes that Minho has let him out of his sight. The collar of his shirt, Minho’s shirt on him, is a little crooked but that’s it. Minho doesn’t fix it. 

He doesn’t let go of Jisung’s hand as he drags him along to the car. He doesn’t have to tell him to run. Jisung follows him naturally, panting and laughing. Jisung laughs while they run. It’s disbelief more than joy, Minho knows, but he’s very glad to hear it. 

Once they’re at the car, he tries to open the door for Jisung, but Jisung gently pushes him along. Minho allows it, hurrying to get into the driver’s seat. He has to check whether Jisung is buckled in, but Jisung is his good boy so he has done that by himself already. Minho briefly pats his hair as a reward, enjoying the way such a simple gesture is enough to make Jisung’s breath catch in his throat. The engine roars to life with the press of a button and like that Minho is driving them out of the underground parking garage, steering the car onto the streets. 

It’s easy to weave the car through Saturday night traffic. Minho’s heart rate calms with every car they overtake. He’s taking Jisung away, far away from the hotel and any people inside who might hurt him. The adrenaline rush makes him feel like giggling. Jisung is. The sound still borders on something hysterical, but it’s the best thing Minho has ever heard. He allows himself a smile. 

“Oh, woah.” 

Minho immediately stops smiling, glancing to his right. “What’s wrong?” 

Jisung blinks, eyes still caught on Minho’s mouth, and quickly shakes his head. “Nothing,” he stutters. He pats his bangs into place, right where Minho’s fingers used to be mere minutes ago. 

Minho hums, not pressing the matter. He directs his attention back to the road, but he can still see Jisung knit and unknit his fingers in his peripheral vision. He has to correct that. Blindly, he reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out the cable he put in there in anticipation of this exact moment. He plugs one end into the right slot on the radio before holding out the other end to Jisung. 

“Do you want to play some music?” 

Jisung’s lips part in shock. He takes the AUX cord as if it’s something indefinitely more precious. “Are you—” He nearly chokes on his own words. “Are you sure? I, uh, I don’t really listen to nice music like you do.” 

Minho smiles again and Jisung’s breath falters. Minho can’t stop smiling, really. Jisung remembers. Jisung remembers that Minho listens to classical music in the car. If he remembers this, he must remember other things too. Minho wonders how much, and what. He wishes he could take a look into Jisung’s brain, see all the space he occupies in there. 

“I’m sure, Jisung. Just play whatever you want.” Carefully, deliberately, he adds, “I’m not going to judge you.” 

Jisung looks really close to combusting right where he sits. His entire neck is red and so are his ears. Minho keeps his eyes on the street as Jisung fumbles with the cable. Music fills the car and immediately breaks off. Jisung curses, muttering under his breath, before he finally seems to find a song he likes. 

Jisung’s music taste is exactly what Minho expected from a boy with dyed hair and a preference for black eyeliner. It’s noisy, a lot of heavy guitars and screaming vocals. It’s not the type of music Minho would listen to on his own, but Jisung is staring eager, anxious holes into the side of his face and so Minho doesn’t hesitate to bop his head to the incessant drums. A single, silent sign of approval from him is enough and he can feel Jisung relax next to him. 

Minho lets him skip through his playlist until he seems to find a song he likes enough to let it play until the end. 

He has to laugh once he recognises the song. “Is that Incubus? Aren’t you a little too young to listen to this band? This song is older than you.”

Jisung puffs up with indignance. “First of all, Drive is a classic! Secondly, you are only five years older than me, hyung. Don’t speak to me like I’m a baby or I’m going to start calling you ‘ahjussi.’”

Minho wants to laugh, simply because of how much Jisung said just now, how loud and brazen he allows himself to be now that it’s only the two of them. It’s a far cry from the clamped-up boy Minho usually witnesses. Minho likes him so much better like this. 

To keep Jisung like this, Minho raises a teasing eyebrow. “You know how old I am?” Did you ask Felix? Did you ask your little stalker friend to find out? How did you obtain this information, Jisung? 

Jisung splutters. “Uh, I’m just saying! The age difference between us isn’t that big. It’s negligible, really.” 

Minho suppresses another smile. “Okay, Jisung.” 

“It is!” 

Minho hums, following the tune of the song until the verse changes into the chorus and he can sing along. Jisung grows suspiciously quiet next to him, but the prickling feeling on the side of his face tells him that Jisung is still looking at him. He hasn’t yet looked away from Minho, really. Minho lets him stare all he wants and focusses on the road. They’re almost out of the inner city. 

The tension in Minho’s core eases a little. Not long now, and he’ll have Jisung safe and sound. Well, as safe and sound as he can be inside the walls of that house. The thought makes Minho’s knuckles turn white where he’s gripping the steering wheel. 

It’s tempting, the thought of just keeping on driving. Jisung is alone with him. Minho could take him anywhere he wanted. He could take him somewhere he’d actually be safe. Minho knows places, and the right people to make someone disappear. It doesn’t have to be in a body bag. He wants the opposite for Jisung. He wants him to finally live. 

His more sinister thoughts are interrupted by Jisung’s voice, but it’s coming from the speakers and not Jisung himself. Minho nearly slams the brakes, covering the hard press of his foot by shifting down. 

“Was that you?”

Jisung, after a panicked exhale, has already skipped to the next song. “No.” 

“Jisung.” Minho frowns. They’re out of the city so Minho allows himself to look over. “Don’t lie to me.” 

Jisung inhales on a hiccup, his eyes shifting anywhere but Minho’s face. “It’s not—it’s not finished.” A nervous chuckle. “What you just heard, it’s not a finished song. I don’t even know why that’s in the playlist. Really, I—” 

“Put it back on.”

“What? No!” 

Minho reaches for the radio. 

“Hyung!” 

“I want to hear it.” 

Jisung whines. 

“I want to hear you,” Minho amends. A gentle ton for a gentle boy. “This is what you changed your major too, is it not? You’re a producer. I didn’t know you could also sing. I’d like to hear.”

Jisung stares at him.

Minho’s starting to think that Jisung is just going to ignore his request, but then the current Slipknot song cuts off and is replaced by a slower, smoother bassline. It’s nice. A little bit rudimental, but all that doesn’t matter once Jisung’s voice comes in. His singing voice is exactly what Minho expected and yet completely different. Higher, but stronger than his speaking voice. Above all, he’s good. 

“This is very good.” 

“You’re lying.” Jisung’s voice is muffled by the hands he’s got pressed against his face. 

Minho frowns. “Why would I lie?” 

“Because.” 

It’s too delicate, too real. Minho knows he can’t tell Jisung what he’s actually thinking. He can’t be earnest because Jisung wouldn’t be able to handle it, not all of it and not all at once. 

“Aw, Jisungie,” he coos, “you think too highly of me. Trust me, I wouldn’t lie to you just to spare your feelings. I meant what I said. Your music is objectively good.” 

Jisung doesn’t say anything. They’re going through a roundabout so Minho has to focus on driving for a good minute before he can look over. What he sees confuses him. Jisung is hunched over, breathing in short, aborted breaths. All the while he’s looking down at his lap, hands caught between his thighs, eyes hidden behind midnight blue bangs. Minho wonders whether he’s crying, but that doesn’t seem to be it. 

There are no tears in Jisung’s eyes when he looks up. Still, there’s a sheen to them, of wonder maybe, or desperation. “Can you say that again?” 

Minho furrows his brow. “Your music is very good, Jisung.” 

Jisung whines, shakes his hand. “No, not—not that.” 

“No? Then what do you want me to say?” 

Jisung bites his lip. Minho wants to push his fingers into his mouth and see what’s blocking his throat. Pry it out of him so he can finally speak freely. 

Jisung gets there himself. “My name,” he whispers. 

“Jisung?” 

Jisung shakes his head and it’s only then that Minho notices his slip-up. Right, that’s not what Minho called him just now. His lips curl into a smile. He lifts his right hand off the gear shift to place it on Jisung’s thigh instead. 

“Ji-sung-ie.” He sounds out every syllable.

Jisung whimpers. Minho feels drunk off it. He squeezes Jisung’s thigh, just to hear it again and Jisung delivers. A simple touch and Jisung makes the loveliest sound. 

“You’re good, Jisungie,” Minho continues on. “You’re very good. Your voice is beautiful. I want you to send me a copy of the song so I can listen to it again. You will do that, won’t you?”

“Hyung.” The word comes out as more of a plea than anything else. 

Minho shakes his head and repeats himself, “You will send me the song, won’t you?” 

Jisung nods. He’s flushed with embarrassment, squirming in his seat. Minho is not cruel enough to truly torture him. He lifts his hand off Jisung’s thigh. Jisung whimpers at the loss before he bodily curls in on himself, turning his entire body towards the door. 

Minho lets him have his space. He knows it can be overwhelming, to be fed so much when you’ve been starving for so long. 

He brings the car to a gentle halt. “Jisung.” 

It takes him a couple of tries, but finally Jisung unfurls. He’s still flushed, his neck and cheeks and even the backs of his hands having adopted the loveliest shade of pink. Minho won’t get to know how far the pink goes. Not tonight. 

He smiles and Jisung’s eyes catch on his mouth. Minho hates that he has to say, “We’ve arrived.” 

Jisung blinks, shaking his head as if coming out of a daze. His shoulders slump when he looks out of the windshield and sees that Minho is right. 

“Oh,” he clears his throat and nods. “Oh, right.” 

Far too quickly, his hand is on the handle. Minho just so manages to hold him back. Jisung jerks his head around, looking at him with wide eyes. Minho sees the underlying hope in them. He has to use every single ounce of self-control he possesses not to use that as an excuse to kidnap Jisung after all. 

Instead of locking the doors, Minho takes his phone out of the breast pocket of his suit. Not willing to break eye contact with Jisung, he blindly taps in the passcode and holds it out to Jisung. Jisung blinks before taking it with shaking hands. Minho doesn’t have to tell him what to do. Jisung puts his number in his phone all by himself. The moment he has his phone back, Minho calls him. The grungy ringtone echoing through the car is the most satisfying thing Minho has ever heard. 

“That’s my number,” he explains. “If you’re ever in need of a driver,” in need of me, “then call me. Don’t hesitate to call me, Jisungie. I promise you I’ll pick up.” 

Jisung nods, his eyes holding Minho’s gaze as he bites his lip. 

“Promise me that you will,” Minho demands. 

“I promise, hyung. Thank you again. Really, thank you.” 

“Any time.” 

There’s nothing left to say and definitely no more time to waste and so Jisung gets out of the car. Minho doesn’t stop him this time. He doesn’t have the right to and Jisung hasn’t asked him to. Not yet. Even Minho knows it’s too early. 

So he sits back and watches Jisung punch the access code into the reader on the gate of his family home, watches him slip through as soon as the solid sheet of metal starts moving. Minho would love to watch him for longer, but he’s already on borrowed time so he drives off. 

He is halfway on his way back to the hotel when the radio cuts off and Chan’s name flashes on the screen. Minho moves in spite of the ice filling his veins, tapping the Accept Call button. It’s fine. Minho is going to die a happy man even if he has to die at the hands of the devil tonight. 

“Where are you?” Chan’s voice comes through speakers. 

“Bathroom,” Minho gives back without hesitation. He shifts down so the roar of the engine drops into a hum, won’t get picked up by the receiver. “I’m taking a piss right now so unless you want to hold my dick for me, you have to wait two minutes for me to come back and hold yours.” 

Chan snorts. “No need. I’m only calling you to call it a night. Felix says he’s too tired to go home. He can’t really…” Chan clears his throat. “Sitting is uncomfortable for him right now so he doesn’t want to spend any time stuck in traffic. I’m checking us into the hotel. You can go home if you want to. Just come back tomorrow morning to pick us up. I’ll text you once we’re awake.” 

“Yes, Sir.” Minho lifts one hand off the wheel to do a mock salute. He knows Chan can hear the derision in his voice, even if they can’t see each other. 

The line cuts without preamble. 

*

Han Jisung [1.43 a.m.] 

File Attached: Alien_Demo.mp3

Lee Minho [7.55 a.m.] 

 Jisungie.

Thank you.

Chapter Text

Minho takes a drag of his cigarette and watches the smoke billow in front of his face. It’s late so the smoke is stark white against the dark. Well, as dark as the heart of Seoul gets. Even Chan’s penthouse is not high up enough to escape the light pollution. 

Familiar laughter spills onto the balcony when the glass door slides open. Inside the penthouse, everyone else is still seated around the dining table, sharing laughter over expensive wine and the brownies Felix made. 

Felix is a shit cook but his baking is formidable, Minho has to give him that. In truth, Minho would have skipped out on the dinner, but Felix refused to let him leave after Minho carried up all the groceries for him. He made Minho set the table and include a place setting for himself. 

“Don’t even argue with me about this,” Felix told him in that sweet little tone of his that left no room for argument. “Even Seungmin has found the time so you’re not leaving.” 

Minho watches as Seungmin approaches him now, unceremoniously stepping into Minho’s space so he can take the cigarette case out of Minho’s breast pocket. Minho lets him steal one of his cigarettes and then holds very still so Seungmin can light it with the end of Minho’s burning one. 

“Thank you,” Seungmin says, blowing smoke out his nose as he returns Minho’s cigarette case to its rightful place. 

Minho narrows his eyes at him. “I thought you quit.” 

Seungmin ignores him and for a moment, Minho feels real fear. “Seungmin.” 

“Everything is fine.” Seungmin smiles, tapping the ash off his cigarette before holding it up between them. “This is celebratory, if anything.” 

Minho hums, searching Seungmin’s face for any signs of a lie. There are none he can find. He knows what Seungmin would look like if things were different so he allows himself to relax. As it is, Seungmin’s face doesn’t show a lot, but that’s nothing past his usual secrecy. 

Minho admires him for it. 

Seungmin isn’t like Chan or Changbin, who show their spouses off to the world, who enjoy showing others what they can admire but never, ever touch. Seungmin is different. He guards his lover like a dragon hoards its gold. He hasn’t even introduced Jeongin to any of them. 

Because of this, Minho has no idea what the boy even looks like, but he knows enough about him to understand why Seungmin does what he does. Briefly, he glances into the living room where Felix and Jisung have migrated to the couch, heads stuck together, frantically discussing one thing or another. Minho can’t say he wouldn’t do the same as Seungmin. 

“You’re tense.” 

Minho blinks. He forgot, for a moment, that Seungmin is just as observant as he is. “I’m not.” 

Seungmin huffs. “You’re a shit liar.” He takes another drag of his cigarette. “That’s why you never fucking talk, isn’t it? You’re too afraid of what’ll come out of your mouth if you do. When was the last time you got laid?”

It’s a lawyer’s strategy, Minho knows. Seungmin’s firing so many verbal bullets at him that Minho will get riled up enough to blurt out the truth. Unfortunately for Seungmin, Minho may not know how to lie well, but he’s very good at deflection. 

He grins around the butt of his cigarette. “Why? Are you offering?” 

It works in an instant. Seungmin’s smile drops and he bares his teeth at Minho, hackles rising at the mere implication that he’d ever cheat. In that way, too, he protects what he has with Jeongin, ferociously like a guard dog. Minho admires him for his devotion.

“Don’t make me throw you off this balcony, Lee Minho.” 

Unwilling to actually upset his friend, Minho immediately bows his head in apology. Seungmin relaxes with the next drag of his cigarette. With no need for words between them, they smoke in amicable silence until Seungmin has finished his cigarette and Minho is halfway through his second one. 

“You coming back inside?” Seungmin asks, nodding towards the light and people. 

Minho shakes his head. “Not yet.” 

Seungmin studies him before he shrugs, heading for the balcony door. It slides open before he can reach it. Jisung is blocking half the threshold so they have to sidestep each other. Seungmin ruffles his hair as he passes him by and Minho nearly drops his cigarette. 

Now what the fuck did Seungmin ever do to earn the privilege of touching Jisung like that? Jisung doesn’t seem bothered by Seungmin’s gesture either. Keeping one hand behind his back, he merely swats at Seungmin, who cackles like the evil motherfucker he is. His friend doesn’t offer him any answers before he disappears inside. 

It leaves Jisung alone out on the balcony, alone with Minho. Minho watches him approach through the smoke. He doesn’t dare blink until Jisung is standing in front of him, rocking on the balls of his feet. His hands are still behind his back. His smile is hesitant but he’s here, he’s here for Minho because there is no one else. 

“Hyung, hi.”

Minho’s heart does a funny little badum inside his chest. “Jisungie.” 

Jisung’s eyes flicker to the cigarette between Minho’s fingers. He visibly works himself up to his next words, trying to look as cool as he possibly can. “Can I bum one off you?” 

Minho can’t help but laugh. “Are you serious?” 

Jisung scowls. “You shared one with Seungmin.” 

Minho raises a single brow. “You don’t smoke, Jisung.” 

Were you watching me? Did you not like it when he came so close to me? Do you have any idea of how I feel about other people touching you?

“You don’t know that.” 

Minho takes another drag, blowing the smoke right into Jisung’s face. Immediately, Jisung starts coughing and Minho shakes his head. “What I do know is that I told you not to lie to me.” 

Still a little breathless from his coughing fit, Jisung turns red. “I didn’t—I mean I just—”

Minho tilts his head to the side. “Mhm?” 

Jisung drops his head. “Sorry.” 

Minho doesn’t like seeing him reverting back into his turtle shell so he grabs onto Jisung’s chin, tilting his head upwards. “You don’t have to be sorry, Jisung. If you really want to try, I’ll give you one, but you don’t have to pretend you want to smoke to talk to me. You can talk to me whenever you want.” 

Jisung blinks, as if this is news to him. “You really mean that?” 

Slowly, deliberately, Minho lets go of his chin to place his hand on Jisung’s hair, right where Seungmin’s fingers were. He smoothes out the strands Seungmin messed up, one by one. They never seem to have any time, but for this, Minho takes his time. Keeping his hand on the top of Jisung’s head, he leans closer. “Yes, Jisungie, I always want you to talk to me.” 

Jisung swallows, his eyes flickering to Minho’s mouth before he licks his own lips. “I—I have something for you.” 

Minho raises an eyebrow. “Oh?” 

That explains why Jisung has been keeping his hands behind his back. At last, Jisung reveals the small paper bag he’s carrying. Minho stubs out his cigarette and collects the butt in his cigarette case before he takes it.  He wants both hands free for this. 

Inside the bag is Minho’s shirt. 

“It’s your shirt,” Jisung explains unnecessarily, but Minho is grateful for every word he’s willing to give him. “Thank you for lending it to me. I…I even washed it for you.” 

Minho can smell that. Jisung always faintly smells like laundry softener and now Minho’s shirt smells like it too. He runs his thumb along the collar. He wonders whether Jisung wore it for long enough that it started smelling like him instead of Minho before he washed it. He wonders whether Jisung did anything else with it that made him see the need to launder it so thoroughly. 

He looks up, smiling again. “Thank you for giving it back to me.” 

Jisung shakes his head. His answering smile is so soft. Minho wants him to always smile like this, wants him to laugh again like he did when they were making a run for his car. He wonders whether Jisung would run away with him now. 

Something heavy falls and shatters inside the walls of the penthouse. 

Minho immediately looks to see what it is, moving so he’s between Jisung and the noise. A look into the penthouse reveals that it was a vase, one of the expensive designer pieces that Chan has standing around like they’re second-hand glassware. The shards of the vase are spread all over the floor between the windows of the balcony and the dining room table. In the middle of it all, Chan stands. He’s not looking at the shards at his feet, though. He’s looking at Minho. He’s looking at Minho and Jisung. 

Minho’s stomach sinks. He wonders how long Chan has been standing there, how much he’s seen. Instinctively, he moves away from Jisung, even if it’s too late. He knows even his most demonic skills won’t save him if the devil decides to put an end to his life. And Chan will. 

He knows Minho too well not to. Chan knows what he is and Jisung is his husband’s best friend. Minho is just the driver. 

Much to his surprise, Chan doesn’t come out onto the balcony to finish the job. Instead, he turns around and walks away, further into the living room before anyone can come and see what all the commotion is about.

A small mercy Minho is going to pay for greatly, he knows. Technically, nothing incriminating happened between him and Jisung just now, but Minho knows better than to rely on that. He feels like a bug, a bug whose stone has been lifted. 

*

None the wiser, Felix asks him to drive Jisung home. 

Minho says yes. 

Seungmin left early and Hyunjin is fast asleep on the couch, using his husband’s stomach as a pillow. There’s no way the position Changbin is in is comfortable, but he seems perfectly content right where he is, watching Hyunjin sleep. Even if Minho wanted to, there’s no one he could send Jisung home with in his stead. And he doesn’t want to. 

“I’m coming with you.” 

Minho doesn’t know whose expression falls first, his own or Felix’s. Minho expected Chan to say something. He didn’t expect him to act so quickly. Felix looks between all three of them, Jisung included, before he whines. 

“Channie, no.” His arms wrap around Chan’s middle. “Don’t go with them. It’s already so late. Don’t you want to come to bed with me?” 

He gives Chan his best sparkling eyes. 

Minho is genuinely shocked to see Chan pry Felix’s arms off his body. Chan soothes the gesture over by pressing a kiss to Felix’s lips, wiping the pout off his lips with his thumb. “Minho and I have some business to attend to. I’ll be back soon enough.” 

Felix still looks like Chan just stomped on his sandcastle, but he doesn’t argue any further. He merely shoots Jisung an apologetic glance. Jisung shoots him a small smile and shakes his head. Minho would love to know what is going on between them, but it’s not like he can ask. He knows better than to try and say anything with Chan right next to him. 

Chan stays right next to him as they make their way down to the parking garage. For the first time in maybe ever, Minho isn’t excited to get into his car. Chan takes the passenger seat so Jisung has to sit in the back. The two of them make polite conversation during the entire ride. 

Minho doesn’t say anything. 

He drives steadily below the speed limit and still it feels like no time passes at all until they reach the Han residence. Time with Jisung is never enough, but it’s worse when he has to share it like this. Just looking at Jisung used to be enough, but it no longer is. Not now that he knows what it’s like to talk to him, have him react.  A part of Minho really hates Chan at that moment for taking this from him. 

“Thank you for giving me a ride home,” Jisung says dutifully as he unbuckles himself. 

“You have a good night, Jisung,” Chan says. 

Minho can only watch as Jisung gets out of the car. He can only watch the gate of the Han residence slide open before Jisung has even crossed the curb. This is when Minho realises Jisung is being expected. As if a bucket of ice cold water has been emptied over his head, he comes back to himself. 

His heart sinks as he watches the door of the Han mansion open, the lights of the foyer illuminating Mrs Han’s form. Jisung jogs up the driveway. It should be fine. Minho has seen this a hundred times before. 

Except things are not fine. 

Minho expects the way Mrs Han reaches for her son. He doesn’t expect the way she falters before she grabs Jisung harsher than she usually does, pulling him so close she can smell his hair, the sleeve of his sweater and then his hands. She reminds Minho of a bomb-sniffing dog at that moment, looking for evidence. Jisung tries to free himself from her grip, but she’s already pushing him away. And then she slaps him. 

Jisung stumbles, holding his cheek as if he can’t quite believe what just happened. 

Minho’s already halfway out the car by the time Chan grabs onto his shoulder, pushing him back into his seat. “Don’t, Minho.” 

The noise that rips itself from Minho’s throat is more animal than human, but the look in Chan’s eyes is enough to make him stay put.  

Seventeen and a half. That’s the number of items Minho has in the trunk of his car that could be turned into a weapon. He can’t use any of them. He doesn’t have the right. Jisung hasn’t asked him to and Minho doesn’t get to save him until he does that. 

Not as long as it’s his family who’s hurting him. 

It doesn’t soothe the violent urges inside Minho. “Hyung,” he grits out, “she just—” 

“I know.” There is something frighteningly close to human emotion in Chan’s eyes. “I know, Minho-yah.” 

Minho strains against his arm, the petulant efforts of a child already scolded. Chan doesn’t budge. Together, they watch as Mrs Han drags her son inside the house. The car is too far away for them to be able to hear anything, but Minho still feels like he hears the bang of the door closing behind her. He feels it in his bones. 

Maybe he should go anyway. Jisung would forgive him. He’s Minho’s good boy. He would forgive him, even if Minho murdered his mother right in front of him. 

“Drive, Minho,” Chan instructs. 

Minho meets his eyes. Chan holds his gaze.

“Drive,” his boss repeats. His voice leaves no room for argument. He’s given an order. Minho can’t disobey him. Not because Chan pays him, but because he is right. Minho hates that he is, hates him at that moment, but Chan is right all the same. 

Minho drives. 

There’s nothing else he can do. 

It’s not until he’s at home in his own apartment, a cat on each leg and one more using his chest as a pillow that he realises what he should have realised right away. 

It’s all his fault. 

What Mrs Han smelled on her son is cigarette smoke. It has to be. Jisung was perfect before Minho defiled him. Minho is the reason Jisung’s mother slapped her son. 

Minho closes his eyes. Seventeen and a half weapons are not enough to do to himself what he wants to. Even with his eyes closed, he lies paralysed until the morning, not sleeping a wink. 

*

Minho texts Jisung. Nothing incriminating, just a neutral “Good morning.” He keeps his tone detached on purpose. He vows not to say any more until Jisung answers, just in case anyone is reading along. 

Jisung doesn’t answer his text. 

Minho is fine with that. 

*

He is slowly peeling the tape off his hands when the door to the rundown studio apartment opens. His boss’s shoes clack against the hardwood floor. Minho would advise him not to step into any of the blood, but Chan is smart enough to know that himself. 

His boss surveys the carnage around them with apathetic eyes. “Is there something you want to tell me?”

Minho looks down at where a piece of fight tape is stuck to his knuckles. “Why are you asking?” 

Chan points to the general state of the room. Minho’s guests are no longer here, but their traces remain. “I said to make them talk, not to beat them to a pulp.” 

Minho shrugs. “I did make them talk. With a little less teeth than before, but they told me everything you wanted to know.” He nods towards the flash drive he’s prepared, containing a highlight reel of everything Chan wanted. Minho is a meticulous videographer. “Shouldn’t you be glad I solved your problem?” 

Chan frowns, but Minho knows he’s got him there. Usually, in the world of corporate strong-arming, the threat of violence is a lot more effective than the actuality of it. Sometimes, one has to make good on their promises though. That’s what Minho’s for. 

Chan walks right past the table with the flash drive as he steps closer to Minho. “Did you enjoy it?” 

“What?” 

“Hurting them.” 

“No.” 

Chan looks at him, really looks at him and then nods. Backs off. He only backs off because Minho told him the truth. And it is the truth.

Minho doesn’t enjoy being violent. He is capable of it, skilled at it even, but he has no love for it. It’s the reason Chan hired him over all other candidates. Bang Chan didn’t need a nutjob to do his dirty work for him. Those always turn into a liability. He needed someone physically and mentally strong and Minho is. He always is.  

Yet, it seems that the interrogation isn’t over yet, “So you’ve got nothing to tell me?” 

Minho finally gives up on the fight tape to pay Chan his full attention. “And what would that be?”

Chan only watches him. It’s unsettling, like having a sit down with your father at the kitchen table while he waits for you to confess that you raided his liquor cabinet. Minho’s father is dead though and it’s been a long time since he was a misbehaving child. 

“I’m fine,” he grunts. 

Because this is a check-in. He’s being assessed like he’s back in the goddamn military. 

“Funny,” Chan says. “I keep hearing people say that and somehow it’s getting harder for me to believe them.” 

The hairs at the back of Minho’s neck stand up. By nature of his profession, he is a bigger threat to somebody’s physical well-being than his boss is, but Chan understands people in a way Minho never will. Minho can see the twitch of a stranger’s hand, anticipate the knife in it, but Chan sees the string tied around the wrist, the reason why. He sees too damn much, is what it is. It makes him dangerous, even to someone like Minho.

Not for the first time, Minho thinks that he should have just become the hound dog of some filthy rich geezer. But then you’d have no family at all, his subconscious reminds him. He beats it into submission in the same way he did his ‘guests,’ swiftly and without mercy. A small shake of his head is enough to clear his head afterwards. 

All throughout, Chan watches him. “You’ve been acting differently these past few weeks.” 

“I’m not off my game, if that’s what you’re implying.” It’s important for Minho that Chan knows that. 

Chan’s mouth twitches with amusement. “That’s not what I said.” 

Minho huffs. “Don’t try to dissect me, Bang Chan. I have no property you can seize.” 

“I’m offering you understanding, Minho. You can talk to me.” 

Talk? Minho has to laugh. Who would confess their sins to the devil? Chan only looks at him. Minho quiets down. Chan keeps looking. Minho’s left hand itches. It’s the blood, drying on his skin. He starts scratching at it. 

“Are there… any news about the Hans?” Every single word burns on its way up his throat, but Chan offered. Minho might as well take what he can get. 

He lifts his gaze and finds Chan looking at him with fondness. Minho has confessed and Chan, his boss, his friend, is proud of him for it. It makes Minho throw a scrap of tape at him. 

“What?” he snaps. 

“No,” Chan answers his original question. “There hasn't been any news.” 

Minho hates that. He can’t say how much. He can’t say any more than he already did. 

He finishes packing up even though there’s still tape around his wrists and heads for the door. Chan follows him. Unlike Minho, he’s not silent as he moves. He doesn’t need to be. The devil should arrive with fanfare. 

Minho is just a demon for hire. 

“Are you good to drive?” Chan asks him once they reach the car. It’s parked on the opposite side of the street, close and yet a ways away from the decrepit apartment building they just left. 

“Don’t insult me.” Minho catches the keys Chan throws at him. He nods towards the building. “When is it coming down?” 

“Tomorrow morning.” 

“Are you going to keep the land?” 

“Why?” Chan’s grin is all teeth. “Do you want to buy it from me? You can, you know. I’ll make you a good price, Minho-yah.” 

Minho shows him his teeth in return. “It’s in bad taste for you to joke about money, hyung, when you have so much of it. You know I can’t afford prime real estate like that.” 

“I doubt that, actually. Do I not pay you enough? Do you want a raise?” 

Minho is clear of mind and so he immediately says yes. 

Chan laughs. 

It’s all a big joke, but Minho knows there’ll be another transfer hitting his bank account come morning. That’s the type of person Chan is. His standards are high, but he always gives back twice as much. If Minho earns it, he’s got it. 

“Will you buy me a house too?” he asks over the hood of the car, exaggeratedly batting his eyelashes.

Chan hums. “Depends. What can you offer me in return?” 

“My undying loyalty.” 

“Already have that.”

Minho huffs and Chan smiles. “The key to making a deal is that you have to offer me something I need, Minho-yah. Not even just something I want, but something I need. This way, I’ll be forced to agree to your terms and conditions.” 

I could promise you not to steal your husband’s best friend. Minho doesn’t make the offer. He is not dumb enough to make a deal with Bang Chan he might default on. 

“No thank you,” he says politely. “I’m quite happy to stay where I am for now.” 

Chan laughs and gets into the car. “You know the offer is always there, Minho-yah.” 

*

Minho doesn’t see Jisung for two weeks. Usually, Felix and he hang out every other day which means Minho gets to ferry them around every other day, but from one day to the other, Jisung is gone. Yet, Minho knows exactly where he is. 

He’s just not allowed to go there. 

It’s the silence that drives Minho insane more quickly than he’d like to admit. He has Jisung’s number but doesn’t dare text again. His first attempt is still left unanswered. Minho would take it personally, but not even Felix is getting a text back. With Felix in his eyesight almost constantly, it’s easy to see the way it weighs on his charge.

They don’t talk about it. Not that Minho would have  the right to ask, but Felix doesn’t talk about it in general. Neither he nor Hyunjin mention anything about their missing third while Minho trails after them through high-end malls and hype-spot cafés and the art galleries Hyunjin is so fond of. Their conversation rarely breaches surface level, at least while Minho is around. Just because they don’t talk about it doesn’t mean that the two of them don’t know what’s going on, though. They do know and that is the reason they keep quiet. 

Minho still wants to shake them so they give him the information he needs. He doesn’t dare to. The damage he’s done is already great enough. Besides, he’d be no help to Jisung with his hands cut off. 

And then Jisung is back. His hair is no longer blue. 

Minho sees him and just barely reins in the urge to grab him and run. Felix is faster than him. He jumps on Jisung, pouring words of affection all over him. It’s a lot of noise for the minimalist, up-scale café they’re in, but Felix doesn’t care. Minho loves him for it. Loves the way his easy affection brings the colour back to Jisung’s cheeks. 

Jisung’s eyes briefly meet Minho’s over Felix’s shoulder and Minho feels himself come back alive. Jisung is smiling at him. It’s small and private and tired, but he is smiling at Minho all the same. Clearly, he does not blame Minho for whatever happened to him. Not like Minho does. 

Minho still doesn’t get to touch him. He doesn’t get to sit down with him as Hyunjin pulls him into the booth they’re occupying. Minho remains standing right where he is, keeping an eye on their surroundings like he is employed to do.

That doesn’t mean he’s not watching. 

Hyunjin doesn’t shout and babble like Felix does, but he holds Jisung for longer, his hands sliding all over Jisung’s body. Minho recognises the pattern. He’s looking for injuries. Minho glances at Jisung’s cheek. He’s not wearing his usual eyeliner, but there’s make-up covering his skin so it’s impossible to tell what his cheek actually looks like. Minho wonders whether it still bears any imprint of what happened. He is grateful when Hyunjin doesn’t seem to find anything else. 

“We’re so glad you’re back,” Felix tells Jisung, finally breaking his silence on the matter. 

“So glad,” Hyunjin echoes. The adoring look in his eyes tells Minho that Hyunjin would have gone an eye for an eye if Jisung hadn’t come back to them as quickly as he did. Minho would have gladly lent him a knife. 

“Ah, you guys.” Jisung chuckles awkwardly, flattening his bangs to his forehead. They’re a natural brown now. “You sound like I went off to war.” 

“How was it?” Felix asks, hushed. 

Jisung only shakes his head. The way he shrugs is just a little too curt. “Nothing happened. My mum needed my help around the house so I was busy for a while.” 

Felix and Hyunjin exchange a glance. Felix looks at Minho and gets up. Minho doesn’t want to move any further away from Jisung than he already is, but he’s got little choice when Felix drags him towards the counter. 

“I want cake,” Felix announces. 

Minho half-heartedly surveys the glass display. “They have chocolate tarts.” 

Felix grins and still wastes the next ten minutes of Minho’s life debating what he wants to get. Minho has no opinion on the matter. He’s too busy watching Jisung and Hyunjin talk, huddled together in the booth. Jisung sits with his back to him so Minho has to rely on Hyunjin to guess what they are talking about. There’s not much he can gauge past the hand Hyunjin is steadily carding through Jisung’s hair, the way his expression grows darker the longer Jisung talks. 

It’s not until Jisung stops talking that Felix makes a decision, “Actually, I don’t want any of these.”

Minho shoots him a glare. Felix is unfazed. 

“I want those muffins we got yesterday. You know, from the cute little bakery with the pink neon sign in the window? Can we go there?” 

“No.” 

“Why?”

“Because we went there yesterday. No repetitive routes, you know that.” 

Felix pouts. “That’s a stupid rule.” 

“It is in place to protect you.”

“We can take a different route! Drive around in circles for a bit!” 

Minho shakes his head. “That doesn’t make a difference. You don’t go to the same place two days in a row, Felix, and definitely not around the same time. That’s how people get kidnapped. Place an order online if it needs to be those specific muffins.” 

Felix scowls at him. Minho doesn’t flinch. Felix relents. He usually does, his flames burning high before they give out. What’s left is a very clingy, sulky boy hanging off Minho’s shoulder. This too, is par for the course. 

Jisung is watching them when they get back to the booth. The smile around his eyes is tight. It becomes a little more real when Felix lets go of Minho to slide into the booth next to him, wriggling and rolling his way into their middle. 

This means that all three of them are squished together on the same side. 

“Minho, sit,” Felix orders. 

On a normal day, Minho would say no. It’s not a normal day, though. He hasn’t seen Jisung in two weeks. He sits. It brings him a good half metre closer to Jisung than he was before. 

Minho looks away from him lest he do something terrible. 

He surveys the café instead, making sure no one is too interested in their presence. Felix opens up another topic, something about a fashion event he’s been invited to. It all becomes background noise quickly enough. Jisung is quiet so the times his voice disrupts Minho’s thoughts are rare as well. 

Not that Minho could ever be unaware of him. He’s back to counting breaths. No amount of chatter and café-related noises could keep him from doing so. He almost finds peace in it until Jisung yelps, all but falling out of the booth. Minho knows better than to immediately look at him, but he still does. 

“Sorry.” Felix pouts, eyes glittering as he smiles at his best friend. Where he was sitting prim and proper in his seat before, he’s stretched out across the length of their bench now, head bedded on Hyunjin’s shoulder. “It was getting a little cramped on our side. Why don’t you sit next to Minho for a bit, yes?” 

Jisung looks at Felix like he spent all day building a house of cards and now Felix is standing next to it, blow dryer in hand. Felix only gives his best friend an encouraging smile. 

Minho looks between the two of them and makes a decision. “Jisungie.” 

A single word is enough to make Felix gasp and Hyunjin look up from his phone, which he’s been obsessively tapping around on for the past ten minutes. Jisung shivers and then he’s looking at no one but Minho. 

“Sit,” Minho orders. 

Jisung sits. He nearly falls again, but then he’s sitting next to Minho, openly staring at him. Minho smiles at him only briefly—he’s very aware of Felix and Hyunjin still watching them with twin expressions of perverse glee—before he very, very deliberately turns his head back to face the rest of the café. 

Felix lets out a dreamy sigh. Minho thinks that he was wrong. Maybe Felix has never been in the process of losing his wings. Maybe he’s been a demon all along. 

It doesn’t matter with Jisung so close to him. 

Jisung looks away from him eventually, rejoining the conversation his friends are having, but he’s here, right next to Minho. He’s close enough that Minho could wrap his arms around him if he wanted to, touch him even more thoroughly than Hyunjin did. He doubts Jisung would try to squirm away from him. They’re close enough for their thighs to brush. 

Minho moves his leg just the tiniest bit so that they do. Jisung shudders almost imperceptibly and Minho is content with that, but then Jisung’s knee knocks against his. Minho could chalk all of this up to coincidence, but there’s no explaining away the hand that lands on his thigh. The touch is hesitant at first, but when Minho doesn’t move his leg away, it becomes bolder, fingers digging into the muscle. 

There’s a lot of muscle so Jisung touches him a lot. 

Minho lets Jisung knead his leg all he wants until Jisung’s hand wanders just a little too high. Minho has no choice, he tells himself. Bad behaviour has to be corrected. He lets his own hand disappear under the table and catches Jisung’s hand, locking their fingers together in a tight grip. Jisung’s breath hitches, but he’s smart enough not to stare at Minho in shock. 

His eyes go glassy, but he keeps looking at his friends, keeps smiling when Felix looks at him for reassurance and nodding along to whatever Hyunjin is saying. 

Minho keeps his eyes on the café and smiles on the inside. He can’t shout his relief at seeing Jisung again from the rooftops like Felix and Hyunjin are allowed to, but he can do this. He can hold Jisung’s hand and hope that Jisung feels it. 

“Hyung.” 

Minho doesn’t know how much time has passed until Felix’s voice calls him back to the real world. He was never unaware of it, though. Having Jisung close doesn’t make him worse at his job. On the contrary, it kicks all of his gears into overdrive, making him hyper-aware of everything and everyone in their vicinity. No one is taking Jisung from his side, not for as long as he gets to have him this close.  

Minho knows what Felix wants even before he says it. He still asks, “Yes, Felix?”

“Can we go home?” 

Minho nods. He knew it was time when everyone finished their drinks. It is his job to know. 

He goes along with the flow of things even if he doesn’t want to, even if it cuts short the time he gets to hold Jisung’s hand. It’s hard, letting go of Jisung, but he does it anyway. Jisung doesn’t protest, just dutifully slides out of the booth when Minho starts moving. Hyunjin and Felix have him, Minho knows they do, while he goes to get everyone’s coat.

When he comes back, Felix calls to him with sparkling eyes. “Hyungie!” 

Minho sighs, studying the way Felix has his arm draped over Jisung’s shoulder. “Yes, we can drop Jisung off at home.” 

Felix beams and Jisung blushes. It’s lovely. It makes Minho hopeful that, as he can see the blood in his cheeks, there are no marks hidden under the make-up after all. 

“What about you?” Minho asks Hyunjin. “Do you need a ride home?” 

“No need,” Hyunjin says, finally looking up from his phone. Minho doesn’t know how else to describe the smile on Hyunjin’s face other than pleased. He looks like the cat that got the canary. The app he’s been playing around with for the last half an hour is a tracking app, Minho realises, when the door to the café opens and Changbin comes in. He is closely followed by Chan. 

Felix gasps and shoots for his husband like a bullet. Hyunjin is more measured in his approach. He approaches Changbin slowly, like a lioness stalking her prey. Changbin watches him with fondness, clearly very well aware of the game his husband is playing. Hyunjin drops the coy act and runs the last couple of steps when Changbin reveals the bouquet of red roses he’s been holding behind his back. 

Minho takes a step closer to Jisung. He has no flowers to offer him, but he is going to stay by his side for as long as he can. Jisung doesn’t seem to mind. He scoots a little closer so that their shoulders are brushing. 

“Were you just leaving?” Chan asks, eyes still on Felix when they join them. 

Hyunjin and Changbin don’t come back, leaving arm in arm without another goodbye, but Minho didn’t expect them to stick around. Changbin prefers driving himself around and Hyunjin refuses to get into the car with anyone but him. 

“Felix asked to go home,” Minho informs his boss. 

“Now we can go home together!” Felix looks so genuinely happy about the extra half an hour Chan carved out of his day for him that it touches even Minho’s heart. 

Chan smiles, stroking his thumb over the freckles dusting Felix’s cheeks. “That’s the plan.”

They still drive Jisung home. 

Chan and Felix occupy the backseat so Jisung ends up riding passenger. Minho doesn’t reach over and hold his hand like he wants to, but he plays Incubus and revels in the way Jisung quietly, happily sings along. 

Bringing Jisung back to the house that he just barely escaped from goes against every instinct Minho has, but he knows it needs to be done. He’s hopeful that someday soon, Jisung will see that Minho can take him elsewhere. 

For now, this is all he can ask for. 

Jisung noisily says goodbye to Chan and Felix and quietly thanks Minho for the ride. When he gets out of the car, it only hurts like losing a limb, not his entire heart. Jisung is still smiling as he approaches the gate. Minho drives away before he has to see him walk through it. Neither Chan nor Felix try to draw him into their conversation during the ride home and Minho is thankful for that. 

He is back at his own apartment, feeding his cats when his phone vibrates. 

Han Jisung [8.43 p.m.] 

hyung

His fingers shake as he replies. Soonie weaves through his legs. 

Lee Minho [8.35 p.m.]

Jisungie

Jisung doesn’t reply after that. His speech bubble keeps appearing and reappearing before it disappears. Minho doesn’t mind. He knows exactly what Jisung wants to say. He doesn’t mind waiting to hear it.

*

Even less than boring corporate dinners and dishonest donation drives, Minho likes it when he’s forced to attend an actual party. At least at company events, he doesn’t have to wear a party hat. 

Felix giggles as he puts it on him, snapping a photo of Minho before Minho can prevent him from doing so. His only consolation is that Felix wrestled one onto Seungmin’s head too so his lawyer friend can’t use this as blackmail against him. 

The shit-eating grin on his face tells him that Seungmin is still going to try. 

Minho would throw his water at him to wash that expression off his face but then Chan would kill him for ruining Felix’s birthday and he’d like to live another day. Mostly because it’s Jisung’s birthday too. At least it still is, for the next hour and forty-three minutes until midnight.

Jisung hasn’t shown up yet. 

He was supposed to arrive an hour ago like the rest of them. The only thing keeping Minho from driving to his house is that Felix doesn’t seem worried. He’s been texting back and forth with Jisung, reassuring everyone that Jisung is on his way. It’s enough for Minho to stay in his seat, at least for now. 

He takes a sip of his water and reflexively does a scan of the room. If he’s informed correctly, Hyunjin’s family has a good deal of shares in the club they’re currently at, which explains why it was so easy for Hyunjin to get them a fully closed-off VIP suite. Minho is glad for it mostly because it makes his job easier. There’s an entire door separating their little group from the rest of the club goers. If anyone comes through the door who’s not invited, he can react quickly. His spot on the corner sofa makes for a good enough vantage point. 

Chan and Seungmin are sitting on the sofa opposite of him, continuing a spat about some business thing they’ve been having on and off the entire day. It’s not a pleasant conversation, judging by the thunderous expression on Chan’s face, but he dutifully smiles every time Felix looks in his direction. 

Felix looks happy, dancing with Hyunjin and Changbin, and so everyone else is happy too. Minho takes another sip of his water. Really, maybe, this is better than attending a corporate dinner. At least here, he gets to sit down and relax, even if the string of the party hat is cutting into his chin. 

He’s about to take it off when the door opens. 

Minho’s entire being lights up at the sight of Jisung. His boy looks just like Minho sees him in his head, wearing tight leather pants and black eyeliner. He looks like himself like this. Minho loves it. He loves—

Minho’s entire being recoils at the sight of Jisung’s brother right behind him. He has to blink twice to make sure he’s seeing correctly. Minho doesn’t think this is what Felix meant when he told Minho that he wanted to celebrate his birthday with “family only.” 

Minho is the first to notice the Hans’ arrival, but the others aren’t far behind. It’s almost comical, the way the entire atmosphere turns sour. Even Felix’s smile fades a little, his arms falling to his sides as soon as he sees Jiho. There’s music playing from speakers embedded into the roof of the lounge, but even so Minho thinks he can hear the “oh” that leaves Felix’s lips. 

Jisung looks nothing but guilty as he closes the door behind himself and his brother. 

Two, three seconds pass during which no one moves and then the tension breaks. Felix darts forward. Chan gets up from his seat. Hyunjin drags Changbin over too. Only Seungmin stays where he is, exchanging a glance with Minho. They’ve known each other for years so Minho doesn’t have to answer Seungmin’s question out loud. We don’t like him, he tells Seungmin with his eyes. 

Seungmin nods almost imperceptibly, his gaze sharpening as he looks Jiho over. Minho feels comforted by it. He’s thinking about cocktail bar knives and Seungmin is thinking about criminal law paragraphs. In that, they are approaching the same problem from different angles. 

“Han Jiho,” Chan says, approaching the problem directly. 

Jiho looks caught somewhere between pissing himself and coming in his pants as he bows to Chan. “Bang Chan,” he says breathlessly. “It’s such an honour to finally meet you.” 

Chan smiles at him. It’s fake, glaringly so, but Minho learned a long time ago that there is nothing Chan wouldn’t do to ensure Felix’s happiness, even if it means making nice with a sycophant. 

“Come,” he says and takes Jiho by the shoulder. “What’s your drink of choice?” 

Jiho can’t seem to believe what’s happening to him. “Oh, I don’t—”

Chan raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Uh, whisky?” 

Chan gives him an approving nod and leads him over to the private bar in the corner of the room. The bartender waiting there perks up, clearly happy to have something to do. 

It leaves Jisung free to be approached by the others. Slowly, Minho gets up as well.  

“...sorry,” Jisung is on the tail end of saying when Minho reaches him. “I know he wasn’t exactly invited, but he asked to come and I…I couldn’t say no.” 

“Don’t say you’re sorry,” Hyunjin tells him. Changbin nods in support of whatever he’s saying. “It’s your birthday too. It makes sense that your brother wanted to come.” 

“Happy birthday, twin!” Felix perks up, offering Jisung a big smile and a party hat. Jisung takes both without hesitation. 

It seems to be just what Felix was waiting for because he throws his arms around Jisung not a second later. Jisung melts into the hug, even more so when Hyunjin joins them. Something inside Minho settles, watching them. Jiho is here, but so are Jisung’s friends. 

“Minho’s here too,” Felix says as they pull apart, pointing to Minho as if he’s another fun party favour. 

Minho honestly doesn’t know what to do with all these expectant eyes on him so he focuses on what matters most. 

“Happy birthday, Jisung.” 

A soft smile overtakes Jisung’s features. His ears turn as pink as the party hat Felix gave him. “Thank you, hyung.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Minho can see Changbin shoot Hyunjin a questioning glance, mouthing “hyung?” at his spouse, but Minho doesn’t care about anyone else right now. All that matters is that Jisung is here. He looks healthy even if he brought his maggot of a brother and he’s happy. He will be happy at least for the next couple of hours. Minho will make sure of it. 

“Let’s get you something to drink!” Felix hooks his arm through Jisung’s. “Hyunjin made sure we have our own bartender, just wait till you see her in action! It’s so cool how she juggles two cocktail shakers at once!” 

Felix drags Jisung off to the bar. Minho knows he should go back to his seat, but Felix bringing Jisung to the bar also means that he’s bringing him back into Jiho’s vicinity and Minho…Minho is always on duty when it comes to protecting his employer. Chan is at the bar so Minho should go there too. 

He does. 

It’s his job to put himself right behind Chan. It’s where he needs to be so he can intervene if necessary. The fact that his body creates a wall between Chan and Jiho and Felix and Jisung is not his fault. He is only doing his job. 

“It’s a lot of equity involved, but the rewards should be worth the expense, you know?” 

Chan’s expression is perfectly pleasant as he listens to Jiho, but Minho knows how to read the sheen in his eyes. He can tell Chan is seriously contemplating throwing Jiho out the next available window. 

“Yes,” Chan says. “I can imagine.” 

“Right!” Jiho laughs. “I knew you’d understand. Obviously, there’s hardly another man more knowledgeable in this field than you are.” 

Felix chooses that moment to insert himself into the conversation, taking his rightful place by Chan’s side. “What are you two talking about?” 

Chan doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around his waist. “Nothing important, darling.” 

“Great! Try this!” Felix shoves the cocktail he’s holding into Chan’s face. 

The mixture is blue and sparkly and Minho genuinely wonders what that combination is supposed to taste like. 

Chan takes a sip. His nose twitches. “It’s very sweet.” 

“You don’t like it?” Felix’s entire being droops. “I told the bartender what to put in it, you know?”

Chan looks at him, looks at the drink and downs the whole thing. 

Felix perks up as quickly as he folded in on himself, clapping and laughing before he takes the empty glass from Chan. “So you did like it!”

“Yes,” Chan says, completely straight-faced, but Minho can see the way his eyes are watering. 

“See, this is what a good husband does.” Felix turns to Jiho and suddenly his smile is not so nice anymore. “Is there anyone in your life, Jiho?”

Jiho laughs, clearly oblivious to the claws Felix is showing. It’s kitten claws, but Felix is swiping at Jiho all the same. Jiho, who still laughs like it hurts him. 

“Oh, I’m not really interested in getting married right now. Currently, I’m focusing all my energy on doing well at my father’s company. Since Jisung doesn’t care—” behind Minho’s back, Jisung chokes on the cocktail he’s been sipping—“one of us has to do it.” 

Felix frowns. “Jisung does other things.”

“Oh, without a doubt! It’s just nothing useful when it comes to helping our father at the company, you know?”

“Hyung,” Jisung says, very quietly. 

“What?” Jiho glances over his own shoulder—right past Minho—to shoot his brother a smile. “You don’t care about the business and that’s fine! Hyung is already taking care of it so you don’t have to. Aren’t you grateful I’m taking this burden off your shoulders?”

Jisung opens his mouth, closes it again and curls in on himself. Minho wonders how much trouble he’d get in if he snatched up one of the liquor bottles from behind the bar and hit Jiho over the head with it. 

“No funny business,” was the first thing Hyunjin told them when they entered the room. “There’s cameras everywhere.” 

“No fun at all?” Changbin asked him, a glint in his eye. 

“No, yeobo,” for some reason, Hyunjin always said the second word a little louder whenever Chan was around, “nothing that could be held against you in a court of law.” 

The red blinking light in the upper corner of the room is the only thing keeping Minho from giving in to his fantasies. Then again, he knows two very good lawyers. 

One of which chooses that moment to join the conversation and say, “Funny that you’re saying that, Han Jiho. I remember telling you to watch your step the last time we met.”

It’s the first time Jiho seems genuinely put out by the conversation. Then again, Minho has seen stronger, much stronger men than him crumble in the face of Changbin’s unrelenting gaze. He’s so eerily calm about it. It’s easy to make him yell, but that’s not where the danger lies. It’s in the quieter tones of his voice. 

Jiho seems to be able to feel it or maybe he just remembers whatever Changbin told him after Hyunjin made them crash into each other. Remarkably, Jiho catches himself quickly enough, shooting Changbin a demure smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I understand what you mean.” 

Changbin looks like he’s got no problem explaining to Jiho, in detail, what exactly he meant, but Hyunjin’s hand on the back of his neck stops him. Hyunjin isn’t looking at Jiho or even Changbin. He’s looking at Jisung, who’s no more than a hunched over shadow behind Minho’s shoulder. 

“Yeobo,” Hyunjin says, “let’s go dance.” 

Changbin catches Hyunjin’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of it, unceremoniously leading Hyunjin back to the dance floor.  

Chan isn’t far behind. He takes Felix by the shoulders, gently pulling him away from the conversation. “Let’s go dance, angel. You love this song, don’t you?”

Felix does love this song and Chan’s attention so he lets his husband lead him away. It leaves Jiho, Minho and Jisung alone at the bar. Jiho turns towards his brother. Minho has half a mind to step in his way and not let him anywhere near Jisung, but it’s not Jiho that ends up side-stepping him. 

It’s Jisung. 

“Hyung,” he says softly, not addressing Minho. “Can we talk for a moment?” 

Jiho looks at Jisung as if he’s an arts and crafts project gone wrong, but he still follows his little brother out of the VIP room. Minho shouldn’t follow them. It’s obviously not a conversation he’s been invited to. He looks towards the small dance floor in the middle of the room. Felix is in the process of forcing Seungmin to dance with them, which means Chan has the time to briefly look around the room to check on everyone else. 

He meets Minho’s gaze. Minho doesn’t know what Chan sees in his eyes, but he gives him his blessing. The devil isn’t good, but he provides for his own. A small nod from his boss is all it takes and Minho is off, slipping out of the room to follow after Jisung and his brother. 

He finds them right in front of the bathroom door. Minho doesn’t turn the corner like he wants to. He keeps himself out of sight. 

“...not making any sense, Jisung,” Jiho is in the middle of saying. He’s got one hand on the bathroom door as if he’s still planning to go inside. 

Jisung has his back turned to Minho, but Minho doesn’t have to see his face to know what it looks like. His hunched posture and clenched fists speak for themselves. “You know what I’m talking about. I told you not to do that…that business talk thing while we’re here and yet—”

Jiho cuts his brother off with a short, sharp laugh. “Are you serious right now?” 

“Jiho—”

“No, Jisung.” Jiho scoffs. “Listen to yourself! ‘That business talk thing’? Seriously? No wonder you’re not getting anything done. You talk like a toddler.”

“But—what are you talking about? There is nothing to ‘get done.’” 

“Oh my God,” Jiho groans, lifting his hand off the bathroom door to pinch the bridge of his nose instead. “You really believe that, don’t you? I can’t believe you’re my brother, you’re so stupid.” 

Jisung’s shoulders curl further in on themselves before he forcibly forces himself to stand up straight. “I’m not stupid.” 

“Your best friend is married to the third richest man in the country. Your other best friend is married to the future Prosecutor General of the Republic, and how many of these connections have you turned into anything useful? That’s right. None. What does that tell you about yourself, Jisung?” 

Jisung’s fists clench and unclench. “I’m not stupid, hyung, just because I don’t see every human relationship I have as a…a business transaction.” 

Jiho nods along, his eyes taking on a nasty glint. He believes he’s right, Minho realises. It’s not an act, not a power play on his little brother. Jiho genuinely believes the words that come out of his mouth. 

“I have news for you, Jisung.” Jiho pokes Jisung’s forehead with his pointer finger, as if to physically drill his words into his head. “Everything in this world is a business transaction. You either have something to offer people, or you are the one buying. I’m telling you that you can’t be the one buying, Jisung, especially if your dream is being a penniless artist. You’ll starve.” 

“I won’t—I’m not—”

Jiho scoffs. “Right, you’re not penniless, are you? We are both so fortunate in that regard, but which one of us is making sure that it stays that way? That’s right, me. And it’s only me. So don’t come up to me demanding that I don’t talk to your friends about business. Do you think Bang Chan made trillions of won by talking about hair dye and piano keys? No, he lives in the real world. Everyone does except for you, Jisung. You’re wasting opportunities left and right so don’t ever try to tell me what to do again.” 

Jisung’s shoulders start to shake as Jiho makes his way past him, knocking their shoulders together. Minho doesn’t move to hide when Jiho rounds the corner, nearly running into him. The older Han doesn’t have any more than a derisive snort for him anyways. 

Minho could follow him. Security tapes can be erased. Witnesses can be bribed or disposed of. No one would know. No one would ever get to know if Jiho didn’t make it back to the VIP lounge. It’s only Jisung that wouldn’t forgive him and yet somehow that’s more important to Minho than every other factor. 

He doesn’t get to kill Han Jiho, not unless Jisung tells him to. 

Minho rounds the corner. Jisung is gone, but it’s not hard to guess where he went. The bathroom is remarkably clean considering the fact that they’re at a club. Jisung is standing over the sink, head stuck under the faucet. He startles badly when he comes back up to see Minho in the mirror. 

“Hyung!” He spins around, rubbing his face dry with his sleeve. 

Minho approaches slowly, carefully. He doesn't want Jisung to feel caged in. Not like Jiho made him feel. 

He still has to tell him the truth, though, “I overheard your conversation with your brother.” 

Jisung visibly winces. “You, uh, you did, huh?” He chuckles awkwardly. 

Minho doesn’t let it slide. He comes very close to Jisung. “I did.” 

“Hyung.” A plea.

“Jisungie.” An answer. 

Jisung stares at him with glistening eyes and parted lips, sharing Minho’s air. It’d be very easy for Minho to take a hold of his face, pry apart his jaw and explore what’s inside. See whether he can taste any trace of the fruity cocktail Jisung had. Minho blinks the thought away when Jisung averts his eyes to the ground. 

“My brother is not a bad person. I know it may not look like it, but…he’s just stressed, you know? Our father, he gave Jiho this important job and Jiho kind of messed it up. It’s not going as well as he’d hoped, at least. The numbers don’t look good, he says, and there were some contract negotiations but nothing came of it…He’s not a bad person! He’s just frustrated.” 

Minho hums. “Well, he has to calm down before I put a bullet in his head.” 

Jisung’s jaw drops. His entire being starts shaking. “You…you wouldn’t….” 

“I would, Jisung.” 

The truth is an ugly thing. Minho wishes he could show Jisung only the beautiful sides of himself, but they are far and few inbetween. This is closer to the truth. This is something he can’t spare Jisung from. 

“Your brother is a terribly misbehaved creature. He’s stupid—” Jisung flinches—“spoilt and self-imposed. ” Minho reaches up to touch Jisung’s forehead, wiping away the invisible mark Jiho left there. Then, he cups Jisung’s cheek. It’s as soft as he imagined. “If he ever touches you again, I’ll kill him.” 

Jisung’s eyes widen in shock. 

Minho smiles. “Are you really surprised?” 

“You-You can’t just say that!” 

Minho shrugs. “It’s just the truth. An ugly one, but the truth all the same.” 

Jisung’s hands press against his chest. Minho expects to be pushed away, but instead Jisung’s fingers curl into the silky fabric, holding on. “Hyung?” 

“Mhm?” 

He’s surprised by the anguish on Jisung’s face. “Do you think I’m stupid too?”

Immediately, Minho frowns. “Of course not.” 

The relief on Jisung’s face is a little too sincere. If Minho ever thought of letting him go, there’s no chance of that now. He cups Jisung’s face with both hands, stroking his hair behind his ears for him. 

“You’re so smart, Jisungie. So, so smart. Think back to what you just told me. Everything that you’ve just told me about your brother?” You should use that against him. “You know these things even though you’re not even working with him. That’s amazingly smart! You listen and yet you’re never unkind to him, not like he is to you.” Minho smiles, wiping the water from Jisung’s cheeks. “My Jisungie is smart and kind, even to those who don’t deserve it. You’re admirable, Jisung, I admire you so much.”

Jisung blinks at him with tears in his eyes. “Really?” 

“Really.”

It’s easy to break apart someone’s shell. Egg or turtle, all it takes is a single pressure point. Jisung’s expression crumbles and Minho knows he’s cracked him wide open. What comes out is not what he expected, but everything he ever dared to hope for. 

Jisung surges forward to press his lips against Minho’s in an overeager, sugar-stained kiss. 

Minho staggers. If there was ever a shackle that bound him, it breaks apart at that moment. Jisung is kissing him. Jisung is kissing him. He wants Minho. He wants Minho to kiss him back. Minho can tell by the way Jisung is tugging at his clothes, desperately trying to pull him closer.

Minho gives him what he wants. Pressing Jisung back against the counter of the sink, he slides his hands from Jisung’s cheeks down to his neck and tilts up his jaw, bettering the angle of the kiss. Jisung gasps, mouth opening in invitation. He tastes sweet, like the cocktail he had and something eternally more enticing. The desperate press of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth against Minho’s bottom lip, all of it is the most addictive thing Minho’s ever felt.

“Hyung,” Jisung pants, trying to break away from their kiss so he can breathe, but Minho won’t let him. He chases after Jisung, sliding his hands down to his waist to push them closer together. 

He can feel everything like this and it’s exhilarating. 

Jisung whines into his mouth, sagging in his arms. Minho has him. He hoists Jisung onto the sink counter, licking at his lips before pressing a peck to the corner of his mouth. Jisung breathes in through his nose and Minho trails kisses down his neck, lapping at the thin, sensitive skin until he has Jisung moaning in his arms. He knows he can’t leave any marks, but this is already enough. Knowing what Jisung tastes like, what he sounds like, is so much more than Minho ever thought he’d get to have. 

“Hyung. Fuck, hyung, I—”

Minho smiles against his neck, trailing gentle kisses up his throat to reconnect their mouths. Jisung melts for him, opens his mouth and legs for him. He’s Minho’s good boy and so he does. 

“So good, Jisungie,” Minho praises, revelling in the way it makes Jisung whine against his lips. “You taste so good. I could kiss you forever.” 

Jisung lets out a breathy little noise at every bout of praise Minho has for him. He clings to Minho as if he can’t bear to allow a single millimetre of space between them. He kisses him like he’s starving and Minho wants to devour him.

He can’t give Jisung everything right now, not in a club bathroom, but that doesn’t stop Jisung from rutting against him. Minho isn’t going to stop him either, even if Jisung seems to feel his hesitation. 

“Sorry,” he sobs against Minho’s mouth and Minho can taste salt in their kiss, “sorry, I…” 

Jisung’s hips jerk but he can’t seem to stop himself from rolling them into Minho, pressing himself closer. Minho wonders whether they’ll ever be close enough. 

He breaks their kiss only to smile at Jisung, who whines at the loss of contact. Jisung crosses his legs behind Minho’s back as if he’s afraid Minho is going to pull away from him. As if Minho ever could. 

Minho wipes the overwhelmed tears from Jisung’s cheeks. “It’s okay,” he promises. Despite the layers of clothing between them, Jisung lets out a hiccupy little moan every time their crotches rub together. “You’re allowed to make yourself feel good. I’m here for you. Take what you need, Jisungie. I have so much to give. Just keep going.” 

Jisung does. His movements are clumsy, a little too uncoordinated, but it’s still good. It’s Jisung so it’s Minho’s new favourite thing. 

“Just like that,” he encourages, grabbing onto Jisung’s ass to help him along. 

Jisung lets out an overwhelmed whine and buries his face in Minho’s neck. 

Their position isn’t ideal with Jisung sitting on the sink counter and Minho standing between his legs, but Jisung doesn’t seem to care, too overwhelmed by the feeling of their bodies moving together. 

Minho presses gentle kisses against his temple, singing more praise into his ear. “You sound so pretty for me, Sungie. You’ve been waiting, haven’t you? Me too. Feels so good. You feel so good. We’re not even doing anything but I can still feel you. Does it hurt? It doesn’t have to. You can come if you want to.”

Jisung gasps. “Hyung!” His fingers dig into Minho’s arms so harshly Minho fears they might bruise. He doesn’t care. He gets to watch Jisung lose himself, gets to feel the way he’s desperately rutting against Minho as he chases his high. It’s way too soon, but Minho loves knowing that he’s the reason Jisung is falling apart so soon. 

He tilts Jisung’s head back so he can watch him, can press his lips to the corner of Jisung’s mouth, “That’s right, Jisungie. Just come. I want to hear you. Want to hear what pretty noises you make. It’s okay, Jisungie, you can let go. Just let go. Just come.”  

Jisung whines, high and reedy and then his hips are stuttering, the rest of his body giving out in Minho’s arms. Minho has him. Of course he has him. He strokes Jisung’s hair, careful not to grind against him as he guides Jisung to rest his head on his shoulder. 

Jisung’s breath hits his neck in shallow bursts as he twitches through the aftershocks. His grip on Minho’s arms is so tight Minho knows it will bruise. He strokes Jisung’s back, kisses his hair until Jisung manages to lift his head. 

He smiles at Minho with half-lidded eyes, small and hesitant. Minho immediately kisses him, smiles into it so Jisung can feel how happy he is too. 

It seems to return the strength to Jisung’s body because soon enough he starts wriggling in Minho’s arms, patting at Minho’s arms to be released from the tight hug he’s in. Minho finds that adorable. Both Jisung’s behaviour and the fact that Jisung thinks Minho is ever going to let him go after this. He pulls away from Jisung only to admire how flushed he is, sated and glowing. 

Jisung’s eyes widen as they flicker down to where Minho is still hard in his slacks. “Do you want me to?” 

Minho catches his hand when Jisung reaches for his belt, quickly kissing his knuckles to show he’s not rejecting him. 

“Not here,” he explains. “It’s yours, but not here, okay? Not where we have to hurry or hide. I want to take my time with you.” 

Understanding dawns on Jisung’s face and the heartbreak disappears from his eyes. “But you want to?” 

Minho wants to laugh. “Of course I want to.” He draws close to kiss Jisung one more time, “Want you so bad, jagiya.” 

Jisung shudders, his mouth going slack and his eyes losing focus as he echoes the word. 

Minho smiles, pinching his cheek to make Jisung return to the here and now. “I’m not done with you yet, Jisungie. We do have to get out of here, though. Do you think you can?” 

Jisung nods, wincing when Minho helps him off the corner. “Ugh, it’s all sticky,” he complains, then ducks his head in embarrassment. “I mean...” 

Minho laughs, intertwining their fingers. He’s going to keep touching Jisung for as long as he’s allowed to. That’s only up until the bathroom door, but every second counts. 

They’re almost at the door when Jisung pulls him to a stop. “Hyung?” 

Minho turns his head. “Mhm?” 

“What is going to happen now?” 

Jisung’s eyes are still shining with happiness, but Minho sees the fear underneath. He knows it’s not because of him so it doesn’t hurt. Slowly, Minho lifts Jisung’s hand to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. 

“Whatever you want.” He uses his grip on Jisung’s hand to pull him forward, making Jisung stumble into him. It brings Jisung close enough so Minho can kiss him properly. “I’m all yours, Jisungie. I’m going to follow your lead on this one, okay? We’ll do it however you need.” 

“What if I don’t—” Jisung squirms in discomfort and Minho knows it’s not because of the cum drying in his pants. “What if I don’t know what that looks like?” 

“Then we’ll figure it out together.” Minho can see the relief it brings Jisung to hear that, can see the way it really hits Jisung when he says, “We’re together now, Jisungie.” 

“So you…you like me?” 

I do a whole lot more than that. 

“I like you.” Minho confirms in the words Jisung needs. He smiles. “Really, I like you so much. My beautiful, smart, Jisungie, don’t you know I’m obsessed with you?” It’s easier to say as a joke, even if it isn’t one. 

Jisung doesn’t seem to take it as a joke either. His pupils dilate and then he’s surging forward like he did before, pressing a clumsy kiss to Minho’s lips. “I came in your shirt.” 

Minho expected him to say a lot of things, but not that. “What?” 

Red explodes across Jisung’s cheeks, but he tells Minho the truth like the good boy he is. “The shirt you gave me I…I wore it for days and then when it stopped smelling like you, I…I used it to...” Helplessly, he makes a lewd gesture above his own crotch. 

Minho’s cheeks start hurting from smiling so widely. “Naughty boy.” He leans forward so he can whisper directly into his ear. “That first time we were alone in the car? When I drove you home without anyone else there? I thought about kidnapping you so I could keep you all to myself.” 

Jisung shudders. Minho is greedy so he pulls away to see the expression on his face. The way Jisung is looking at him tells him he wouldn’t hate it. It’s a dangerous thought for a man like Minho to have, so he doesn’t chase it. 

“When we’re alone,” he rubs his thumb over Jisung’s cheek, “I’m going to take my time taking you apart and then after that you can show me exactly what you did.” 

Jisung perks up. “Tonight?” 

“No.” 

Jisung pouts. “But it’s my birthday.” 

“Slowly.” An extraction has to happen slowly so neither the biopsy matter nor the surrounding tissue gets damaged beyond repair. Minho has to be careful. “We have to take things slowly. Tonight, I have to take you home.” 

Jisung sighs, but he knows it’s for the best. No one knows better than him. “Okay.” 

Minho can’t help himself. He steals one last kiss. “I like you so much, Jisungie. We’re going to be together soon, I promise.” 

*

There’s a lot less people in the VIP room than before. Minho looks around just to make sure it’s really only Chan and Seungmin left, sitting on the couch by the windows, but there seems to be no one else. 

“Where is everyone?” Jisung mumbles, sticking close to Minho’s shoulder as they walk towards the sofas. 

“Dance floor,” Minho takes an educated guess. “Your brother went home, hopefully.” 

Jisung winces, but he doesn’t argue. Minho takes his hand. He’s going to be patient, but he’s not going to hide in front of anyone he doesn’t have to, Chan and Seungmin included. 

“It’s not our company,” Seungmin says just as they arrive, “but it’s still not good for the market. Some of the smaller suppliers are going to go bankrupt if they lose a large customer like that.” 

“Look into it,” Chan frowns. “See what we can do. If we can absorb any of the smaller businesses, let’s offer them an acquisition. If they refuse…” He shrugs. 

Seungmin nods, taking out his phone to make a note. 

“I’m taking Jisung home,” Minho announces.

Chan looks up. He blinks as if he didn’t even realise he and Seungmin were no longer alone. It’s a headspace he gets into sometimes when he focusses on his work. Minho usually protects him during these times, so he hopes he’ll be forgiven for disturbing him now. 

Chan’s gaze sharpens as he looks from Minho’s face to Jisung’s, to their joint hands. He doesn’t look surprised, but then Minho is pretty sure he could pull his gun on him and Chan still wouldn’t blink. 

“You missed Felix blowing out his candles,” is what comes out of Chan’s mouth. 

Jisung gasps, moving past Minho’s shoulder. “Was Felix upset?” 

“No.” Chan smiles, but Minho can tell by the way his eyebrow twitches that it annoys him that there is something he doesn’t understand about his husband. “He seemed quite happy, actually.” 

Jisung lets out a nervous giggle, pressing into Minho’s shoulder. Minho raises an eyebrow at him. Jisung stops giggling. He shakes his head and Minho lets it go. He’s learned pretty early on not to question the bond Felix and Jisung have, or what things they come up with in their little heads.

Jisung’s smile falters when he looks back at Chan and then he’s pressing into Minho for comfort. “Where is my brother?” 

Seungmin snorts. “He went home, probably. He tried to sit with us when the others left for the dance floor downstairs. I told him what we had to discuss was confidential. Took a couple of tries, but he finally left. Or, he may have tried to join the others downstairs. But I doubt he was dumb enough to try that. Changbin made it pretty clear he doesn’t like him.” 

“Jiho inconvenienced Hyunjin,” Chan says in defense of his best friend. Minho knows that, to him, it’s perfectly logical reasoning. 

“I’m taking Jisung home,” Minho repeats. 

Chan really doesn’t even flinch. He looks at Minho like he always does. Minho didn’t think it would fill him with as much relief as it does. 

“Come back here once you’re done. There’s some things to discuss. Business-related things,” Chan adds when he sees Minho tense. 

Minho relaxes. He knows what that means and it’s not a problem. He’s got enough gear in the car. 

First, he’ll drive Jisung home, though. Another half hour alone with him. The prospect alone makes Minho indifferent to everything he might have to do after. 

“Good night, Jisung,” Chan says, a clear dismissal of them both. 

Jisung is polite so he bows to both Chan and Seungmin, laughing when Seungmin kicks at his leg. Minho tries not to frown. He still doesn’t understand why Seungmin and Jisung are such good friends, but he supposes it doesn’t really matter. 

Jisung likes him better anyway. 

Jisung follows him when Minho leads them back towards the door and down the stairs. He only stops once they reach the ground floor. The club is overflowing with people, sweat and deafening music filling the air. 

Reflexively, Minho looks for a flash of blond and finds Felix by the bar, sharing a love shot with Hyunjin while Changbin dutifully films it for their social media. Jiho, much like Seungmin predicted, is not with them. 

“Do you want to say goodbye to them?” Minho asks Jisung, pointing towards Hyunjin and Felix. 

Jisung looks at his friends with so much love and adoration. The love stays in his eyes when he looks at Minho. “No.” 

Minho smiles. He understands. It would take time, joining them. Telling them. He and Minho would probably be pulled apart to be questioned separately. It’s not worth the sacrifice of having to let go of Jisung’s hand. 

“Whatever you want,” Minho tells him. “We can do whatever you want, Jisungie.” 

A soft smile blooms on Jisung’s face. He’s so beautiful in the multi-coloured lights, Minho struggles to look away from him. 

They leave through the back door. 

There’s private parking behind the club reserved for VIP guests only and that’s where Minho’s parked his car. For the first time since Jisung told him not to bother with him, Minho gets to open the passenger door for Jisung. 

Jisung kisses him before he gets in. 

Minho takes measured steps to reach the driver’s side, even if he wants to run. Jisung’s already fiddling with the aux cord when Minho gets in. It’s not his usual nu-metal that fills the car when Minho starts the car. It’s pop music. Minho laughs as he hears it, reversing out of the parking spot. 

It’s a Saturday night so the streets are brimming with other cars, but Minho doesn’t mind. He enjoys every minute in bumper-to-bumper traffic because it’s another minute he gets to spend with Jisung. 

Jisung is more alive than Minho has ever seen him. Despite the seatbelt, he’s dancing in his seat, unabashedly singing along to the radio. He makes a show of it every time the lyrics talk about love and Minho laughs. He can’t remember the last time he laughed so much. 

While Jisung expends his giddy energy, Minho makes sure to get him home safe. He’s a good driver so he doesn’t look away from the streets until they’re out of the inner city. He waits until they’re close enough to Jisung’s home that it’s only them at a red light. Then, he leans over the middle console. 

The corner of Jisung’s mouth twitches with amusement. Minho wants to kiss him so he does. This moment is all theirs so he does. He’s already addicted to the way Jisung tastes. 

It’s very hard to pull away, but they don’t have forever. Not yet. 

Minho’s got something to say before that. He cups Jisung’s cheek in his hand. 

“Jisung.” A confession. 

Jisung’s answering smile lights up the entire car. 

“Hyung.” An answer. 

Light fills the car, illuminating the side of Jisung’s face. He’s so beautiful. He’s so beautiful it makes Minho’s heart ache. It’s the last thought he has before the world turns upside down. 

It’s the most terrible sound in the world, the sound of metal bending against its will. It’s so loud it drowns out Jisung’s musice. Time stretches and snaps as Minho’s body is thrown around. His head collides with the passenger side window and pain explodes at the back of his skull. It’s too much force. 

Everything hurts and the sound of crunching metal just won’t stop, reverberating in his bones. They’re still moving, metal sliding across asphalt even though the car is upside down. It’s no longer Minho driving. Minho’s arms flop around uselessly as he hangs in the confines of his seatbelt. 

His chest hurts. It hurts right where his seatbelt is, where his heart is. He gave it to someone else. 

A pained whisper escapes him, “Jisung.” 

He doesn’t know where up and down is, but he knows where Jisung is. There’s no strength left in his rattled bones, but he still manages to press down on the buckle of his seatbelt. He falls and lands on the shattered windshield. Shards dig into his skin, but that doesn’t matter. All that matters is that he can crawl across the roof of the car, which has become its floor, to get closer to Jisung. 

“Jisung.”

Jisung is hanging in his seatbelt like Minho was. His eyes are closed, his hair fanning his face because it’s too long and he’s still upside down. There’s streaks of red dripping down the side of his face, blood dripping right onto Minho’s face. 

Minho wants to reach for him, help him, but his limbs won’t cooperate. He doesn’t have the strength to move any further. The pounding at the back of his skull is getting worse too, blurring the edges of his vision. He can only lie there, twitching as he fights against the dark spots filling his vision, trying to take him away from Jisung. 

Minho can’t give in. Every breath hurts but he needs to take another. He hasn’t saved Jisung yet. He promised himself he would. 

Another scrunch of metal jars him, but the car isn’t moving anymore. It’s the door. Someone’s opening the door. Minho wants to drag himself there. He knows it’s not help that’s arrived. 

A shadow falls over him. All Minho sees is black. Black shoes, black trousers, the muzzle of an assault rifle. Even the knife is black. It cuts away at Jisung’s seatbelt, gloved hands pulling him out of the car. Minho wants to scream, but he doesn’t get to do that. 

He doesn’t get to do anything before his eyes roll into the back of his head and his world turns black too. Jisung’s name is the last thing on his lips. 

*

There’s a faint beeping sound that wakes him. Steady, well-paced. Rising as his mind emerges from the fog. 

A mask is covering his face, hard plastic digging into his cheeks. His throat is dry. His eyes hurt. All he sees is white when he opens them. The ceiling and walls and then more. Then, someone else. 

Minho blinks twice. That’s how long it takes for his vision to unblur. 

He has never met the man before, but he knows who he is and because he knows who he is, he knows where he is. Laughter bubbles up in his throat. It catches in his mask so he rips the whole thing off. 

Yang Jeongin is curled up on the couch in Minho’s hospital room. He’s fast asleep. He’s the only spot of colour in the room, dressed in matching pastel pink sweats and a jumper. There’s also a matching beanie on his head, pulled low enough that it almost covers his eyes. It makes him look soft. It makes him look almost as vulnerable as he is. 

Minho is royally fucked. He has to be, if Seungmin allowed Jeongin to come here with him. 

As if summoned, the door opens and Seungmin comes in, his briefcase in one hand and a cup of shitty vending machine coffee in the other. Seungmin doesn’t startle when he sees that Minho is awake. 

Another sign that Minho is fucked. Seungmin doesn’t jab at him, doesn’t joke or jiggle. His face is entirely serious. 

“Seung—” Minho tries and breaks off into a cough. 

Seungmin hurries over and exchanges his cup of coffee for a glass of water from Minho’s bedside table, pressing it against Minho’s lips. Minho grabs it with both hands, proving that he can hold it. Seungmin sighs and lets him. 

He places his briefcase on the table reaching over Minho’s bed before he starts freeing Minho from all the clips and patches on him. It’s not something he should do, Minho is sure, but far is it from Minho to stop him. 

“You’re a lucky fucking bastard,” Seungmin mumbles as he carefully pulls out Minho’s IV needle. Seungmin has been trained to do it correctly, but that doesn’t make it a pleasurable experience. “I always knew you had a thick skull, but this time it saved you. Nothing’s broken, but you’ve got a mean concussion so don’t think your head works right yet. Also, your shoulder was fucked up. They needed two doctors to pop the joint back in.” 

Minho can feel that. There’s not a part of Minho that doesn’t ache, but he’s functional and that’s all that matters. He lets Seungminh help him sit up. He stays sitting up on his own. 

“Jisung,” he demands. "Where is he?” 

Seungmin shakes his head. That terrifies Minho more than it should. If he was still hooked up to the heart monitor, it’d be going haywire right now. 

“Where is he?” he asks again. 

Seungmin looks at him and for the first time in maybe ever, Minho sees something like sympathy in his eyes. “We don’t know.” 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

Seungmin stares at him as if he’s debating something before he pulls his phone out of his breast pocket. Minho thinks he’s going to call someone, but instead he shows Minho a video. 

Minho knows what it is the moment he recognises the angle. A deserted red light, recorded by a traffic cam. As if someone played press in his mind, his memories come back to him alongside the video. Minho still forces himself to watch every second. 

His breathing accelerates when he sees his own car pull up to the crossing. The light is red. It’s still red when another car comes into frame, so fast Minho feels the need to rewind. He doesn’t. There’s no sound but Minho can hear it in his head when the second car crashes into his own. 

Before he has to watch himself get flipped over, the video cuts to a different angle. His car in the middle of the crossing, still upside down, swarmed by men in black. Minho has to watch again as they pull Jisung out of the car. He remembers black boots, a black knife, the muzzle of an assault rifle. Bile rises in his throat. 

The clip cuts off and loops. Minho doesn’t force himself to watch it a second time. 

“This is not the work of amateurs,” is the first thing that comes out of his mouth. 

You don’t take the same route twice in a row. That’s how you get kidnapped. Minho wonders how often he took Jisung home, always choosing the same fucking route, always choosing the one which would give him a couple of extra minutes. 

He’s pretty sure he’s about to throw up. “Seungmin.” He grabs onto his friend. “You have to—”

“We’re already on it.” Seungmin’s voice is steadfast. He’ll be steadfast until Minho no longer needs him to be. “If they’re guns for hire, they got paid. Money leaves a trail so we’re going to figure out where it comes from, but…”

Seungmin doesn’t have to finish his sentence. Minho already knows. He knew it the moment he woke up. There’s things Seungmin can’t do. There’s things no one can do but Minho. 

Minho nods, feels himself tense. Seungmin is his friend and Minho is eternally thankful for his presence, but he needs him to go. He needs to be alone. He needs to—

Seungmin snaps open the locks on his briefcase, turning it so Minho can see inside. Minho’s breath catches in his throat. Inside there’s a gun, a phone, another set of clothes and the keys to a very expensive car. 

“Seungmin,” he breathes out, staring at his friend.  

Seungmin doesn’t truly smile at anyone except for the man he loves, still fast asleep in the corner of the room, but Minho feels the warmth in his gaze. 

Finally, he jabs at Minho, “Try not to crash the car, would you? I’m pretty sure Hyunjin stole the keys from Changbin without him knowing. He’s very attached to it, apparently.” 

Minho closes his fingers around the key. His heart pounds in his chest. “Thank you,” he says. 

“Don’t thank me. I voted against letting you do this.” 

Minho doesn’t ask who else was on the jury. It doesn’t make a difference. No jury or judge, not even the devil himself, could keep him from doing what he is about to do. 

Seungmin seems to know this too because he turns away from Minho, walking over to the couch. With no care for the very expensive suit he’s wearing, he plops down on the floor by Jeongin’s head. Once he’s looking at Jeongin, he’s doesn’t pay attention to anything else. Seungmin acts as if Minho isn’t even in the room and that is a gift too. 

Minho recognises it for what it is. 

He doesn’t hesitate to make use of it. He gets off the hospital bed. For a moment, it feels like his legs are going to give out under him, but then he’s steady. Then, he’s moving. He changes out of his hospital gown and into the clothes Seungmin’s brought him. The gun is next. There’s an extra magazine which he pockets. The phone has no passcode, no saved numbers and a full battery. Minho turns off the location services before he slides it into his pocket. Lastly, he picks up the car key. 

Where his heart has been thundering in his chest, it calms. This is all he’s ever needed. Himself and an engine. He’s not in top form, but that won’t make a difference. He’s got enough wrath to make up for his injuries. 

They took his boy from him. 

Minho strides towards the door, looking back only once. Jeongin’s eyes blink open just as Minho places his hand on the handle. Jeongin, who is too good to be a part of their world, smiles when he sees Seungmin. Seungmin takes his hand in both of his own and presses a reverent kiss to the ring on his finger, a dragon and his gold. 

At the sound of the door opening, Jeongin turns his head. He doesn’t seem surprised to see Minho up and walking. Instead, he watches Minho with curiosity, as if he has just as many questions about him as Minho has in return. 

Sorry, Minho thinks. We have to meet another time. 

He has to get his own boy back before he can meet anyone else. Jisung is already waiting for him, Minho has no doubt about it. 

Silently, he slips out of the hospital room. 

Chapter Text

Changbin’s car is fast and brakes fast too. 

Minho brings it to a screeching halt in front of the boom gate of Jisung’s gated community. Leaving the motor running, he gets out of the car and walks to the trunk, grabbing the axe in there. He found it in a big, black gym bag along with an assortment of other…tools. Some of them used, some with the tags still on. Minho can’t help but commend Hyunjin’s foresight. 

Axe in hand, he walks over to the boom gate. It doesn’t take more than one, two hard swings before the lacquered, wooden pole falls, clearing his way. This, Minho supposes, is what they get for replacing the human security personnel with a shitty sensor. 

He gets back into the car and drives over the fallen pole, ignoring the way the entire car bumps up and down. He accelerates. There is no traffic inside the gated community and he takes full advantage of that, speeding up the hill until he reaches the gate of the Han mansion. 

Minho drives right up to the solid sheet of metal, parking halfway on the curb. It effectively blocks anyone from using the gate. Not that Minho would ever let anyone get away far enough to flee. 

He gets out of the car, twirling his axe as he jumps onto the hood of Changbin’s car. He uses the axe as a tenterhook to hoist himself over the smooth metal gate. His body is still mangled so it takes him a moment to reach the other side, but his rage carries him through. 

Despite his earlier efforts, he stalks up the driveway with long, measured strides. He can’t be too hasty now. Instead of approaching the front door, he walks once around the house until he’s at the back. The garden is as perfectly pruned as the rest of the property. Minho walks along the bushes, taking in the backside of Jisung’s childhood home. Most of it is windows, stupidly allowing Minho a formidable view of what’s going on inside. 

He’s about to interrupt lunch, it seems. He can see Mrs Han, who is seated at the head of the long dining table and Jiho, sitting perpendicular to her. Jisung’s father isn’t there. He’s rarely in the country, Minho knows. Minho can’t blame him for preferring to spend his time abroad. Right now, it serves him. 

And it’s easy;, to give in to the rage pulsating in his body. He’s dreamt about breaking into this house for so long, it feels like finally being set free after being shackled for months on end. He was, but now he’s free. 

Now, he gets to do what he’s been wanting to do all along. 

He takes a running start and throws his axe at the window, watching as it shatters. Mrs Han screams and so does Jiho. It amuses Minho how both of them scramble, like roaches exposed to the light. As if he’d ever let them get away. He steps through the broken window, picking his axe back up. 

“Should’ve invested in double pane,” he says, pointing his axe right at Jiho’s chest. 

To his credit, the maggot tries. He grabs one of the steak knives on the table and holds it out in front of himself. 

“Lee Minho!” Jiho yells as if that is going to deter Minho. Honestly, Minho is more shocked that Jiho knows his name. 

He strides forward, using the handle of the axe to knock the knife out of Jiho’s hand. Jiho gasps in disbelief. Minho doesn’t lose any time to swing his axe at his stomach, catching him with the dull end. Jiho immediately folds in on himself, spluttering as he crumbles to the ground. 

Mrs Han screams and Minho loves that, loves that she’s afraid. He wonders whether this is how Jisung felt; whether this is how Jisung screamed the first time his own mother shattered his belief that he was safe in his own home. 

Minho throws his axe, its blade narrowly missing her head before it embeds itself in the wall behind her. Her next scream ends in a choked-off gasp, her entire frame shaking as she looks at it. Minho revels in the terror that fills her eyes when she turns back to face him. Giving her his best smile, he pulls his gun and points it right at Jiho’s head. 

“You move, he’s dead. Don’t test me, Mrs Han. I don’t have a lot of patience right now.” 

“Who are you?” she screams and Minho almost winces, her voice is so uncomfortably shrill. 

Despite the assault on his poor ears, he doesn’t miss the way her hands are twitching, searching. He clacks his tongue and fires a bullet into the parquet floor next to Jiho’s head.  

“I told you to behave, Mrs Han. You’ve only got one son left as is. Play nice, yes?” 

He moves his gun to the left, just a millimetre closer to Jiho’s head, but every millimetre counts when you’re about to blow someone’s brains out. 

Mrs Han seems to realise this too. The phone she was trying to sneak from the back pocket of her designer skirt clatters to the ground. She whimpers. Minho would enjoy it more if Jisung had been the one who gave him the order, but Jisung is not here and so Minho merely discards Jisung’s mother as that which she is: just another obstacle. He takes no pleasure in her suffering like this. 

She’ll have to resign herself to watching from here on out, shaking like a wet dog, as Minho focusses on his actual target. He smiles down at Jiho. Now the man really does look like a maggot, winding and squirming. Minho doesn’t hesitate to place his foot on his neck, pressing the heavy sole into his trachea. 

“Where is he?” he asks. 

Jiho gargles and Minho lifts his foot off his neck, just enough that Jiho can say, “What the fu—” 

Minho doesn’t like that type of response so he brings his foot back down. Jiho lets out a terrible choked-off sound, helplessly clawing at Minho’s leg. Minho picks up the steak knife he dropped, playing with it. 

“Let’s try that again before I start cutting off things you’ll miss. Where is your brother, Jiho?” 

“Why would I know?” Jiho rasps out, defiant despite the position he’s in, but Minho can see the shift in his gaze. Fear, more than guilt. At getting caught, more than out of concern for his brother’s life. 

Minho longs to bury the steak knife between Jiho’s eyes and be done with it, but he needs to know what the maggot knows. His lust for blood does not matter more than Jisung’s life. Nothing does. 

“You know something,” he grinds out. “Maggots like you always know something. I know you’re in some shit, trying to crawl out of it. Jisungie’s told me all about how you’ve been fucking up your daddy’s business.”

Jiho’s eyes widen in shock and Minho knows that he’s hit bull’s eye. 

“What are you crawling out of, Jiho?” He presses, with his voice and with his foot. “What did you do?” 

“What is he talking about, Jiho?” Mrs Han asks. 

Jiho’s eyes flick towards her. The pain in Jiho’s face melts into anger, its flames surging just high enough to cover up what the maggot is not saying. Outrage as a defense mechanism seems to run in the family. His mother does it well too. 

Minho lifts his foot to let him speak and immediately regrets it. 

“I didn’t do anything, eomma! I swear I—” 

Minho kicks him in the ribs for his insolence, twice and heavy. Jiho screams, but Minho doesn’t take any pleasure in his pain. It’s just making him angrier. 

He leans down so he can press his gun right to Jiho’s forehead. 

“Tell me the truth, maggot, or I’ll blow your brains out right here on your mother’s parquet. You think I won’t?” He clicks off the safety. “Think again. Where is your brother?”  

Jiho stares at him, eyes narrowed and full of hatred and Minho revels in it, revels in how Jiho cracks apart under him. He’ll make sure that Jiho will never be able to put himself back together again. 

“Why do you think it’s my fault that they took him?” Jiho spits. 

He doesn’t seem to realise he’s given himself away until the rage leaves him. Mrs Han gasps and Jiho’s eyes grow comically wide. The gun pressed against his head keeps him from being able to look at her. 

Minho does in his stead. 

Mrs Han’s entirely focussed on her son. “It’s—it’s real? What the man is saying? Jiho! You told me Jisung went on a spa retreat with Lee Sangmi’s son!” 

Jiho squirms. 

If Jisung was safe, if it was Minho who took him and Jisung was waiting for him at his apartment, Minho would enjoy this. As is, Minho doesn’t have the time to enjoy the way Mrs Han’s little world is falling apart. 

He focusses back on Jiho, moving the muzzle of his gun from the man’s forehead to his temple. A tragic accident, the papers would say. Jiho seems to know it too because for the first time, his eyes widen with real fear. 

“Your brother is not involved in your business. The only reason why someone would ever care enough to take him is because of his connection to this family, to you, so let me ask you again. What do you know?”

“It wasn’t me!” 

Minho whips him with his gun. “Try again.” 

Blood drips from a cut on Jiho’s cheek, marring his face only marginally more than his ugly expression. “It really wasn’t me! Fuck! Whatever you’re thinking, it wasn’t me! Yeah, I think Jisung’s useless and this family would be better off if he hadn’t been born, but I’d never—I didn’t do this.” 

“Jiho…” Mrs Han gasps, visibly shocked. 

Minho ignores her, like he should have done from the get-go. “Then who did? You clearly know something.” 

Jiho shakes his head. Minho twirls the knife in his hand before pressing the blade to Jiho’s groin. “Do you ever plan on having children?” 

Humans are a lot like pigs. Their insides are frighteningly similar and sometimes what comes out is the same too. The panicked squeak that escapes Jiho makes Minho rethink the maggot moniker. 

“Stop! Oh my God, stop, you psychopath!”

Minho only grins. Jiho seems to see in his eyes then, what Minho has been trying to tell him all along. He didn’t come here to play. He will murder Jiho if Jiho doesn’t open his mouth and start talking. 

“I…There was this business deal.”

Minho rolls his eyes. Of course. 

Jiho winces, much more meek now that he’s finally understood that the thread of Minho’s patience is the same length as the thread of his life. 

“My father, he put me in charge of the new location we’ve been planning, Just to test me. I…I made some mistakes.” 

Minho already knew that. He also knows he’s not going to get every detail about it out of Jiho while his mother is standing right there, staring at her son in shock. Jiho has already admitted a lot, but those things were about Jisung. Jiho can admit to being a terrible brother, but he can’t admit to being a failed businessman. 

“Who is the angriest?” Minho asks. 

Jiho shakes his head. “We had a lot of suppliers, a lot of different contractors, I don’t—”

“Who,” Minho repeats himself, pressing his gun to the underside of Jiho’s jaw, “is the angriest?” 

Jiho stares at him, swallowing against the muzzle. Minho has been dreaming of this moment, in which he cracks Jiho, in which he wins, but right now it feels like nothing but a terrible loss. 

“His name is Kang Kwangmin,” Jiho whispers. “I hired his company to pull up the building. They did a good job, but unfortunately…some funds were mismanaged on our side. By the time construction was finished, I couldn’t really pay him so…” 

“So you thought you’d just let him have Jisung?” 

The shift in Jiho’s eyes tells him that this is exactly it. Minho is right. He can’t believe it. 

“Seriously?” 

Jiho averts his eyes, mumbling, “It’s not like I wouldn’t have paid the ransom...” 

Minho’s pointer finger itches. It’d be so easy to pull the trigger. He pulls his phone out instead. There’s no numbers saved, but he knows all the important ones by heart. 

Lee Minho [2.14 p.m.]

Who is Kang Kwangmin

Unknown [2.14 p.m.]

Minho? 

Is this you? 

Lee Minho [2.14 p.m.]

Answer the question, Seungmo

Unknown [2.15 p.m.] 

Kang Kwangmin is the owner of Kang Construction. Big company, built half of Seoul. Not all permits were obtained legally. Kang himself used to be a big dog, but his company’s been in some hot water lately. There have been talks about unpaid wages and accusations of embezzlement. If you ask me, the company’s a breath away from going under. Chan’s already been asking about acquiring the viable offshoots. Why are you asking? 

Unknown [2.16 p.m.]

Minho

Unknown [2.17 p.m.]

Is he the one? 

Lee Minho [2.17 p.m.] 

Down, dog. 

Minho pockets his phone. 

The taste in his mouth is incredibly sour as he gets to his feet. He keeps his gun pointed at Jiho’s face and Jiho knows better than to try and get up as well. In the background, Minho can hear Mrs Han cry quietly. Minho doubts it’s for her sons’ sake. People like her only cry for themselves. 

“I need the address.” 

Jiho’s eyes widen. “He wouldn’t have taken him there.” 

Minho clicks his tongue. You don’t know anything. He wouldn’t have taken him anywhere else because that man is just like me. He wants to see you crawl. 

“The address, maggot.” 

Jiho rattles off the address. Minho waits until he’s done speaking before he kicks him in the face. Just once, to make himself feel better. Then, he turns to Mrs Han. 

“Call the police if you must,” Minho tells her as he pockets his gun. “However, I hope you realise that right now I’m your son’s greatest chance at survival. The police can’t stop me, but they would slow me down. It’s already been 13 hours since Jisung got taken. He’ll be dead by midnight if I don’t get to him first.” 

Mrs Han stares at him, wiping dark streaks of mascara off her cheeks. She blinks and Minho can see the distaste she has for him be overruled by honest desperation. 

What comes out still sounds as derisive as always, “Just…just bring him home to me. He’s—you must think—I’m not a bad mother! I love my son.” 

Minho smiles. One way or another, he’s never taking Jisung to this house ever again. “Goodbye, Mrs Han.” 

He pulls his axe out of the wall and heads for the shattered window front. 

“You can’t just…do this to people!” she yells after him. 

Minho only waves his axe and leaves. 

*

Han Hospitality has hotels all over the world. 

In Seoul, there are three. One, the flagship location, is in the city centre, one is in the government district and then there is the third one, sitting on a plot of land halfway between the city and Incheon. This one hasn’t opened yet, though the banner on the construction fence promises the grand opening to take place this coming spring. 

Minho unearths one of the poles to make his way past the fence, approaching the tall, deserted building. Or it should be deserted. 

The thing about humans is that they leave traces. A couple of nondescript vans lining the residential streets of the surrounding area, empty food wrappers stomped into the dirt behind the fence; if you bring an army, you need to ferry them around and feed them. 

Based on the trail that’s been left, Minho can estimate how many men Kang has brought with him, how many people there are between him and Jisung. He leaves no traces as he slinks towards the side entrance of the hotel. 

There’s a caution sticker sealing the side entrance of the hotel. He pulls out his knife and cuts through it. He left his axe in the car with a heavy heart. It’s too unwieldy if he has to move fast. He’s better off with his gun and a knife. He won’t be the biggest guy in the building, but he will be the fastest. 

There’s noise behind the door so he knows what to expect as he pulls open the door. 

The first of the men, dressed in all black with an assault rifle slung over his shoulder, has his back turned to him. Minho kicks the back of his knee, making the mountain of a man crumble. Minho is clinging to his back, slicing his throat before he can scream. His partner—because these are hired goons and they know to work in pairs—tries to fend him off, but Minho has already switched to his gun by then. Blood coats the wall behind the man’s head before he has a chance to lift his rifle. Minho thanks Hyunjin for including a silencer in his bag of wonders. 

He moves past both of the henchmen without sparing either of them another glance, careful not to step into any of the blood. He doesn’t leave any traces and he doesn’t make any sounds, because he is not human inside this building. 

He comes like a demon in the night. 

The hallway of the side entrance leads into the kitchens where another pair of goons wait for him. The first of them hits the ground, two bullets in his chest, before either of them can realise what’s going on. The second one is quicker this time, raising his rifle. Minho ducks just in time to dodge the bullet aimed at his head. The shot echoes in his skull. It’s loud. It’s always much louder than the movies make it seem. Minho has just lost the element of surprise. 

Already low on his feet, he surges forward and tackles the man to the ground, letting out his frustrations on his face. The henchman stops struggling after the fifth or sixth hit. Minho still buries his knife in his neck for good measure. Blood sprays him top to bottom when he pulls it out. Minho only wipes his eyes and the knife before moving along. There’s no use in trying to keep himself clean. This was never a clean affair. 

The foyer is empty, much to Minho’s surprise, but he still sticks to the walls as he slinks towards the elevators. He doubts they’ll work, but it’ll make for a nice distraction if they do. Pressing the button reveals that there is electricity so Minho sends both elevators to the top floor. Then, he dips inside the stairs. 

This is where the sound of footfalls greet him and he knows it’s going to be a long way up to the top. It doesn’t stop him from taking the stairs two steps at a time. He makes it to the third floor before he runs into another group of underlings. It’s more than two this time. 

Minho kills the first and uses the man’s body as a shield as he works his way through the rest. He can only count his blessings that none of them are carrying rifles. Apparently, Kang’s dire financial straits extend to his underlings. 

Minho throws his knife at the next best man, the blade burying itself in his forehead. He shoots the next two and then it’s him and one more guy. Heaving, Minho throws the body he’s been using as a shield over the railing to his left. 

The goon pulls his gun. Minho takes a running start, grabbing onto the railing so he’s got enough momentum to kick the gun out of the man’s hand. It nearly sends him hurtling over the railing too but he spins once around himself, sweeping out the man’s legs from under him on the next turn. 

He’s still got too much momentum so he ends up falling against the railing. It exposes his side, which earns him a kick in the ribs, but Minho is imperceptible to any pain. Curling his hands around the polished metal bars, he pushes himself off and climbs on top of the underling before the man can make a grab for one of his colleagues’ weapons. 

“Who are you?” the man gargles as Minho wraps his hands around his neck. 

“Han Jisung’s boyfriend. Didn’t he tell you I was coming?” Minho grins as he smashes the man’s head into the concrete steps until he stops moving. 

It’s smooth sailing from there on out. Minho doesn’t try to retrieve his knife, well aware that pulling it out of someone’s head is a lot harder than getting it in there. He steals a second gun instead, using most of the ammo on another pair of underlings he meets on the fifth floor. It’s a lot of shooting and ducking, bullets flying back and forth, before he’s managed to kill both of them. 

Before their death, he’s hit with a graze on his left shoulder, but that doesn’t make a difference. There’s too much adrenaline in his body to feel the pain and any damage done can wait until he’s got his boy back. 

He really wants his boy back now. 

It’s quiet on the top floor. Minho knows that this is where Jisung is, because Kang Kwangmin wouldn’t have taken him anywhere else. Not to a different building and not to another floor, because this is where he could have made Jiho see, truly see, what Kwangmin did for him and what Jiho failed to pay for. 

Alas, it is not Jiho who has answered the call. 

It’s Minho.

There’s a guard by the elevators and Minho shoots him just as the doors open. He sends the body down in the cabin so it may warn off any reinforcements and moves on to the door at the very end of the hallway. There’s only one.

Minho checks the remaining bullets in his magazine. It’s only two but that’s enough to take care of any remaining goons. Kang Kwangmin, he’ll kill with his bare hands. The last thing he does before he pushes open the door is turn the location services of his phone back on. 

Then, he goes in. 

There’s music playing in the penthouse suite, some female singer from the 80s crooning about her long lost love. Minho finds it a little bit dramatic, but men like Kang Kwangmin always are. 

Minho expects to be shot at the moment he sets foot inside the suite, but that is not the case. It’s quiet apart from the music. It’s empty except for a couple of construction lights lighting up the corners of the room and a folding chair on which Kang Kwangmin is sitting. He’s flanked by two guards, both of them standing with their hands behind their backs. Minho knows they’re not weaponless. He’ll deal with it once the time comes. 

For now, he focuses on Kang Kwangmin, just like the old man is focussing on him. In the uncomfortable bright light of the construction lights, Minho finds that Seungmin wasn’t far off with his dog comparison. The man reminds Minho of a bulldog with his hanging cheeks and round, drooping eyes. 

Kang looks at Minho like Minho looks at the world. With distaste. “You’re not who I expected to come.” 

Minho walks forward until one of Kang’s guards starts to twitch. “I’m the one you stole from, so I’m the one who’s here to ask you to return what belongs to me.” 

Kang raises a bushy eyebrow at him. “Does he, now?” 

“He does.” Minho grits his teeth. “Jisung is mine. My Jisungie. Give him back now.” He’s not actually asking. It’s a warning.

Kang snorts, the saggy lines of his face pulling up in amusement. “Bold words from a blood-soaked man like you are, Mr…”

“Lee Minho.” A man should know the name of his executioner. 

“Mr Lee, do you have the money to pay for your boy’s debt?”  

“Jisung has no debt.”

Kang laughs. A short, sharp sound like a bark. “His family does, so he does. The Han family owes me fourteen billion won for this beautiful building we’re standing in. Either you have come to pay me, or I fear you’ll have to leave empty-handed.” 

Minho’s finger caresses the trigger of his gun. “I already told you. Jisung does not belong to his family. He belongs to me. Whatever your business is with the Hans, Jisung has no part in it.”

Kang’s expression doesn’t change, but Minho sees it in his eyes, the steel that brought him to where he is. “Somebody has to pay all the same.” 

“Yes.” Minho smiles. “I suppose so.” 

They’re not going to come to an agreement. Minho knew this the moment he set foot into the suite, but still. It was polite to try. 

He shoots the first of the guards point blank. The second one lifts his hand, carrying a glint of silver, but Minho is faster. It’s not his best shot, missing the man’s heart, but the bullet still hits him in the arm, effectively making the man drop his knife. 

Minho is on him in the next second, tackling him to the ground. He grunts as he’s punched in the stomach, but there’s too much rage inside him to stop, lighting up his insides like a fire. He was already drenched in blood when he entered the suite, but it’s not enough. It won’t be enough until he’s got his boy back in his arms. This man is in his way so he has to go.

Minho ends the guard’s life with his bare hands, grabbing the man’s jaw and twisting it with one, forceful tug until a terrible crack echoes through the room. Limp arms fall from where they were beating down on his back.

Minho gets to his feet, standing on shaking legs. It’s not pain. It’s the rush of blood to his head. The guard has a gun, hidden underneath his coat, but Minho doesn’t take it. He prefers his own. He wants to make this last remaining bullet last. He turns to look at Kang, smiling as he stalks towards him.

Kang, to his credit, doesn’t scream or piss himself like Minho has seen others do in the last moments of their life. He tries to fight, lifting himself off his chair. Minho is faster. He’s on him before the old man is fully upright, pushing Kang to sit back down. 

Keeping one hand on the old man’s shoulder, he presses his gun to Kang’s forehead. “Where is he?” 

Kang swallows, sweat dripping down his temple, but his voice is remarkably steady, “The brat told me his hyung would come. Kept repeating it over and over, actually. I really didn’t expect that to be you.” 

“I’ve got one bullet left.” Minho lightly shakes his gun, enjoying the way it makes Kang flinch. “Do you want it to be yours?”  

Anger is an ugly emotion. It looks even uglier on a dog like Kang. No matter the creature, dog or man, it is terribly hard to admit defeat. “What kind of demon are you?” 

“One without patience.” 

The shot is quiet. The bullet pierces Kang’s left lung, but misses his heart. Minho makes sure that it does. Suffocation is a terrible way to die, even more so when it’s your own blood you’re choking on. Minho helps Kang to the ground, guiding him there almost lovingly, gently prying the old man’s fingers off his collar. 

The old man’s eyes are truly bulging now, so much so that Minho fears they might pop out of his head with incomprehension. “Wh-Why—” 

No creature, man or dog, dies with grace. 

“I told you to give him back to me,” Minho tells him. 

Kang stares at him, coughing up blood on his next exhale. He tries to speak but can’t.

Minho leaves him there. 

“Jisung!” he yells out. 

There’s no answer so Minho starts moving. He has no idea what the layout of the suite is, but if he has to go through each room one by one, he will. 

A thud alerts him to a door to his left. At first, Minho wonders whether he’s imagined it since the air is still filled with the crooning coming from the construction site radio in the corner, but then it happens again. Minho has no doubts this time. 

He heads right for the door, kicking it open just in case it’s not Jisung waiting behind. The door leads to a bathroom, all white marble tiles and golden faucets and then there is Jisung. Jisung, who’s wriggling like a fish as he’s trying to get out of the bathtub they’ve dumped him in, arms and legs bound. 

Minho runs over and catches him just before Jisung can brain himself on the floor. Jisung’s eyes grow incredibly wide the moment their eyes meet and then he’s wriggling so violently he nearly socks Minho in the face with his bound fists. Minho pulls the duct tape off of his mouth before he frees his hands, his legs. 

“Hyung!”

Not a heartbeat passes before he’s got a lap full of boy, clinging to him like an octopus. At once, Minho starts feeling pain. At once, the world is right again. 

“Jisungie,” he murmurs, placing his hand on the back of Jisung’s head, stroking his hair. It’s a terribly gentle gesture after he’s used that same hand to be so violent.

“Hyung,” Jisung sobs into his neck. “Hyung, you’re here!” 

Minho nods. He is here and Jisung is alive. He is alive and Minho’s got him. He’s got him. 

“Are you hurt?” Jisung asks him.

Hey, that’s my line, is the first thing Minho thinks. Distantly, he remembers that he’s quite literally showered in blood. 

“I’m fine,” he promises. Everything’s fine now that I am with you. “It’s not my blood.” 

Jisung’s eyes widen as he gives Minho another once-over, but he doesn’t question Minho. He doesn’t even flinch. Instead there’s an intensity in his eyes that reminds Minho of the club bathroom. As if it’s okay, if it’s Minho. As if it doesn’t matter what Minho does, Jisung sees him for what he is and accepts it. Likes him for it. 

It’s too overwhelming of a thought with how little time they have. 

“Are you hurt?” Minho asks. “Did anybody hurt you?” 

Jisung shakes his head. “They pushed me around a bit and one of them slapped me when I told him to go fuck himself, but no one hurt me. I’m fine.” 

Jisung grins and it’s earnest. Really, he looks like the happiest boy in the world, here in Minho’s arms. 

Minho loves him. It’s not a shocking revelation. He’s known this since the night he watched Jisung get slapped by his mother and promptly threw away every pack of cigarettes he owned, but he feels it light him up from the inside at that moment. He loves Jisung. With every fibre of his being, he does.

It’s the purest, most powerful thing he’s ever felt. It makes it worth it, the carnage he’s leaving behind. Really, he’d do more. He’d do everything for the boy in his arms, who’s done what Minho needed most. He waited for him to come and get him. 

“My brave Jisungie,” Minho coos. “You really told someone to go fuck themselves?” 

“I did.” Jisung’s grin widens. “Was worth the slap too.” 

“Don’t get yourself in trouble on purpose,” Minho immediately chastises him. “But I am proud of you.”  

Jisung’s expression softens. “I knew you would come for me! I told them and they all laughed at me when I told them you were going to kill them for touching me, but I knew. I knew you’d come to get me.”

“Of course.” Minho never cries, but he wants to, knowing that Jisung has such faith in him. “I’ll always come for you.” 

Jisung tastes like blood and cheap soda when he kisses Minho. Minho loves him. It’s so, so tempting to lose himself in the feeling, to let Jisung take what he wants and finally take him in return, but this is not the place. 

“Come on,” Minho tells him, intertwining their fingers. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Jisung’s lips push into a pout, but he lets Minho help him to his feet. Minho allows himself a moment where he just takes him in, reassures himself that there is indeed no part of Jisung hurt or missing. It comes close to a fucking miracle that there isn’t, but Minho is willing to believe in them just this once. 

He takes Jisung’s hand, holding his gun in the other. “You walk behind me,” he instructs. “I’ll lead us to the ground floor and from there on out we head straight for the car. You’ll know which one it is, it belongs to Changbin. I’ve parked it right by the fence.”

Jisung’s eyes widen in genuine shock. “Changbin-hyung gave you his car?” 

Minho clears his throat. “Don’t question it.” 

Jisung nods, squeezing Minho’s hand to show that he’s ready. He looks lovely. His hair is matted, skin grimy with remnants of his own blood on his neck, but he’s the loveliest boy in the world. Minho allows himself to be selfish for just a single moment longer and kisses him. 

Jisung kisses him back eagerly, but Minho promised himself he’d bring him home— his home, not that dreadful house—so that’s what he’ll do. I love you. It lays on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t want to say these words showered in blood. He doesn’t want Jisung to think he’s saying them in the heat of the moment. 

“Jisungie,” he says instead, soft like a sigh. 

Something in Jisung’s eyes tells him that maybe, Jisung knows. He smiles and that’s worth it. Just a single smile of his is worth all of this. 

“Let’s go.” 

Jisung nods and so they go. Minho first and then Jisung right behind him, holding Minho’s left hand while Minho holds his gun with the other. 

The music is still playing when they step back into the main room of the suite. The smell of death is still sweet in the air, metallic, before it all inevitably turns to rot. Minho and Jisung will be long gone by then. 

The shot is incredibly loud in the air. 

Minho doesn’t see it coming. Maybe he would have, if there was anything in the world that mattered to him besides the boy behind him. As it is, there isn’t and he doesn’t. 

He looks towards the source of the sound, the source of all his misery. The shot comes along with Kang’s last breath. In his limp hands, he’s holding the gun Minho left with his guard. Minho’s mistake. He wants to laugh. It had to be his own mistake, in the end. 

Slowly, Minho looks down at himself. He’s wearing all black, but even so he can see the wet patch rapidly spreading across his stomach. Even to him, his own death is incomprehensible. “Oh.” 

Only once he sees it, does he start to feel the pain. All at once, his knees buckle and he wheezes, clutching his stomach as he hits the ground hard. 

“Minho-hyung!” 

Minho finds that he can’t speak. There’s too much saliva in his mouth, too much pain in his stomach. It feels like someone stuck a hot iron into him and now he can’t get it out. Now, he’s burning from the inside.  

“Hyung!” Panicked hands claw at him, trying to get him up.

Minho is not a good person. He is selfish and greedy. He forces Jisung down to the ground with him, rolling himself on top of him so he’s flattening Jisung to the floor like he saw Hyunjin do all those months ago. He dreamt about taking Hyunjin’s place that day. Now, he does. Now, it’s maybe the last thing he’ll ever get to do. 

“Hyung,” Jisung pushes against him. He’s so pretty even when he cries. Minho doesn’t know whether Jisung is trying to push him away or hold onto him. He supposes it doesn’t make a difference. He won’t move. He refuses to let this go. 

He smiles at Jisung, touching his cheek. It’s so soft. It’s so soft and he’s ruining it by smearing blood all over it. He’s sorry. 

“Jisungie.” It comes out as a gargle. 

“Hyung!” Jisung’s voice takes on a frantic edge. “Minho-hyung!” 

Minho should say something. He finds that he can’t. There’s too much saliva in his mouth, so much that it spills over the edges, dripping red onto Jisung’s face. Minho is sorry. His eyelids feel heavier than they did before and so he closes them, resting his forehead against Jisung’s shoulder. 

“Hyung!”

Frantic hands tug at his arms, his hair, anything to make him open his eyes. Minho finds that he doesn’t want to. He’s content here where he is, covering Jisung’s body with his own just in case there are any more bullets coming through, but it’s quiet. 

It’s so wonderfully quiet where he lies. All he can hear is his Jisungie’s voice. Even the radio has stopped playing, the singer’s voice fading further with every passing second. Minho doesn’t mind. 

This is his peace. This is the place where he wants to rest his head so he does. 

*

He comes to and the world is incredibly loud. There’s yelling and footfalls and voices, so many voices. A bright light is pointed directly at his face, making him close his eyes again. 

“Pupils dilated but reactive.”

“Call Dr Byeon! Prepare OR 4.” 

“Stats?”

“28 year-old male, gunshot wound to the lower abdomen. Crashed once in the ambulance, but we were able to get him back. The bullet’s still in there.”  

“How severe is the damage?” 

“No assessment yet.”

This is the end, Minho knows. He’s a demon for hire, casted into hellfire to burn for his sins. At least, that’s what it feels like. 

Hands tug at him, move him from left to right, lift him and drop him down, but all he feels are the fingers clinging to his pant leg. 

“Hyung!” 

Minho can withstand the hellfire, but he can’t live without the hand holding on to him, tethering him to the world. Yet, it seems that his punishment is not yet over.

“You have to let go of him now, Jisung-ah.” The devil has come to collect his dues. Minho can’t open his eyes to look at him, but he recognises Chan. He always imagined him to hold his eulogy. “Let them take care of him now. Let the doctors do their job.” 

“Minho-hyung!” 

Minho wants to laugh, but there’s a tube in his throat. He wants to see his boy but there’s nothing but blinding white light. There’s nothing but the hellfire eating away at his insides. 

This is how he pays for his sins. 

*

He wakes up. He shouldn’t but he does. 

It’s dark where he lies, but it’s not quiet. There’s too many machines around him, creating a cacophony of beeps and hums. 

There’s also a shadow at the end of his bed. Or maybe it’s an angel, who’s come to take him far away. Minho blinks until his vision unblurs. He wants to lift his hand but he can’t. 

One of the machines trills in alarm. 

“Hyungie!” 

Minho wants to smile. It’s almost ironic. He’s spent a year of his life protecting Felix and now Felix has come to watch over him in return. Desperate hands squeeze his shin, his hand, but it’s not the touch Minho needs. Felix’s hands do not release him from his punishment. 

“Hyungie! Can you hear me? Blink twice if you can or—I don’t know—wriggle your toes?” 

Minho wants to do Felix the favour, but he can’t. He’s not done burning, it seems. He’s not done repenting, because he can already feel the fire return, licking at his stomach. Felix runs out of the room. Minho doesn’t blame him. 

“He’s awake!” Minho hears just as his eyes roll into his head and he falls unconscious again.

*

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, hyung. I didn’t mean for this to happen, I—I’m sorry. Please, you have to know that I’m sorry.” 

Minho wants to answer. He does. It’s just that his eyelids are as heavy as lead and there’s a tube down his throat. Breathing is already so hard, trying to speak would hurt so much more. He doesn’t want to hurt any more. 

“Sungie,” a voice, vaguely familiar and gentle and firm, says, “you can’t keep doing this to yourself. He probably can’t hear you.” 

A growl like an angry animal. A small one, though. “Don’t say that, Jinnie! He can hear me! You can hear me, hyung, can’t you? Just hold my hand if you can. Hold my hand now.”

It doesn’t hurt when soft, unmarred skin presses against his busted knuckles. Minho fought hard to keep it that way. He’s fought hard to feel the simple slide of fingers intertwining with his own, the press of a plump cheek against his hand.

“Don’t,” he wants to say. “The blood,” he wants to say, “you’ll get it all over yourself.” 

The lips pressing against his knuckles don’t seem to care. They’re wet with salty tears and that makes his raw flesh burn, but nothing hurts as much as the hellfire. Really, Minho thinks, few things could ever hurt more.

Overcoming it is the reason he wants to rest first. 

*

He’s alone when he wakes up. 

And the time after that.

And the time after that.  

Minho doesn’t care. 

There’s a needle in his arm, a steady drip keeping him from having to feel anything. Even the fire is gone. He doesn’t feel anything like this. 

He floats. 

*

He falls asleep and wakes up to a tub of brownies on his bedside table.

He falls asleep and wakes up to a paint-by-numbers colouring set on the shelf by the windows.  

He falls asleep and Yang Jeongin is in his room. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Minho tells him while Jeongin tries to feed him some pudding. “Aren’t you sick of this place?” 

Jeongin laughs when he catches Minho’s meaning. “I come here as a volunteer.”

“Which just makes me want to repeat my question.” 

Jeongin’s eyes sparkle when he laughs. Minho understands why Seungmin hides his boy away. 

“I think it’s a worthwhile pastime. Seungminnie doesn’t like it either, but I think it’s important. Not everyone has someone.” 

Minho knows that Jeongin doesn’t intend for his words to hurt, but they do all the same. A part of him wants to argue that it’s not true. He has people. Chan hasn’t come to visit but that makes sense for a busy man like him. Seungmin hasn’t come to visit but Jeongin is here. 

Everyone else, he’s been following on TV. He’s been watching the trial, right there on the flatscreen hanging opposite of his bed. He gets back to it right after Jeongin leaves. 

It’s funny, seeing people he knows on a TV screen. It’s funny, seeing Jisung on a TV screen. Minho used to steal glances at him and now he gets to watch him openly, gets to watch as Jisung finally fights to free himself. 

The emancipation of a billionaire kid from his billionaire family makes headlines for exactly three days. Then, the news moves on to something different and Minho is forced to scour the internet for more information.  

Unlike the news, he doesn’t move on. 

He stays right where he is—feeling nothing, feeling everything—while he is stuck in his hospital bed. 

Jisung doesn’t come to visit, but Minho can see that he is busy. 

*

There’s a lot of doctors. Physical therapy too. He’s got less guts in him than he did before, but nothing vital was damaged. 

A miracle, the doctors say.

What he’ll be left with is the scar, they say. 

Bad men always find a way to survive, Minho knows. 

“Are you in any pain?” his nurse asks him as she pulls the stitches from the angry, red scar now marring the bottom of his abdomen. 

Minho shakes his head. 

He doesn’t know how to explain to her that it’s not his stomach that’s hurting. 

It’s his chest. 

* 

On the day Minho is set to be discharged, Changbin comes to pick him up. 

It’s the first time in two months that Minho sees him, but Minho doesn’t blame Changbin for that. He knows his friend has been busy with the trial, maybe the busiest out of all of them. He was the one who represented Jisung and won him his case. Minho watched it all live on his phone. 

Changbin was amazing. 

He made sure Jisung had to do little more but sit there, with Hyunjin and Felix in the gallery right behind him, as he faced down his family for maybe the first time ever. Even in the face of his crying mother, his stone-faced brother and, at last, his freshly flown-in father, Jisung didn’t falter. Minho had never seen anyone stronger. 

He rewinded those moments the most, froze the frame so he could remind himself that he was alive and Jisung was too. If this was all he was left with, it had to be enough. 

Changbin and Minho don’t talk much as Changbin helps him put on the suit he’s brought him, as he ties Minho’s shoes for him because Minho can’t bend that far yet. Minho appreciates him all the same. Changbin is sturdy, a wall against his back so he doesn’t have to fear any knives coming that way. 

“I got your vandalism charge dropped,” Changbin tells him as they walk out of the hospital. 

Minho blinks. “Vandalism?” 

“For destroying the boom gate to the Hans’ gated community.” 

“Oh.” Minho honestly forgot about that. “That’s all?”  

It’s the closest Minho has ever come to asking whether Jisung has asked about him. 

Changbin shoots him a look, deep and dark and understanding, as if he knows exactly what Minho is thinking. He doesn’t answer, merely leads Minho to his car. 

Minho falters in his step when he sees it. This is not the sportscar he borrowed. This is a supercar which Minho genuinely doubts is street legal. 

“You got yourself an upgrade?” 

“I had to get a new one since someone stole my other one and went to commit some crimes with it.”

Lying about that is easy. “I was under the impression that your husband asked you for permission.” 

Changbin looks up from the door to smile at him. “He didn’t, but he’s very good at asking for forgiveness so I’m not mad. Get in.” 

Minho gets in the car. For the first time in years, he rides passenger.

*

Changbin doesn’t drive him home. He drives him straight to Chan’s office. 

Minho supposes he should have expected this, but then again, he thought that maybe years of service would have earned him more of a grace period. That doesn’t seem to be the case. 

Chan looks the same as he always does, sat behind his big desk in his big office, making big decisions day in and day out. 

“How are you?” 

Minho sees it for the platitutde that it is. “Fine.” He shrugs, just to prove that he can. “Well enough to work.” 

Chan nods. “You’re fired.” 

Minho’s breathing stills. A swift kill is a merciful one. He supposes he should be thankful. He supposes he should gasp, cry out in indignance or throw himself to the floor to ask for forgiveness. He does none of these things. A part of him has been expecting this. 

Throughout the weeks he spent stuck in front of the hospital TV, nobody spoke of the carnage someone caused at the Han hotel, or anything that might have happened leading up to it. No one spoke of murder and vengeance. 

Minho doesn’t ask who made it go away. He’s got too many powerful friends to ask such questions. He also knows that everything comes at a price. He made a mess and his friends have cleaned up after him, but this type of clean-up needs to be thorough. He is part of it too. 

“I understand.” 

He bows, as far as his tender stomach allows. Then he turns to leave. It should be easy for him to go, but for some reason it’s harder to walk than it was a minute ago. His steps aren’t as well-balanced as they were before. 

“Minho.” 

Minho turns around. He is no longer under contract to listen to Chan, but it’s become a habit. The single, hopeful beat his heart gives hurts more when he realises that he got it wrong. Chan isn’t calling him back. He’s not changing his mind, considering the past five years between them. He’s merely insisting on a proper goodbye.

It’s Minho’s fault that he expected more. Minho has always been an outsider looking in, and assuming that he’s become anything else is a mistake on his part, not Chan’s. The devil isn’t kind. Minho should know that. He used to know that, once upon a time. 

Why did he think he’d matter more to Chan than any other employee?

The corner of Chan’s mouth twitches as he holds out an envelope for Minho. Minho likes to believe Chan is not actually cruel enough to be laughing at Minho right now.  

“I’m not heartless,” Chan says as if to confirm Minho’s thoughts. “I’ve found you a new job. All the details are in here. The pay is less, but you’ll deal.”

Minho nods. Of course, he’ll deal. He always does. 

He’s not above taking the envelope. Pride is a matter for the living and Minho is a dead man walking. He blames it on the fact that he’s stopped taking his pain meds that his chest hurts as he curls his fingers around the paper. 

*

His cats attack him the moment he comes through the front door. Usually, Minho wouldn’t let them jump on him but…

But. 

It feels good to sink to the ground and let furry little paws walk all over him. It feels good to be purred at,  groomed and even bitten. It feels good to have been missed. He wrung a promise out of Seungmin that he’d feed Minho’s children while he was in the hospital and judging by how fluffy they look, his friend must have kept his promise. 

Minho cuddles his way through his cats one by one and then lies there. He lies there for the entire hour he has until he has to leave again. Apart from an official letter of termination, Chan’s envelope also included a paper slip with a date, a time and address. 

His life ends and begins anew like this, without pause and without fanfare. He knows better than to give in to despair. He’s had months to accept the truth. He is not hurt. He understands. 

He understands perfectly well why Jisung hasn’t reached out to him. His beautiful, brave boy went to trial against his family and walked out with an early inheritance of fifty billion won, a new haircut and no remaining legal ties to the Han name or family. Minho is a thing so deeply connected to that part of his life that it makes sense that Jisung had to cut him out of it to move on. 

Jisung won. 

Minho got to see him win. That is worth it. He understands why Jisung doesn’t want to tarnish his victory with the presence of someone like Minho. He’s come to terms with it over the past two months. In a sense, Minho couldn’t be prouder of his boy. It’s fine that he’s left behind.

Chan said it: He’ll deal. 

He drags himself off the floor when it’s time to go. He has to continue on because everyone else is doing the same. Good boys like Jisung get their happy ending and bad men like Minho continue to do bad, bad deeds. 

*

Mr Lee, his new employer, lives in a spacious villa in the hills of Hannam-Dong. It’s precisely the kind of house someone with more money than he knows what to do with would buy. Minho might have been impressed if his previous employer wasn’t the Bang Chan. 

As is, he makes sure his tie is straight and the cat hair on his suit isn’t too visible before he knocks. He knows how to make a solid first impression. Once he’s done that, he probably won’t be asked to speak again unless an emergency happens. A part of Minho is looking forward to it. Silence and an easy bodyguard gig will do him good. 

The door clicks open and Minho takes that as his sign to come in. He’s greeted by a mountain of boxes and a cat tower in the corner of the entry hall. Minho thinks that’s nice. At least he’ll have a cat to play with while he waits for his inevitable demise at the hands of boredom. 

“Hello?” he calls out. 

It’s a testimony to how much time he’s spent in the hospital, letting his senses dull, that he doesn’t hear the person behind him until there’s the low thump of another moving box hitting the ground. 

Minho whirls around, habitually reaching for a gun that he no longer carries. He realises quickly that it would have been of no use to him, even if he had it with him. Maybe only to shoot himself, and do it properly this time. 

It hurts. It honestly hurts worse than getting shot did because at least that wound is healing. 

“Jisung?”

Jisung, his beautiful, beautiful Jisung, who he hasn’t seen in two months, smiles at him. His hair is silver. His eyes are black-rimmed. He’s in sweatpants and a band shirt and he looks like himself. He looks so much like himself that it hurts. He’s the most beautiful boy Minho has ever seen. 

“Hyung.” It comes out breathless. Giddy. Jisung’s undoubtedly nervous as his eyes roam all over Minho’s form, but there is also this…excitement. “You’re here.” 

Minho can only stare at him. Really, a part of him is wondering whether he’s hallucinating. He simply can’t believe that Jisung is in front of him right now. He used to wait for him for months and now he’s here? 

Jisung’s expression falls the tiniest bit when Minho doesn’t say anything, but he tries to make up for it with a smile. He comes closer and Minho wants to take a step back. 

It’s not fair, is the thing. Jisung looks happy and healthy while Minho is in ruins and Minho can’t help but think that that’s not fair. He’d never want it to be the other way around, but it’s definitely not fair. 

“You live here?” It’s not a question. Minho isn’t stupid. He understands what’s going on here. He just can’t believe Jisung could ever be so cruel. 

Jisung nods, eagerly rocking on the balls of his feet. Now that Minho’s said something, he jumps on the topic, “Do you like it?” He gestures to the walls around them. “I had Hyunnie help me find a place and he said the view from the hill is going to ‘help me settle into myself.’ Honestly, I’m not super sure what that means but Channie-hyung said I’m not overpaying so I bought the house and—” 

“Why am I here?” Minho isn’t cruel. He simply doesn’t find this very funny and his tone reflects that. 

Jisung’s smile falters just the tiniest bit. His fingers play a series of guitar chords in the air, a nervous little habit Minho used to love. “Didn’t Channie-hyung give you my card?” 

Minho frowns. “It said Mr Lee on the card. That’s not your name. Why did you use a fake name to lure me here?” Why didn’t you call me? Why didn’t you visit? Why did you pretend I didn’t exist when I only exist for you?

“It’s not fake.” 

Minho blinks. “What?”

“It’s my real name.” Jisung’s chest puffs up with pride. “Well, now it is. Once I left my family, I also changed my name.” 

Minho’s mouth is very dry all of a sudden. “And you chose Lee?”

“I did.” 

Minho nods, just once. “Felix must be very happy.” 

Jisung stares at him in disbelief, then his expression crumples into something like anger. It’s weird to see it on his face. Jisung never used to be angry when Minho met him. He didn’t allow himself to be. It frees Minho, too, to see Jisung express himself so openly now. No matter what happened, Minho will always be proud of his boy. 

Jisung’s voice is quiet when he steps forward, his expression uncharacteristically dark. “Felix isn’t the reason I picked that last name, hyung.” 

Minho swallows. It’s harder to focus with Jisung so close to him. “No?”

“No.” 

Jisung’s stare is so intense, it scares even Minho a little. He’s so used to controlling the way he looks at Jisung, he sometimes forgets about the way Jisung looks back at him. For the first time ever, he looks away first. 

“You didn’t visit me at the hospital.” Minho doesn’t mean to sound petulant. It just comes out that way. 

Jisung’s smile falls, dropping to the ground along with his gaze. He looks small like this, small like Minho never wants to see him again. “I know.”

“Did you…not want to see me?” 

Really, Minho should just stop torturing himself at this point, but he can’t help himself. Jisung is here, in front of him after months. If this is the only chance Minho has of ever talking to him again, he has to use it. 

Jisung’s answer comes out in a mumble. 

Minho frowns. “What was that?”

Big, brown eyes peek at him from behind a fluffy silver fringe. Louder, Jisung says, “I was afraid that you’d hate me.”

Minho wants to laugh. What Jisung is saying is absurd, but derision is not what Jisung needs and what Jisung needs will always matter more to Minho than his own, pesky feelings. So he’s gentle, speaking softly when he says, “I could never hate you, Jisung.” 

Jisung shakes his head and then there are tears. Honestly, Minho feels them too. “But you should! You died because of me!” 

“Jisung.” Minho takes a step closer, even when he shouldn’t. “I’m very much alive.”

“No! You don’t get it, hyung! You didn’t see yourself get shot and then in the ambulance you died, hyung—you died and I—it was all my fault! That wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t come to rescue me!” 

Jisung is shaking with how upset he is and Minho finds that there are worse things than getting shot. Having to see Jisung like this because of him is one of them. 

“None of this was ever your fault, Jisung.” 

Jisung shakes his head so Minho does the unthinkable. He touches Jisung, cupping his jaw with one hand. “Jisung.” His voice is firm and Jisung blinks at him, open-mouthed in shock. 

“None of what happened is your fault. It never was. Say it.” 

“Hyung,” Jisung whines past squished cheeks

Minho tightens his grip on his jaw. “Say it.” 

“None of what happened is my fault.” 

Minho smiles, releasing him. “Good boy.” 

Jisung stares at him, stares at Minho’s hand and puts it back on his cheek. “Your good boy?”

It’s so…hopeful, is the thing, as if Minho’s presence in his life is truly something he dreams of and not just another thing to overcome. Minho wants to believe it, but he knows better than to hope for the things he truly desires. 

He has to make sure, “Do you want to be? 

“I want you.” It’s a gut punch, not because Jisung says it, but because of how fast he says it. “Want you so bad, hyung.”

He’s not lying either. Minho knows all of Jisung’s tells and there is none he’s doing right now. He’s being honest. He wants Minho. “And I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you. Jeongin told me you kept waiting for me, but I…I had to fix it first. I couldn’t face you before I did.”  

“Fix what?” 

“My family.” The laugh that escaped Jisung holds no joy. “I realised it when those men put me in that bathtub. I realised that if it wasn’t for you, there would be no one else who would come for me. Certainly not my family.” 

“Jisung…” Minho wants to hear this, but not at the cost of the tears gathering in Jisung’s eyes. 

“And then you…you nearly died in my arms, hyung, you did die in the ambulance and that was not okay. Fine if they want to hurt me but not you, hyung, never you, I…Chan asked me whether I wanted out and I said yes. Changbin-hyung took care of the rest. I’m free now, hyung. Jiho can have the business and my mum can gush about him to her friends until the day she dies, but that’s none of my business. The only one I care about is you.” 

A better man than Minho would try to negate Jisung’s words, try to make him reconsider that there are other people he needs in his life. 

Minho isn’t a good man. 

He takes a step closer. “Is that the truth?” 

Jisung smiles, small and sad and still hopeful. It’s all Minho could ask of him. “What I did, it was for myself, hyung, but it was also for you. Because of you. So we could be together. If you want to, of course, I’d get it if you don’t want me anymore, but—”

“Jisung,” Minho cuts him off. He will allow Jisung a lot of nonsense, but not this. 

Jisung blinks up at him with big, helpless eyes. “Hyung.” A plea. 

Minho can’t help but answer it. He takes another step closer, can see the way it fills Jisung with new hope. Minho needs to know one more thing, though. 

“Did you convince Chan to fire me?”

Jisung squirms, guilt written all over his face. 

Minho laughs. He can’t help it. “You actually did?” 

Small animals have sharp teeth too. Jisung shows his as he says, “I care about Felix and Channie-hyung, but you’re mine.” There’s a breath between this sentence and the next, as if he needs to work up the courage to say his next words, but cannot not say them either, “You’re not allowed to look after someone who isn’t me.” 

“Oh?” 

Jisung turns red under his gaze, but he doesn’t take back what he said. Instead he puts his hand on Minho’s chest. His fingers are trembling, but the pressure of his hand is firm against Minho’s heart. 

“You still want to, right? Look after me?” Jisung’s voice is deceptively quiet, his eyes endlessly searching Minho’s, as if there could ever be a world in which Minho would say no. “You still want me?”

Minho smiles. 

It’s easy, this time, to touch Jisung. He cups his cheek, stroking the soft skin. His hands will never be clean and yet Jisung wants Minho to touch him, Minho can tell by the way Jisung leans into it. 

He leans close, almost close enough for their lips to touch. It’s easy, to confess. Jisung asked him a question and Minho is going to answer. 

“Yes, Jisungie,” he whispers, “Of course I want you. So much. You’re all I’ve been wanting since the first time I saw you.”

The smile that blooms on Jisung’s face is so bright it threatens to split his face. He’s so beautiful. He’s the most beautiful boy in the world and Minho loves him. Of course he still does. Death couldn’t keep him from his boy. 

He doesn’t mind a little bit of discomfort if it means Jisung is throwing his arms around him, pressing them together so closely Minho can hear his heartbeat. 

“I love you,” Jisung blurts out, greedy, jittery hands tugging on every part of Minho he can reach. “I wanted to tell you that night, but I chickened out and  then—that can never happen again so I love you! I love you. It’s okay if you don’t want to say if back, but—”

“I love you too.” It’s easy to say. Minho has been wondering how to say it, whether he’d ever be allowed to, but in the end it’s easy. There is Jisung and there is Minho and as much as Jisung can’t hide from him, Minho can’t hide from him either. 

Jisung looks so hesitant, so hopeful. “You do?” 

“My reason is you.” 

Jisung is a good boy so he doesn’t truly understand what that means, but that’s okay. Minho knows. Minho has him. He has him after months of wondering, an entire year of wanting. He used to stand so far away from him and now he’s very, very close. 

Jisung stares at him, lips parted on an expectant inhale. His cheeks are so soft, the flesh giving under Minho’s touch even if it’s gentle. They’re almost as soft as his lips.

Minho kisses him, just to feel it again. 

Jisung is sweet, just as sweet as he remembers. He sighs into Minho’s mouth and then he’s parting his lips, letting Minho taste him again. Minho kisses him with vigour. He can’t help himself. 

Jisung is right there with him though. If Minho is hungry, then Jisung is starving. He clings to Minho, eagerly pushing against him. He’s still clumsy but Minho loves every uncoordinated swipe of his tongue, every knock of Jisung’s teeth against his own. 

Grabbing onto Jisung’s jaw, he bends his head to the side so he can trail kisses down his neck, enjoying the way Jisung outright whimpers at the scrape of Minho’s teeth over his pulse point. 

“Hyung,” Jisung breathes, grabbing onto the lapels of Minho’s suit jacket to pull him closer, closer until their hearts are pressed together. 

Minho only allows himself to break their kiss because the rest of him is still touching Jisung. He strokes the soft, silver strands of Jisung’s hair and marvels at him. Jisung smiles for him, luminous in the bright afternoon sun.

“My beautiful, beautiful Sungie,” Minho whispers, pressing another kiss to Jisung’s ear. “My good boy, you are.” 

Jisung shudders against him, his grip on Minho’s suit jacket tightening so much Minho fears the fabric is going to tear. 

They don’t stop there. 

There’s a couch so Minho takes him there. Jisung splays out beautifully for him. Minho settles between his legs without ever letting their lips disconnect. Leaning over Jisung like this isn’t the best for his tender abdominal muscles, but he’ll persevere. He can endure, as long as he’s touching Jisung. 

Jisung can’t seem to stop touching him. Excited, greedy hands tug on his clothes until Minho’s tie is gone and a good amount of his buttons are undone too. Minho is so preoccupied with lifting Jisung’s shirt over his head that he doesn’t realise it at first when Jisung grows still. He stops when he notices though, following Jisung’s line of sight to his own stomach. 

Minho isn’t vain and neither is he insecure. Still, he feels the distinct need to cover himself with how unhappy Jisung clearly is, looking at him. 

“You don’t have to look at it if you don’t want to.”

Jisung lets out a sound that can only be described as an angry squirrel. Minho ooph’s when his back hits the couch behind him and then he’s got Jisung sitting on top of his thighs, stroking his stomach. His fingers trail the scar on Minho’s stomach with trembling reverence. 

“Does it hurt?” he asks, throat tight as if it hurts him to speak about it .

“No.” It doesn’t. Not as long as Jisung is touching him. 

Jisung looks up into his eyes, making sure Minho is telling the truth before he continues circling the scar. Minho lets him. All that he is is Jisung’s and that includes his body. 

“You took a bullet for me.” Jisung’s voice is filled with awe as he says it, and with sadness. He’s not asking. He doesn’t have to. He was there. 

“I’m alive, Jisung.” 

Jisung nods, eyes glistening as he scoots forward on top of Minho. Closer. All they’re doing, they do to be closer. 

“I tried to fix it, hyung. I really tried to, I—is it enough? Are you happy with that? With me? You are, right? You’re not mad?” 

“I’m proud of you,” Minho says, firmly so Jisung knows that it’s the truth. “I watched your trial on TV. You did so well.” 

Jisung all but sags with relief, giving Minho the brightest smile before he ducks his head, hiding behind his fringe, “Changbin-hyung did most of the work so…”

Minho reaches up to stroke his hair out of his face for him, holding onto the silver strands so he’s forcing Jisung to meet his eyes. “But you sat there. You sat there and you gave your testimony and you showed them, Jisung, you finally showed them that they don’t get to treat you like they did.”

Jisung winces. “My mum cried a lot.” 

Let that bitch rot in hell, Minho thinks. “For you or for herself?” he asks gently.

Jisung presses his lips together. They both know the answer. 

Minho leans upward even if his abdominal muscles scream in protest. It’s worth it to get closer to Jisung. He gets to stroke his cheek until his frown lessens and he’s merely pouting. 

“Lee Jisung,” Minho murmurs, right against Jisung’s mouth. His Jisung, because his heart says so and his name does too. “That means you’re mine now, just like you said that I’m yours. You’re my Jisungie, and I couldn’t be prouder of you. Let’s make our own family. It can just be you and me.” 

“You and me,” Jisung repeats, breathless and eager, arms wrapping around Minho’s neck. 

Minho smiles and Jisung gets so transfixed by that he doesn’t seem to realise he’s leaning forward until Minho closes the distance between them. Jisung kisses him back eagerly, his hands sliding all over Minho’s body, trying not so subtly to get him to take off his clothes. 

Minho lets Jisung pet and kiss him to his heart’s content. It’s been some time since he’s had a pretty boy on his lap though and Jisung happens to be the pretty boy he’s in love with so even Minho’s patience has an end. He grabs onto Jisung’s ass to push them together everywhere . 

Jisung gasps and then giggles, scooting forward so their clothed cocks are aligned perfectly and that’s enough stimulation to make Minho sigh into his mouth. There’s entirely too many layers of clothing between them. 

“Hyung,” Jisung whimpers when Minho slides his hand past his waistband. Jisung’s wearing sweatpants which Minho finds very convenient. It’s addicting, kneading the soft flesh of his ass, feeling the way it gives under his hand and how it makes Jisung squirm in his lap. 

It’s almost distracting enough for him to ignore the way Jisung is pawing at his dick in return.

“Hyung,” he whines, impatient when Minho won’t take this any further. “You promised me.”

Minho grins against Jisung’s cheek, grazing his teeth over the ruddy skin. “Mh? What did I say again?” 

A very insistent hand presses against his dick. “You said it’s mine. You said I could have it later. Later is now, isn’t it? We can…now?”

“Depends,” Minho presses a deceptively chaste kiss against Jisung’s lips, “did you put a bed in this big new house of yours?” 

Minho blinks at how fast Jisung is off his lap. He’s grinning, almost rocking on his heels in excitement. “I did! I so did! I’ll show you!” 

Minho reaches out his hand. Jisung stares at it in confusion.

“You have to help me up,” Minho explains. “The couch is too low.” 

Jisung wilts like a flower. Minho doesn’t like seeing him like this so he tries to get up without help, but then Jisung is there. He overcorrects, refusing to let go of Minho for even a second from then on. Honestly, Minho can’t complain. He’s quite happy with Jisung sticking to him, guiding Minho up the stairs as if he’s something precious. It’s nice, for a change. 

The rest of the house is as bare bones, brimming with moving boxes just like the open-plan living room. Jisung’s bedroom smells like him and that’s almost enough to make Minho drag him over to the bed, but he stills when he sees the one item Jisung has unpacked, placed on his nightstand like a trophy.  

In a small wooden frame, there’s a photo of them. The covert angle makes Minho think that Jisung might have asked his little stalker friend to take it, or Hyunjin did it out of the generosity of his own heart.

It’s a shot of Minho and Jisung at Felix and Jisung’s birthday party, when they were still standing at the bar. The thought that Jiho is standing just out of frame sours the taste in Minho’s mouth, but he forgets about it quickly enough looking at what he can see in the picture. 

The two of them are standing next to each other, Jisung right behind Minho’s shoulder. Minho is glancing back at him in the photo, something silent and intense in his eyes. A promise. 

Minho understands why Jisung put this picture where it is. He understands that, while he was clinging to frozen frames, Jisung was doing the same. It was never over for Jisung. Not even once. The realisation dissolves a knot inside of Minho’s chest he didn’t know was still there. 

It makes him turn around mid-step. Jisung gasps as he’s kissed, but as always he melts into it, opens up for Minho immediately. Minho licks into his mouth, something deep and possessive and hungry making him pry Jisung apart further than he maybe should. 

He no longer cares to be cautious.

He tried to be up until now, well aware that the both of them had gone through a lot, that Jisung was younger than him and a lot of pretty words didn’t equate true commitment, but there’s a fucking photo of them on the nightstand and Jisung loves him. He said it already, but it’s different, seeing the proof of it. Seeing, maybe for the first time ever, that Jisung understands the way Minho looks at him. 

“Hyung,” Jisung gasps, but he makes no move to break their kiss. Instead, he grabs onto Minho’s arms and blindly pushes him towards the bed. 

Minho’s long-since regained his balancing capabilities, but he still stumbles a little with how eagerly Jisung pushes him onto the mattress. It honestly makes him want to laugh a little. He’s barely able to prop himself up against the headboard before he’s got a lap full of eager boy. 

Jisung presses against him, but at the same time whines when he can’t get Minho’s shirt off. This time, Minho does laugh.

“Baby, baby, let me—fuck—let me get undressed, okay?” 

“I can do it,” Jisung says, his hands reaching for Minho’s belt buckle. 

Minho lets him, fully content to sit back, let himself be moved this way or that as Jisung makes quick work of his dress pants. Jisung licks his lips, biting the inside of his mouth as he stares down at the bulge in Minho’s underwear. Minho expects him to reach for his prize, but instead he moves his hands further up to get rid of Minho’s other clothes first. He really is such a good boy, keeping the best for last. 

Minho leans forward so Jisung can take off his suit jacket and shirt for him. Jisung’s hands are all over his bare skin, greedily kneading at his arms and shoulders as he reconnects their mouths. Minho hums into their kiss, slipping his hands under Jisung’s shirt so he can take it off for him. Jisung obediently raises his arms, but immediately returns to roaming his hands all over Minho’s body once he’s free. 

Minho expects another kiss, but Jisung seems to have other plans. Licking spit from the corner of his mouth, he puts his mouth on Minho’s neck, working his way down his chest. He doesn’t stop kissing a line down Minho’s body even when he gets to the scar. Instead, he gives it a tiny little kiss before lapping at  the fine trail of hair leading further down.  

Curling his fingers into the waistband of Minho’s underwear, he looks up at Minho. “Can I…?” 

Minho smiles, cupping his cheek. “You can do anything you want, Jisungie. It’s yours, remember?” 

Jisung nods, the corner of his mouth twitching into a small smile. Minho presses his thumb against the fold before sliding his hand into Jisung’s hair. Judging by the small gasp Jisung lets out, he likes that a lot. 

Holding eye contact, Jisung pulls down his underwear and Minho’s half-hard cock springs up, slapping against his stomach. Jisung shoots Minho another questioning look. Minho nods and only then does Jisung allow himself to look. His mouth drops open slightly, spit shining on his lips. “Oh.” 

Minho wants to laugh. He wants to kiss him. Instead, he strokes his cheek. “We can do something else if you want. You don’t have to blow me if you don’t want to.” 

Jisung, still looking a little overwhelmed, hastily shakes his head. “I want to! I really want to!” His fingers skirt over Minho’s thigh, making the muscle twitch. “It’s just…big…”

Minho smirks. “Yeah?”

Jisung whines, trying to hide his face in Minho’s thigh.

Minho hums, getting Jisung to look at him again by stroking his cheek, cupping his jaw. Jisung looks at him as if he’s expecting an answer so Minho gives him one, 

“I have no doubt that you’re going to open wide for me.” 

Jisung’s eyes grow wide. He instinctively lowers his jaw as if to confirm. Minho can see his throat close to swallow, lips shining with spit. He slides his hand back into Jisung’s hair. 

“I’ll help you. Just keep your teeth out of the way and I’ll promise I’ll like anything you’ll do.” 

Jisung nods. He briefly covers Minho’s hand on his head with his own before he uses that same hand to wrap it around the base of Minho’s dick. It twitches in response and Minho lets out a quiet sigh, his head falling back against the headboard. The urge to just close his eyes and enjoy this is there, but he knows Jisung needs him to watch, to react. 

Jisung looks up at Minho as he starts placing tiny kisses along the length of Minho’s cock. It’s so little and yet so much, Minho can feel all his blood rushing downwards. The sight of his cock against Jisung’s face just does things to him. 

“Fuck, Jisungie,” he sighs, tightening his grip in Jisung’s hair, “such a tease, aren’t you?”

Jisung wriggles a little, clearly pleased at hearing that. Minho crosses his calves behind Jisung’s lower back, effectively trapping Jisung right where he is. Jisung seems to like it a lot because, caught between Minho’s legs, he finally takes him into his mouth. 

It’s heavenly. Jisung’s mouth is so soft and wet and warm. His tongue is hesitant at first, delivering kittenish licks to the tip, but he gains confidence when Minho groans. He coats Minho’s cock in his spit, taking about half of it down before he seems to panic and pull back up. That’s okay. Minho tells him so by patting his neck. 

“So good,” he praises. “Feels so good, Jisungie. You look so pretty with my dick in your mouth, making me feel so good.” 

Jisung whines, nearly choking himself on Minho’s cock when he tries to go further the next time he bobs his head. Minho tightens his grip on his hair, forcing him to go at a slower pace. It’s obvious that Jisung is inexperienced, but he’s a quick learner, adjusting every time Minho tugs at his hair and doubling down on the things Minho praises him for. 

It feels good. It feels incredible, actually and Minho, despite his best efforts, is really struggling not to lose himself to the feeling. 

“Jisungie.” Minho tugs on his hair. 

Jisung ignores him in favour of hollowing his cheeks, sucking Minho down deeper. While Minho’s not pushing him to go there, Jisung seems determined to find out just how much of Minho he can fit into his mouth at once. It’s leaving him choking more often than not, spit and drool dripping out of his mouth, while his eyes shine with tears, but there’s also this glassy-eyed satisfaction Minho sees. 

“Baby,” he coos and Jisung whines, his hips rutting against the mattress. Minho tightens his grip on his hair to get him to slow down again. “Baby, I love what you’re doing, but I’m going to come if you keep going.” 

Jisung pops off his cock only to say. “You can come in my mouth,” before he’s swallowing Minho back down, hollowing his cheeks as he does. 

Minho is no longer in control after that. He loses himself to the feeling of Jisung’s mouth on him, allowing himself to buck his hips just the tiniest bit. Predictably, Jisung nearly chokes the first time he does it, but then his only goal seems to be to get Minho to do it again. 

It’s too much, all of it is too much. The soft, wet heat of Jisung’s mouth, his throat, the tears spilling down his cheeks and the sounds he makes as he’s sucking Minho down as far as he can. Jisung is doing everything he can to please him and that thought, more than anything else, is what sends Minho over the edge. 

He just so manages to tug at Jisung’s hair in warning before he comes, wave after wave of bliss coasting through his body as he spills into Jisung’s mouth. It’s the culmination of a lot of things, a lot of pent-up feelings. Jisung takes all of it. He swallows. The taste visibly takes him aback, but when he looks up at Minho’s face, he sees something there that makes him continue to tongue at Minho’s slit until he’s really and truly spent. 

Minho closes his eyes, allowing himself a couple of deep, deep breaths. He feels fuzzy. Everything feels fuzzy and great. Jisung is still mouthing at his cock, but he’s smart enough not to make it hurt.  

It’s a giggle that cuts through Minho’s post-orgasmic haze. “Did I kill you?”

“Yes,” Minho says with his eyes still closed. 

A kiss against the tip of his cock. The graze of teeth against his thigh. Then, Jisung is wriggling to get out of the cage of Minho’s legs, moving up Minho’s body to kiss him again. 

“Fuck,” Minho groans, placing his hand on the back of Jisung’s neck so he can push his tongue deeper into Jisung’s mouth, “I can taste myself on your tongue. You did so good, Jisungie, so good for me. Swallowed it all. I’m in you now, did you know?” 

“Hyung.” Jisung squirms and Minho can feel how hard he still is. It seems like humping the bed wasn’t enough to get him off after all. That only seems to work if it’s Minho’s body he’s rubbing himself against. 

Minho slides his hand into his sweatpants, pushing them down. Jisung loses no time kicking them off the rest of the way. He’s distracted enough by the task that he doesn’t realise Minho is going to pounce on him until it’s already too late. 

Minho grins as Jisung squeaks. He goes beautifully boneless under him. Minho likes him a lot like this, all sprawled out for the taking. It’s so easy to settle between Jisung’s legs. Jisung keeps them nice and open for him. 

“Hyung.” Jisung squirms against the grip Minho has on his throat, but not to get away. He’s shy.

Minho understands that. He’ll teach him over time that there’s nothing he could do, nothing he could be that Minho wouldn’t want. He looks down and that makes Jisung squirm more, but he calms down when Minho strokes his throat, right where his cock used to be mere minutes ago. 

Jisung’s dick is very pretty, slightly curved and flushed purple at the tip with how hard he is. He fits nicely into Minho’s hand. Jisung lets out a noise Minho has never heard before when Minho starts stroking him. 

“Hyung, fuck, oh my god, hyung—” 

Minho smiles, letting go of Jisung’s throat to scoot further down the bed. He knows Jisung won’t move unless Minho tells him to. He’s a good boy. There’s marks all over Minho’s body from Jisung’s lips and teeth and Minho plans to reciprocate the favour. Jisung is going to let him. 

Minho puts his mouth on Jisung’s pec first, toying with his nipple and Jisung’s cock jumps in his grip. “Hyung!” He claws at Minho’s shoulders in a desperate search for something to hold onto. “Minho-hyung—” 

Minho hums against his skin, now spit-slick and indented with the shape of Minho’s teeth. An almost perfect circle surrounding Jisung’s nipple. Minho sucks a bruise right below, a pretty little signature on his artwork. Jisung whines, his cock dribbling precum all over Minho’s hand. Minho slides his hand lower, using the wetness between his fingers to ease the glide when he runs his fingers along the cleft of Jisung’s ass before rubbing one knuckle over his rim. 

“Has anyone ever touched you here?” 

Panting, his stomach muscles contracting with every stroke of Minho’s hand, it seems that Jisung can only shake his head. 

“No? Not even your friends?” 

“We…we talk about stuff and I asked them for, uh, advice for some things, but…no. I never cared that much before and it wasn’t easy trying to meet someone with my mum watching my every move so…I haven’t…is that bad?” 

“No.” Minho immediately surges upward to kiss the frown from his lips. “No, it just means that I get to show you. I’m so excited to show you, Jisungie.” 

“I can still do well!” 

“I know.” Minho smiles, stroking his cheek. “I know you’ll do so well, Jisung, everything’s been so good so far. I can’t wait to feel you. You’re perfect to me, you’re going to be perfect at this too no matter what you do.” 

Jisung flushes all the way down his chest. He takes Minho’s hand and guides Minho’s hand back to his ass. “Want to feel you, hyung.” 

Minho nods, using his free hand to caress Jisung’s side. “Do you have lube?” 

“Nightstand.” 

Jisung wriggles to get it, but Minho is faster. He pulls the drawer open, finding the lube between tubs of skincare, a box of tissues and some mangas with…interesting covers. He’ll circle back to that some other time. 

For now, he grabs the lube, enjoying the way Jisung watches his every move as he settles back between his legs, popping the cap to spread a generous amount of lube over his fingers. 

“Have you ever done this to yourself?”

Jisung nods, gasping slightly at the feeling of Minho’s cool, wet fingers against his skin. Minho starts on his thigh, sliding his hand upwards until he’s rubbing his thumb directly over Jisung’s hole. On Jisung’s next inhale, he dips in the pad of his thumb. 

“Ah! I’ve—I’ve done it before, but it didn’t feel like this, though, I—ah—I couldn’t reach that well.”

“Poor baby.” Minho soothes the ache over with a kiss. Jisung’s nails dig into his shoulders so harshly it’s painful, but Minho doesn’t mind. 

“Relax,” he whispers against Jisung’s lips. 

Jisung relaxes. 

Minho slips the first finger inside fully and starts circling it. Jisung stares up at him in awe, eyes wide and jaw slack as he clenches around the digit. It’s hot inside. He’s already so hot and tight around Minho’s finger, Minho is seriously wondering how he’s supposed to survive actually fucking him. 

Then again, if this is how he goes out, it will be a worthwhile death, at least. 

The thought makes Minho smile. Jisung smiles back at him without even knowing what’s going on inside Minho’s head and that fills Minho’s heart to the brim. He kisses him, wrapping his remaining hand around Jisung’s cock to stroke him slowly, matching the tempo at which he’s opening him up.

He waits until Jisung starts to squirm, clenching around his fingers and wriggling to get it deeper before he adds another. Jisung outright moans, a breathless little “oh” escaping him. 

Minho is obsessed with the sounds he makes, the expressions passing over his face as he’s fingered. No one else, the nastiest part of Minho’s brain whispers, no one else ever got to see this. No one else ever will. Mine, all mine. 

Minho leans down to kiss Jisung again, swallowing the continuous stream of moans and whimpers that is spilling from his lips. It’s addictive. Everything about Jisung is addictive. Minho is obsessed with him. He already was before, but if there was ever a chance of him getting over Jisung, that chance is gone now. 

“I love you,” he murmurs, breathing his devotion into Jisung’s neck. “I love you so much, Jisungie. I don’t think you understand how much.” 

“Hyung.” Jisung arches against him. “I love you, love you so much, love you! Please…”

Minho lifts his head to see how desperate Jisung is exactly. What he finds pleases him to no end. “Are you going to come, Jisungie? Going to come just from hyung’s fingers inside you?” 

Jisung throws his head from side to side, shaking it as he grabs onto Minho’s arm. “On your cock, hyung, want to come on your cock. You can fuck me, right? You can?”  

Minho’s cock twitches. He was back to being half-hard already, but the desperate, pleading look Jisung sends him gets him another quarter of the way there. He surges forward to kiss Jisung, adding a third finger that makes Jisung yell into his mouth. 

Minho slows it down after that, taking his hand off Jisung’s cock and focussing on actually getting him stretched enough. Jisung said it. Minho is big and Minho would rather get shot again than hurt his boy. 

He waits until Jisung goes from boneless kisses mouthed against his lips to actively trying to get him deeper again before he pulls his hand out. He watches, transfixed for a moment, the way Jisung’s hole clenches around nothing before he reaches for the lube. Another dollop means he has to warm up the lube all over again, but that gives him enough time to push Jisung’s legs apart further, get himself situated just right between his legs. Kneeling on the mattress, he wraps Jisung’s legs around his waist, eager to get back to kissing him as soon as he’s inside. 

“Stop!”

Minho immediately stops, snapping his gaze up to look at Jisung, to see what’s wrong. Instead of pain, he finds worry etched into every line of Jisung’s face. “Jisung? What’s wrong?” 

Jisung places a hand on his stomach. “Fuck, I-I didn’t even ask. Will it be okay? If you fuck me like this? I don’t—there’s other ways. I can ride you, or we can—I can wait.”

Minho feels something inside himself melt. “Jisungie.” 

“Seriously, hyung! You said the couch was too low and now you’re kneeling and…maybe we should wait! I can wait, I promise!” 

“That’s sweet,” Minho coos at him, “but I can’t.” 

“Hyung!” 

Minho takes a hold of himself, teasingly dragging the tip of his cock over Jisung’s rim. He enjoys the way it makes Jisung’s mouth drop open. “I’m well enough to do this, jagiya. Don’t worry.” 

Jisung falls silent at the new nickname, red blooming across his cheeks and chest and Minho hasn’t even gotten to mark most of those parts yet. Minho lines himself up, looking nowhere but Jisung’s eyes as he does so. 

Jisung’s eyes are so big, so trusting. I knew you would come for me, was the first thing Jisung told him when Minho found him. Jisung knew it then and he knows it now too. He trusts Minho with his life and with this. Minho leans forward, bracing himself on the mattress next to Jisung’s head with one hand while holding his cock with the other. 

“Beautiful,” he thinks out loud. “You’re so beautiful, Jisungie. Can’t believe you’re mine.”

“Yours,” Jisung breathes out. 

Minho pushes in and they moan in unison. Jisung doesn’t stop making noises after that. Minho swallows them all, kissing Jisung’s lips in short little pecks, one for every centimetre he slides deeper. 

Jisung whimpers against his mouth, his nails raking down Minho’s back. It feels good. Everything feels so fucking good. He knew Jisung would be perfect for him, but he didn’t know it would feel like this. It’s different, sleeping with someone you love, Chan used to tell him. Minho thought his boss was just being sappy, but it’s true. 

Nothing he physically feels compares to the depth he finds in Jisung’s eyes, the love. It’s reverence and awe and devotion and trust and all other things Minho doesn’t deserve, but which he is never going to let go of from this point on. Jisung is his now, inside and out. No one can take this from him. No one will. 

“You feel so good, Sungie. So perfect for me, around me. Does it feel good for you too?”

Overwhelmed tears fill Jisung’s eyes as he nods. “Please, don’t stop, hyung. I might actually die if you do.” 

Minho barks out a laugh and kisses him, rolling his hips until he’s fully sheathed inside Jisung. Jisung gasps and the way he goes vice-tight around Minho is nearly enough to make him come again. It’s a lot easier to hold out the second time around, though and so he slowly pulls out, watching every change in Jisung’s expression to check for pain before he pushes back in. 

Jisung’s back arches off the bed, his hands scrambling for purchase on the mattress. He’s clearly overwhelmed, but he still tries to keep his eyes open. Tries to look at Minho, see the way Minho is looking at him and whether he’s pleased or not. 

Minho makes it easier for him by leaning over, kissing the sensitive skin beneath his ear. “I’m so happy, Jisungie. My good boy, you’re so good. Perfect, really. I’m so happy. I’m so happy with you.” 

Jisung’s arms wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, closer so Minho’s cock reaches deeper. “Hyung…more please. Harder.” 

Minho fucks him harder. He builds a quick, steady rhythm, losing himself in the heat of Jisung’s body and the love in his eyes. 

It does put a strain on his stomach and Minho knows he won’t be able to go another round like this, but none of that matters now. All that matters is Jisung and the way he holds onto Minho as Minho fucks him, the way he moans and cries out his name and whimpers into his mouth when Minho kisses him again.  

His silver strands stick to his forehead with sweat, his eyes glassy but he’s never looked more beautiful. 

Minho tells him that, “Beautiful, you’re so beautiful, my Jisungie. My jagiya, how does it feel to have hyung inside you?” 

Jisung whines, touches his stomach where he might be able to feel Minho’s cock.The open pout of his lips is too good of an invitation to pass up so Minho runs his tongue along the seam of his mouth, politely asking for entry before slipping his tongue into his mouth. 

Jisung pants into the kiss, smiling up at Minho with tears in his eyes. “I love you.” 

“Love you, Jisungie. More than— fuck —anything.” 

Jisung smiles, his eyes slipping shut as he’s overwhelmed by pleasure. Minho loves to see him like this, loves to know that he’s the reason. He’s going to spend the rest of his days making sure Jisung is always happy and filled with pleasure like this. 

He hitches one of Jisung’s legs higher up his waist, all but dragging him onto his cock. The new angle makes Jisung’s mouth drop open. He stares at Minho in shock before his eyes roll into the back of his head and his entire body starts trembling.

Minho wraps a hand around his cock, rubbing his thumb over the slit. Jisung squeaks and slaps Minho’s hand away, frantically shaking his head. Minho frowns, leaning down so he can stroke Jisung’s cheek. “It’s okay, Jisung. You’re doing so well. You can come. Come on hyung’s cock, yeah?” 

“Minho-hyung,” Jisung whimpers, “I can’t. ‘S too much. I’m not gonna survive.” 

“Jisungie,” Minho coos right back. “My Jisungie. Don’t hold back. Just come. I’ll be so happy when you do. Come for me, yeah? Whenever you’re ready, I want you to come.” 

Jisung comes. It’s almost quiet, his breath hitching, body shuddering before he starts shaking all over. Minho fucks him through it, gently slowing down his pace until Jisung stops whimpering. There’s come on his stomach, on his chest and Minho’s too. 

Minho kisses his nose before he moves to pull out. He’s only a couple of strokes of his hand from adding to the mess, eager to finish. Jisung’s hand grabs onto his ass before he can, preventing him from moving back any further. “No, hyung, inside! You promised me!” 

“Baby,” Minho scolds gently, but he rubs the tip of his cock over Jisung’s hole. Maybe this is enough already. “It’s going to hurt if I keep going.” 

“I don’t care.”

Minho raises an eyebrow at him. 

“I really don’t care.” Jisung wriggles, his rim catching on Minho’s cock. “I need you inside, hyung. Please.” 

A better man than Minho would say no. 

Minho isn’t a good man. 

He’s helpless against Jisung’s pleading eyes and his own desire to have him. He sighs as he leans forward, just to steal another kiss from Jisung’s lips. “Tell me if you change your mind.” 

Jisung wriggles eagerly. “I won’t.” 

Minho stops him with a hand on his stomach. “Say you will, or I’m finishing in my hand.” 

“I-I will.” 

“Good boy,” Minho praises and slips back inside. 

The clutch of Jisung’s body is still so hot, Minho feels like he’s going to melt. Jisung gasps and squirms as Minho builds his rhythm back up, but everytime Minho pulls out a little too far for his liking, he tightens his grip on Minho’s ass, coaxing him back inside. 

It’s almost too much to handle. Minho has been close for a while now, but it’s impossible to hold out now. He buries Jisung beneath him, buries himself inside and comes. He doesn’t stop coming for some time, mouthing at Jisung’s collarbone as he does. 

Jisung strokes his back as he does. He’s smiling when Minho finally lifts his head to look at him. His hair’s a mess, his eyes glassy and lips kiss swollen. He’s breath-taking. Minho needs to kiss him so he does. 

He doesn’t stop. Not for a long time. 

*

“I have a gift for you.” 

Minho lifts his head from where he was watching himself draw lazy circles over Jisung’s bare hip. “Oh?” 

Jisung smiles. They’ve showered by now, but putting on clothes was something neither Minho nor Jisung was interested in so they stripped the bed, haphazardly remade the sheets and slipped back under. Honestly, Minho thinks he could stay here forever. 

“Yeah!” Where they’re lying back to chest, Jisung wriggles around to face him. “You can think of it as a signing bonus. Since you’re my bodyguard now and all.” 

“Right.” Minho almost forgot about that part. “You really want me to do that?” 

“Of course.” Jisung frowns before doubt creeps into his eyes. “You don’t want to?” 

Minho grins, sprawling out on his back. He keeps one hand on Jisung’s ass, though. Sue him, it’s his personal form of stress relief. “I guess I have to, since you got me fired and all.” 

He can feel Jisung look at him, trying to gauge whether he’s actually mad. His voice is small when he says, “Hyunjin said you wouldn’t mind.” 

Minho snorts. “You asked your stalker friend for advice and took it?” 

“I didn’t! I told you, hyung, I—it’s me, okay?” Jisung grows red with how embarrassed he is, but he troops on. Minho couldn’t be prouder. “I don’t want you to look over someone else. I know I can’t ask you to not work so it has to be me, yeah? Think of it this way! If you act as my bodyguard then you get to threaten anyone who comes too close to me. Isn’t that a win-win situation?” 

Minho can’t help but marvel, really, at how well Jisung knows him. In an effort to not make it that easy for his boy, he keeps a neutral expression. “What do you think hiring me would entail anyway?” 

Minho doubts that Jisung is going to tell him to kill his family after all, but a man can dream. 

Jisung clears his throat. “You know I’ve come into a lot of money recently. That means I need protection, right? I’ll feel much safer knowing you’re there to protect me. Always. No days off. And-and forever! Till we’re old and wrinkly.”

Minho hums. “That sounds sensible. I guess I should seriously consider this. What’s the offer you’re making?”  

Jisung searches his eyes, as if to make sure Minho is really willing to play with him. Minho is. Jisung licks his lips. “Whatever you made at your last job, I can match that.” 

“What if I want a raise?” 

“Since the job comes with a lot of…aggravating circumstances, I guess a raise would be in order.”

Minho thoughtfully kneads the supple flesh between his fingers. “Aggravating circumstances?” 

Jisung nods, scooting closer. “You also have to stay the night. Every night. Really, you can’t leave my side at all.” 

Minho hums. “I might as well move in then.” 

“You—You would do that?” Jisung cuts their little play short. It seems that this is too important to him. “You want to?” 

Minho smiles. “I saw you got a cat tower. I assume you know about my children then?”

“I do! Felix told me—” 

Minho raises his hand, groaning. “No more about your freaky little friends. I don’t want to hear what you’ve been scheming behind my back.” 

He’s smothered when Jisung rolls himself on top of him. “I love you,” he says. “You really want this, yeah? To be with me? I know it’s a lot of work and I’m not easy to take care of, but—”

Minho frowns. He wants to ask who made Jisung think that, but he already knows. His trigger fingers itches. He puts his hand on Jisung’s cheek instead. His boy looks gorgeous in the pink and orange light falling in through the windows. The sun is going down and with all that they are being visible in the refracted light, Minho thinks that he’s never experienced anything more beautiful. 

“You’re everything to me, Jisung, but not a burden. Never. You were right earlier. I’m actually looking forward to playing bodyguard in public. I actually think it’s a great idea if I can glare at people from behind your back. It’s quite my style and I don’t want to be apart from you either. Not even for a single second.”

I’ve waited enough, he doesn’t say. “I love you,” he does. 

Jisung smiles at him, his smile is so wide it threatens to split his face in two and Minho feels himself come alive with it. He was never unhappy, but not being unhappy and feeling happiness like this are two very different things. 

It feels almost surreal, getting to have this, but Minho knows it’s real. His particles have rearranged to forever bear Jisung’s mark, coming alive with a single look, a single touch of his. Jisung has ingrained himself into Minho on a molecular level, but Minho is inside him too.

He can tell by the way Jisung is looking at him, reaching for him, always moving closer. 

In that, they are a perfect match. 

“I love you, hyung.”

*

It’s a car. 

Minho stares at it. He wants to laugh. “This isn’t for me.” 

“Yes, it is.” Jisung is very excited where he’s hanging off his shoulder. “I bought it for you so it’s yours. See, the key even has your initials on it!” 

He dangles the key in front of Minho’s face like a cat toy. 

Minho turns his head to glare at him. “Do you know how much this costs?”

It’s a stupid question. Of course Jisung does. He’s the one who took half a billion won out of his early inheritance to buy Minho a car. A very nice car. A very, very nice car. 

“You don’t like it?” Jisung wilts, casting his eyes to the ground. 

Minho scoffs. He knows when Jisung is playing with him. It’s pretty obvious with how Jisung keeps peeking at him from under his fringe. “I like it, Jisung. It’s gorgeous, but it’s also really fucking expensive.”

“I have money.”

“You’re going to be broke very soon if you spend it all willy-nilly like this.” 

“I didn’t buy it willy-nilly. I did research! It’s not only fast, it’s also got these, like, beams inside that makes it safe in case you flip over.” 

Minho thinks that it would have been less painful if Jisung had punched him in the stomach. 

“Baby…” He takes Jisung’s hand. “I’m sorry.” 

Jisung looks at him with teary eyes. “I’m the reason your old car got wrecked, hyung. Please, let me give this to you. It’s not just for you, yeah? It’s ours. I don’t have a license so you’re going to be the one driving until I get one, and also after that because you look hot doing it, but—my point is, it’s a gift, okay? Please, accept my gift.” 

“I accept it. No more crying, mhm?” 

Jisung beams at him, tears gone as quickly as they came. “You’ll come to like it, hyung! The height’s just perfect.” 

Minho frowns. “The height?”

Something terrible and terribly exciting passes over Jisung’s face. The corner of his mouth twitches as he passes Minho and sits down on the hood. Then leans back. Then turns around, spreading his arms out as if to hug the car. 

It puts him in a…very interesting position. He cranes his neck over his shoulder to look Minho right in the eye. “The height. It’s good.” 

Transfixed, Minho takes a step forward, then another one. He places his hand on Jisung’s ass, slides it up to grab onto his hips. Indeed, the car is a great height. “I see.” 

“You know…” Jisung says, the silver of his hair contrasting nicely with the black varnish of the car. “I’m still loose from earlier. I think you could slip right in if you wanted to,” 

Minho slaps his ass, hard enough to make Jisung squeak. “Naughty boy! Who taught you to talk like that, huh?” 

“I’m twenty-four, hyung. I have…needs.” 

Minho sighs, fighting against the smile threatening to overtake his face. “And here I thought I took such good care of you…”

“You did! You definitely did!” Jisung is back on his feet, hugging him before Minho can take a single step away from him. “I’m so happy, hyung.” A hundred little kisses are pressed against his mouth, the rest of his face. “I love you so much.” 

Minho laughs. It feels freeing to act silly with Jisung. He takes the car key from his hand. It really does have his initials engraved. Fucking ostentatious. 

“Get in the passenger seat before I change my mind.” 

Jisung does and Minho, Minho drives him. 

*

It’s weird to return to Bang Chan’s penthouse as a guest. 

Minho honestly couldn’t have guessed that this is where Jisung wanted to go, but he supposes it makes sense. Undoubtedly, Jisung wants to break the news to Felix first. He’s got himself a boyfriend and however much Felix did to help him with that, it worked. Or made things worse. Minho doesn’t know what Felix did exactly and he is too afraid to ask. 

Minho just doesn’t understand why there’s streamers framing the door. He doesn’t understand why he steps through the door and is bombarded with confetti. He seriously wonders why there’s balloons and a banner saying Happy Birthday! hanging from the ceiling above the dining table. 

“It’s not my birthday,” is the only thing he can think to say. 

“They were out of Happy Discharge Day From The Hospital So Glad You Didn’t Die! banners.” Felix approaches him with a grin. He puts a party hat on Minho’s head. Minho blinks. This feels like a deja-vu. 

Except that this party is about him, apparently, and things very rarely are. 

“I thought you didn’t…” care, is what he wants to say, but from where he’s standing it’s obvious that that’s not the truth. It’s not just the party decorations. Everyone is here. 

Chan is standing in the archway leading to the rest of the penthouse, one shoulder leaned against its frame. He’s not smiling, but there’s this pleased look in his eyes that he usually only gets when he’s successfully closed another business deal. 

Changbin and Hyunjin are right behind him. Changbin is smiling at Minho. Really, he’s smiling at Minho as if it was worth losing his car over Minho’s life. It only freaks Minho out half as much as the intensity with which Hyunjin is eyeing him. He’s looking exceptionally pleased. Really, Hyunjin is looking at Minho and Jisung as if he couldn’t have painted them better. It’s freaky. 

Already sitting at the overladen dinner table, Minho can see Seungmin. He’s brought Jeongin. He’s brought Jeongin to a party with the worst people he knows; with the only people in the world Minho has ever considered his family after losing out on his real one. 

“...know,” he finishes his sentence. “I didn’t know.” He really didn’t know that they felt the same way about him. 

Felix grins, always too perceptive for his own good. Minho can see it in his eyes that he knows what Minho is feeling. “Come,” he says and grabs both Minho and Jisung by the arm. “Hyunjin brought cake!” 

“We have to eat all the real food first, sunshine,” Chan says.

“Are we sure there isn’t poison in the cake?” Minho quips, just because it feels familiar. 

Hyunjin, taking a seat opposite him, sticks his tongue out at him, eyes sparkling with mirth. “You wouldn’t realise I put it in there before it’s too late.” 

“Jinnie would be smarter than that,” Changbin says, sitting down next to his husband. “Poisoning the cake would kill everyone. If he was just after you, he’d probably poison your wine.” 

Minho swallows and pushes away the bottle Seungmin was about to fill his glass with. Seungmin sets it down on the table with a sigh.

“It’s been less than five minutes and we’re already talking about murder. Can we not act like normal people, for once?” He plasters a smile onto his face before he looks at Jeongin, who’s watched the entire exchange with a very amused expression on his face. “They’re joking, sweetheart.” 

“I know.” Jeongin laughs. “I know no one at this table would commit actual murder. Your friends are so funny, Seungmin!” 

There’s a pregnant pause, which Felix ends by clearing his throat, “So, Jeongin! Seungmin told me you’re a teacher! Kindergarden, right?”

Jeongin perks up. “Right! I mean that’s what I did before…but I want to go back soon!” 

“And you will.” There’s no arguing Seungmin’s tone, but he doesn’t sound harsh. He never does, talking to Jeongin. 

The rest of them aren’t so lucky. The glare Seungmin sends around the table is a clear order to nod and smile so that’s what everyone does. Jeongin seems to relax at everyone’s friendly faces and Felix, ever the social butterfly he is, seamlessly switches the topic to saver waters. 

It allows Minho to focus on Jisung, who looks happy as a clam sitting next to him, ooh -ing and ahh -ing at all the different foods Changbin has brought. 

“Lots of protein is important so try some of the meat first.” 

Jisung obediently holds out his plate. Changbin is about to place a cut of steak on it when Hyunjin knocks his chopsticks out of the way. It might look like an accident to an outsider (read: Jeongin) but Minho knows better than that. He watches with amusement as Hyunjin drops the meat from his own chopsticks on Jisung’s plate rather carelessly. Then he takes a hold of Changbin’s hand and guides his husband’s chopsticks to his mouth, holding direct eye contact with Changbin as he chews. 

A smile spreads over Changbin’s features. It’s half-amused and half something Minho really doesn’t want to think about further. Silently, he commends Hyunjin. Cake blunder aside, Hyunjin has really made an effort to seem normal so far this evening. Unfortunately, it seems that even his graciousness has an end. 

Changbin, like the mad motherfucker he is, coos at him for it. Minho feels like he’s watching a kid stick their hand between the bars of a tiger cage. Hyunjin is already baring his teeth. Changbin is not prey, though. Minho knows that very well. His lawyer friend is better at keeping up a normal front, but Minho knows what kind of clubs he went to before Hyunjin took over his life. 

Minho leaves the two to their weird choice in foreplay and focusses back on what matters most. 

Jisung is giggling beside him, clearly engrossed in whatever conversation Felix and Jeongin are having. Minho loves watching him eat. It’s cute, the way his cheeks bulge out with how much he can fit into them all at once. Minho reaches out to wipe a little bit of sauce from the corner of Jisung’s lip. 

He can hear Felix gasp in the background. Changbin and Hyunjin have stopped bickering. Minho doesn’t care. 

He doubles down and presses his lips to Jisung’s, just briefly, but it’s enough to make everyone look at them. Minho is pretty sure Felix is actively swooning. None of that matters to him. All that matters is the smile on Jisung’s face, so bright and proud and in love. 

Jisung loves him. 

Too, Minho can’t help but think. He places his hand on Jisung’s thigh. There’s no need to hide that he’s doing it. Everyone here can know. The entire world can know, really. This is Minho’s boy and he loves him. 

Jisung’s smile persists, telling him that he is loved in return. 

*

Minho is out on the balcony, watching the city below, when the door slides open. He doesn’t have to look to see who it is. Only the devil moves this quietly. 

“You look better.”

Minho doesn’t bother to turn around. 

“I feel better.”

“You’re not smoking?”

“I quit.” 

Chan hums as he joins him at the railing. “I’m proud of you.”

Minho sighs, slowly turning his head. “And for what?” 

Chan smiles at him. If Minho was a lesser man, he’d be pissing himself in fear right about now. Chan cuffs him in the shoulder. “Take what you’re given, Minho-yah.” 

Minho relaxes. He can’t help it. If he feels bad, he only feels bad for Chan. “I’m sorry for leaving you alone,” he says honestly because that’s the one thing they’ve always had. They’ve always been honest with each other. 

Chan raises an eyebrow at him. “I was the one who fired you.” 

“Jisung told me that he forced you.” 

Chan laughs. “And you think he could have done that if I didn’t agree?” 

“You agreed?”

It shouldn’t surprise him as much as it does. Chan did let him go after all, but it still confuses him. He knows very well the ways in which he is valuable to someone like Chan, and in which ways he isn’t. Being friends isn’t one of them. Minho was never sure Chan saw him as such.  

Yet, Chan is looking at him right now and he looks…fond. 

“I know it may be hard to believe, but I want you to be happy, Minho-yah. You’ve earned it. After everything you’ve done, you deserve your happy ending. This is it, so of course I’m letting you go.” 

Minho knows Chan isn’t just talking about what he did at the hotel. He’s talking about the past five years. It touches a part of him that’s soft and hidden. It makes him unable to look Chan in the eyes when he says, “Thank you.” He means the last five years too. 

Chan smiles. “Don’t look so glum, Minho-yah. I fear we’re still going to see each other plenty.” 

His boss, former boss, nods towards the balcony doors. Past the glass, Minho can see Felix and Jisung cuddled up on the couch. Minho and Jisung are the last to leave the party so Minho gave Jisung some actual time to catch up with his best friend. 

The sight reminds Minho of a question he’s been wanting to ask, “How do you sleep at night?” 

“Wrapped around my husband, usually. Why?” 

“No, I mean—actually, that is what I mean but what I’m trying to ask is, how do you cope with finally having him? Knowing what we know and then knowing you can’t lock him away in this penthouse forever?” 

Chan hums. He looks equal parts amused and unamused. “When I realised Felix would still want to go out, I told the deadliest man I know to protect him.” Their eyes meet. “Now Jisung enjoys that protection so I guess I’ll have to buy myself a gun, but…you find ways around it. Ways to believe that the world is still good because they are. And for everyone else…” Chan forms three fingers into a gun and fires it. “...there’s always a way.” 

Minho nods. This is what he was planning on doing too. What he already did. Sorry, Jeongin. 

He still can’t look Chan in the eyes when he says, “I’m really happy, hyung.” It feels awkward to confess to it like this, but he wants to tell someone and Chan is right here. They are, the devil and his demon. 

He feels more than he sees Chan smile. “I meant it when I said that you deserve this, Minho. This is going to be good for you, and good for me because now I don’t have to listen to Felix talk about you and Jisung anymore.” 

Minho snaps his gaze up. “Seriously? How much scheming has he been doing?” 

“Felix has never done anything wrong in his life,” Chan says just as the balcony door opens. 

It’s Jisung. Chan pushes away from the railing with a smile, heading back inside to find his husband. He ruffles Jisung’s hair as he passes him by. It seems to take Jisung by as much surprise as it does Minho. Chan must really be feeling exceptionally mushy today. 

Minho shakes the thought out of his head as he watches Jisung approach. 

Jisung grins as he stops right in front of him. He’s prettier than all the city lights below. “Hyung, hi.” 

Minho smiles. “Jisungie.” 

Jisung giggles at the sense of deja-vu that overtakes them both. 

“Have you come to ask me for a ride home?” Minho asks him. 

“Mhm.” Jisung nods. “It’s late so I want to go home.” 

“Already?” 

“Hyung,” Jisung’s voice is so soft. He looks so happy. Minho is making him happy and that means everything to him. “Let’s go home, yeah?”

Minho nods. It’s easy to take a hold of Jisung’s hand. There is no one that could keep him from doing it. No one he has to be mindful of. It’s just the two of them up here. The rest of the world is below. 

“Okay, Jisungie. Let’s go home.” 

Jisung’s grin widens and then he’s surging forward, kissing Minho once, twice before he’s pulling him towards the door. “Home,” he chants. “Let’s go home, you and me.”

You and me, Minho thinks, pulling Jisung into his side so they’re walking next to each other. He simply doesn’t see any reason to allow more space between them. “Always, you and me.”