Chapter Text
Haechan felt the bass thrum under the soles of his feet, a sort of spark igniting at his heels and travelling all the way up to his chest, and from there, to his heart, which beat ferociously in competition with the pounding of his head. He was never one to admit to his wrongs, always the first to let slip an excuse for his misdeeds before the misdeed even acknowledged, but Haechan supposed there was no other self he could pin the blame on for his ghastly headache, and so he cursed his low tolerance and lack of self-restraint, and brought the red solo cup to his lips once more. The liquid burned on its way down his throat.
Sadly, but unsurprisingly, the rest of Haechan’s body had not caught up to the speed with which his head had spiralled into physically aching pain, and so he would have to fake it. Not so sadly, Haechan knew himself to be a superb actor.
Trudging his way through the swarms of sweaty bodies, Haechan feigned a look of utter inebriation, swaying on his feet and knocking arms with anyone who ventured the boundaries into his bubble of personal space—basically every damned person in attendance at the college party—and sought out his target.
Haechan must confess, he quite enjoyed these kinds of scenes. There was something about the mass of bodies, packed all too tightly in a space inadequate for such a holding, and the taste of cheap liquor on his tongue, disgusting but so so good, and the god awful music playing at volumes that could wake the dead, and the idea of sacrificing one’s body to the mist—drugs, simply put, and the thrill of possibly walking in on an indecent exhibit of flesh on flesh, and- oh, there was an elbow jammed into Haechan’s stomach. He flopped onto the floor.
“My bad! Are you okay?” The concern came immediately, and then there were hands grabbing Haechan by the arms. He almost tugged out of their hold, prepared to reach under his shirt and to the knife strapped to his waist—out of instinct, of course. He had no qualms about this stranger.
But as he was hauled to his feet and their face came into view, Haechan found that, yes, he indeed did have some qualms about this stranger.
“Are you okay?” The boy asked again. His jaw was clenched, not out of anger it seemed, but worry. Strands of blue hair fell into his eyes, but unlike the photo Haechan had been given of him, they were not hardened into a cold gaze that could freeze over all of Earth’s deserts. If anything, his eyes almost shined with a sort of innocence.
But Haechan knew better than to assume based off of appearance, and so he remained on alert, his mind ringing alarm bells, and whirring sirens, and barking dogs, forming a cacophony worse than the atrocious rap music blaring from the speakers.
“I’m okay,” then remembering his act of intoxication, “you go on ahead.” Haechan waved his hand in a sort of shooing gesture, and then giggled at himself.
The male simply gave him a thumbs up before leaving him be. As soon as he had his back turned to Haechan, he stopped giggling and dropped his smile, along with his empty cup.
He racked his brain for a name to match to the boy’s face, mentally flicking through the pages of photos and brief descriptions of each gang member. Jeno, he remembered. Lee Jeno. Not quite who he was looking for, but an acquaintance nonetheless, and if he too was at this party, then that meant he might lead Haechan to his target. He followed the head of blue hair making its way through the crowd.
Haechan watched as Jeno turned into a hallway, stopping in front of a door to give it a single knock before entering. He waited some minutes, which for a person as impatient as himself, felt like much much longer, and so he prepared himself for a nap. Slumped against the wall with his eyes closed, he almost missed the soft sound of a door clicking shut. Haechan jolted upright and moved himself to a darkened corner. He crouched down behind a tall potted plant, the kind that grew humongous leaves and required more water than a dip in your bathtub would.
Jeno ambled down the hallway, and in mere seconds, he had crossed the threshold into the chaos that was college revelry, leaving behind the momentary calm that came with the privacy of a closed door.
Haechan stood and swiftly made for the room Jeno had entered and exited. Now that he was closer, he could faintly make out the sounds of what seemed like shameless indulgence coming from the one beside it, but when he strained to listen for any sound coming from the intended room, Haechan was met with silence. Ever so slowly, he turned the doorknob.
Behind the door lay a room with a balcony, and on that balcony stood a blond-haired boy, shoulders hunched and elbows resting on the railing.
Target acquired.
Haechan smiled a devilish smile, and catapulted himself onto the bed. The impact of his body against the mattress slammed the bedframe into the wall.
Faster than a whip, the boy turned his head and squinted into the darkened room, lit only by the moonlight pouring in through the balcony’s open doors. His hand shot to the waistband of his jeans.
The source of the noise smooshed his face into the pillow under his head, the fabric smelling of laundry detergent and a hint of musk. Haechan let out a content sigh.
“Uh, this room is taken,” the boy said, crossing his room to the mess of sprawled limbs on his bed.
Haechan feigned surprise and shot up, his hand clutching his head. “Oh fuck! I thought this room was empty, my bad. I just have a killer headache and was looking for a place to rest. Sorry, I’ll just-.” He stood and stumbled over his feet. The boy was quick to catch him.
“No, no, it’s okay. You can stay here until you sober up a bit.”
“No, really, I don’t wanna invade your space.”
“It’s okay, really,” the boy smiled, and though the moon was high in the sky, and the sky itself a blanket of darkness, he could’ve sworn there were birds chirping somewhere in the distance. “I could use some company.”
If it were any other situation, Haechan would have offered the boy his house, his hand in marriage, and his firstborn, but alas, he had been sent to retrieve the boy, alive, but unconscious, and with no orders to leave him bodily unharmed.
He doubted this was an ideal first meeting for the beginnings of a grand romantic affair.
“Thank you,” Haechan said, and lowered himself onto the bed. A hush descended upon the room, not necessarily awkward, but definitely uncomfortable, and if there was one thing Haechan was absolutely incapable of, it would be keeping his mouth shut. “No friends, huh?”
It was almost comical how fast the boy’s expression turned unimpressed. For a moment, Haechan thought he might have actually offended him—as he so often did most people—but then he laughed, and shifted his body to lean against the wall so that he was in Haechan’s direct line of sight. His eyes sparkled with mirth.
“Not my party.”
“I doubt your roommate would mind.”
“Not my scene,” he shrugged, “don’t really like big crowds.”
“So you’ve decided to hide out here?”
“Well it was either this or smoke weed in my bathtub, but, you know,” the boy gestured vaguely to the wall opposite him.
Haechan scrunched his nose. “You’re gonna have to shower in there.”
“And brush my teeth,” he sighed, and then paused for a moment, seeming to contemplate the state of his bathroom. Haechan almost laughed as the male visibly blanched, shaking his head as if to rid himself of such intrusive thoughts.
“Just get your roommate to deal with it in the morning. His party, his mess.”
“I guess,” the boy said, his words trailing off into silence. Then, he looked Haechan up and down, not appreciatively, but as though he were scrutinising him. Haechan tried not to squirm under his stare. “Are you a new friend of Donghyun? I don’t think I’ve seen you at any of his parties before.”
He let out a breath. Assuming Donghyun was the boy’s roommate, Haechan nodded before launching into his carefully crafted story involving a shared class, under an unspecified major, and a group project. There was no need to fret over the details of his story—Haechan knew for a fact that the boy did not attend college.
“That’s cool. You’ll be around more often then?”
Haechan smiled, and marvelled at the thrill of secrecy; of speaking in riddles and unbidden truths. “Oh, definitely. We’ll be seeing a lot more of each other, I’m hoping.”
The boy smiled, “hopefully,” and brought a cigarette to his lips. With his eyes trained on Haechan, he whipped out a lighter from his pocket, and set fire to the garden growing in his lungs. “Follow me to the balcony?”
Haechan followed.
Standing before the night like this, bathed in moonlight, the blond-haired male gave truth to the rumours attached to his name. They spoke of his ruthlessness, of his calm and cunning, and of the number on his shoulders, only increasing so long as he himself remained body and soul, not just body.
Haechan understood the fear that coursed through the veins of those on opposite ends to the boy and his gang, but probably for different reason than fear itself. Like this, with his eyes wide and a reflection of the heavens above, the world was his to take. And he would take, until every star was robbed from the night sky, and only darkness remained.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” The boy asked.
“Very.”
Haechan wasn’t talking about the stars.
He studied the blond’s face, and wondered what it would be like to trace the sharp angle of his cheekbone with the pad of his finger. And then he wondered what it would be like to make him bleed; to carve a scarlet line into the milky white of his skin.
Haechan reached under his shirt.
His fingers grasped at an empty sheath.
“Looking for this?” The boy held Haehchan’s knife by the blade, fingers dangling the weapon over the railing. The moonlight reflected off the knife’s surface.
Haechan recalled his little trip by the bed, and the arm that had wrapped around his waist to set him right.
Oh, how he had been deceived.
Tilting his head to the side, the glint of light shone directly upon the boy’s face. His smile was nefarious. “Nice to meet you, Lee Haechan.”
Haechan’s heart raced, not out of fear, but anticipation. The promise of violence hung thick in the air, and like a drowning man, he was eager for breath.
His grand ploy had been thwarted, but if anything, Haechan was more concerned for his wounded pride. The boy must have thought this would unnerve him, have him on his knees praying to a god he had no faith in. Too bad Haechan had already seen heaven, and knew that it rested in the eyes of the devil.
“Well played, Mark Lee.”
On the other side of the door, the sound of a scream pierced through the blaring music, and a gunshot rang.