Chapter Text
The rain was pouring down as Chan rushed down the street, two bags in his hands. He wasn’t sure how longer they could handle the rain hitting them before the material would rip and disaster would strike.
He rounded a corner, barely ducking a person running his way. Only a little further.
The building came into view and Chan tried to push himself to go quicker. But his legs were burning from the strain he had put them through.
Finally, he reached the front door, fishing the keys from his pockets and opening the door. He pushed it open with much needed force. Only when it fell shut behind him did he breathe a sigh of relief, letting himself relax for a moment. Like a wet dog, he shook his hair, getting rid of the drops that were steadily rolling into his eyes.
He eyed the stairs in front of him warily. His muscles were still hurting as he started making his way up. He needed to climb three stories and while he should be used by that by now, the soreness from yesterday’s workout as well as the running he had just done were weighing on him. But soon, he would be in safety.
With the second key on his chain, he unlocked his door, pushing it open and slipping inside. The worry about the content of this bag was still weighing on him. He turned to his left and went inside the room there, wincing as water dropped from his coat onto the floor.
Carefully, he sat down the bags on the counter and dared a sneak peek into them, shoulders dropping at what he found.
The groceries were fine. The water hadn’t soaked the carton boxes which held the eggs inside too badly.
With that out of the way, Chan could turn his attention on himself. Prying the soaked coat off him, he placed it over one of the chairs on his kitchen table to dry. The warmth of his apartment immediately wrapped around him like a blanket and for a moment he let himself bath in it. Thankfully, he had left the heater on before he had headed out to the supermarket.
He made his way down the hallway and into the bathroom to properly dry his hair. No way he was catching a cold. He had spent one whole week last month in bed because of the flu and he wasn’t keen on repeating it.
It had been a weird feeling, being able to afford laying and resting for a whole week with nothing to worry about apart from getting better. He had continued to work, at least until Jisung had taken his laptop away with him. While at first Chan had looked for it after his friend had left for his own apartment, he quickly came to realise that Jisung hadn’t hidden the laptop but rather taken it with him.
With work out of question, Chan had indulged himself in Netflix. Which had been fine for a few hours but then the part of him had gotten bigger and louder that told him he needed to work.
The week had been weird, and he was not about to let it be repeated.
Still rubbing a towel over his hair, Chan waddled across the wooden floor back towards the kitchen to fish his phone out of his coat’s pocket. Despite how poorly impregnated the jacket was, the phone was surprisingly dry.
He had felt it vibrate on his way home but didn’t want to stop in the rain. Now four messages were greeting him. One from Felix asking if Chan wanted him to bring Brownies tonight. Two from Changbin asking when he should come over and one telling Chan he was coming now. And one from Jones.
With hesitant fingers, Chan clicked out of his messenger, ignoring Jones’ message.
A quick glance to the clock told him Changbin should be here any moment now. A couple unwashed dished sitting in his sink caught his eyes. After all he had done in his life, dishes were probably the one thing he couldn’t conquer. No matter how often he thought he did them, the next time he looked towards the sink more had appeared out of seemingly thin air.
But having dirty dishes out in the open when his friends would come over wasn’t a good look. Not that he really could save his image. After all they had lived together for years.
He was saved from making the decision when his doorbell rang. Disposing of the wet towel by throwing it into his bedroom on his way through the hall, he buzzed Changbin in and opened the front door.
Changbin climbed the stairs a lot quicker than Chan had. When he spotted Chan waiting by the door, he smiled in a greeting.
“You should really use the intercom before you buzz the person in. You never know who it could be.”
Chan closed the door behind him softly, gently urging Changbin to walk further into the apartment and take off his coat. The water dripped from the material, and he cringed once he grabbed it to hang it over the other chair in his kitchen.
“Who do you think rings at my door?” Chan chuckled once he had dried his hands on his pants and taken in Changbin’s words.
He went over to his coffee machine while Changbin sat down. They had done this enough times for Chan to know he didn’t need to ask Changbin if he wanted a coffee. Especially not, when the other was still rubbing his hands together in an effort to warm up.
He felt Changbin’s eyes on him and when he turned to grab two cups, he found the other looking at him with incredulous eyes.
“Just because we no longer work for the FBI doesn’t mean the people, we have angered have forgotten about us.” Changbin’s eyes followed him as Chan made his way around the kitchen but grew softer with every passing second. “I don’t want anything happening to you.”
“I know,” Chan’s lips turned into a soft smile, grateful to have people like Changbin caring for him. But he didn’t want the afternoon to take a heavy turn before it had even started. “But to be honest, I highly doubt they would be considerate enough to ring the doorbell.”
He heard Changbin snort a laugh just as he put the cups into the machine and pressed the button.
“And technically I’m still under contract with the FBI.”
It was meant as a joke but from the way Changbin pursed his lips Chan wasn’t sure the other found it that funny.
“Have you come to a decision on that?” Changbin asked, hitting his fist on the table softly a couple times. Chan followed the movement before he heard the coffee machine stop. As he turned back around to get the milk, he let out a long sigh.
“That’s actually why I’ve invited everyone to come over.”
Changbin visible perked up at that. Then with a small smile he said: “I was wondering why. We’ve already done dinner twice this week and I thought you hated it because ‘no one ever helps with the dishes’.”
“Well, no one does,” Chan huffed though his own lips curved into a smile, pouring the milk into Changbin’s coffee while leaving it out of his own.
Finally, he put the cup in front of Changbin and sat down with him.
“And I didn’t mean to host three times in a row. It just sort of happened, with the first one just being the weekly one and then the second one, you know.” He trailed off, taking a deep breath and wrapping his hands around his cup. It was still hot but no longer unbearable so. The slight burn was a welcomed feeling.
Just a couple day ago the seven of them had come together at Chan’s apartment in celebration of Hyunjin’s birthday. While Chan had enjoyed the evening filled with happiness but also a lot of heavy emotions weighing down on them, it had been what ultimately brought him to his decision. The decision that he was about to announce to everyone tonight. The decision that would finally cut all ties with the FBI, therefore making them all lawful citizens again.
He didn’t elaborate.
“Have you told Jones already?” Changbin asked, taking the first sip of his coffee.
Chan looked down on his own, but it was probably still too hot. The only advantage of the disgrace that was milk in coffee was that it cooled it down faster.
He shook his head in answer to Changbin’s question.
“I’ve drafted messages, but nothing feels right.” He shrugged. What could he really say? Even if they had never been especially close to Jones, he had been with them for years.
Changbin nodded as if he understood; as if he hadn’t handed in his letter of resignation without even telling the agent just a couple weeks after everything.
Chan finally took his first sip of coffee, closing his eyes. He didn’t like spending money but if you drank your coffee black, you had to make sure it was good. And by the way the others always tried to ask for it nonchalantly he knew the others enjoyed it as well.
When he looked back at Changbin the other had his eyes squinted slightly, mustering Chan. Chan raised an eyebrow in question, though he had an idea what the next topic was about. There was only so many topics that made Changbin properly think through if it was the time to bring it up.
“Did you know that Minho is still looking for him?”
Chan hummed. Yes, he had known even if the other had never actually told him.
So was Seungmin but he had asked Chan specifically not to mention it so he wouldn’t.
Changbin continued before Chan could find the right words.
“I don’t understand why he would. It’s been over a year and Taewon has pleaded guilty in court. He should start accepting it.”
Though his words were harsh, Chan knew they were coming from a place of concern for Minho.
Still, the topic had been the root of many arguments within the group. To the point where Chan had banned all talk about it at group meetings.
They all dealt with the loss differently. And while Chan himself had come to terms with reality, some of them hadn’t. At some point they would too but there was no need rushing them.
The doorbell rang, interrupting their talk before it had really began.
With cup still in hand Chan walked to his door, buzzing the person in. Whoever it was, was a bit early but Chan had expected that. Jisung’s work was nearby, and his shift had ended a couple minutes ago. It wouldn’t make sense for him to go back home before coming to Chan’s. And while he hadn’t told Chan, he had expected him to come earlier.
Sure enough, Jisung came into view, a bright smile on his face despite having served costumers for close to seven hours. A job Chan didn’t think he could ever do.
“I want coffee,” was how Jisung greeted him.
With a short chuckle, Chan closed the door behind him. “That can be arranged.”
_____________________________
The rain had just stopped when Felix stepped out of the bus in front of Chan’s apartment complex. Instead, cold wind had picked up and he hurried to reach the front door. His hands were shaking by the time he raised them to ring the doorbell.
It only took a couple seconds for the buzz to ring through and Felix pushed open the door.
When he reached Chan’s door, the other was waiting for him, reaching to pull him into a hug once he was close enough.
Chan’s apartment was significantly warmer, and Felix relaxed. It was the end of march. Why was it still so cold?
“I’m sorry I’m late. I missed my bus and had to wait for another fifteen minutes.”
Chan waved him off. “It’s all good. Dinner is almost ready. Everyone else is already here.”
Felix nodded and hurried to take of his coat as to not make everyone else wait even longer. When he finally entered the living room, he found everyone lingering on the couch and some extra chairs that had found a permanent spot there with how often the came together as a group here.
“Oh, Felix. How was work?”
Felix let out a groan at the question, being reminded of the long day he had had. He let himself fall onto the couch next to Seungmin.
“It’s alright, I guess. Though I thought I would be working with them rather than for them. I did a coffee run today. Which I don’t know if I should complain about. But I studied psychology and went to Quantico. I feel like I could use my qualifications better for something other than coffee runs.”
Jisung winced in sympathy. “That must suck.” Felix just shrugged. Not much to be done there.
“When you started, I already thought that job sounded awful”, Minho said, a small but pitying smile on his face. “Doing job interviews sounds boring. But it’s even worse than I imagined.”
Felix nodded. “But it was the best I could do at the time. I mean, I got a few offers overseas but…” He trailed off, his eyes flicking over to Chan.
All of them had ended their contracts with the FBI so while they were no longer under contract themselves, Chan’s had a clause that forbid certain actions for all of them. Such as leaving the country permanently. In case any of them did, Chan would be taken to court. The amount of money he would have to pay extended his savings by far.
While in business it had never bothered them. It was a clause that was supposed to stop them to do something illegal while under FBI protection and go into hiding. The FBI knew their love for their leader wouldn’t allow them to selfishly leave him to them.
And while they had been working together it really didn’t matter. Because if one would have disappeared, they all would have gone with him.
It was different now. But Felix didn’t hold it against Chan. He wasn’t ready to resign from the contract.
“By the way, Minho, what have you been up to?” Felix asked, wanting to change the subject. And this specific Hyung had been giving him a headache with how secretive he had been.
Minho shrugged but Felix saw right through his nonchalant act.
“I’ve been managing.”
It was enough for their ex-leader to narrow his eyes, leaning forward in his chair.
“You know we are no longer under immunity, right?”
Minho nodded, rolling his eyes. “I know. Really, you don’t have to worry about me.”
Felix didn’t trust that. But he did trust Minho.
Chan still seemed unconvinced but dropped the topic. He clapped his hands to bring their attention to him before getting up from his spot on the floor.
“Alright, everyone. Dinner time.”
Felix moved to help Chan bring everything to the living room table. It was a tight fit, the table only made for four people, but they managed every time. They’ve slept in the same room for years, they could handle sitting a little close.
He looked over to Chan, waiting for him to pass something over that Felix could carry. He was worrying his bottom lip between his lips, muscles slightly tensed despite the light-hearted nature of their get-together.
Felix frowned as he took the bowl Chan handed him.
“Is everything okay, Hyung?”
Chan looked up, surprised. Felix could only smile sheepishly. They’ve known each other for so long, there was no hiding anything. Chan’s shoulders fell, some of the tension leaving his body before he nodded.
“Yes, there is something I need to tell you guys, but I’ll do that during dinner.”
Felix left it at that. While a bit nervous, Chan didn’t seem overly stressed. So, whatever it was couldn’t be too bad.
He took the bowl and made his way back to the living room. Everyone had moved to sit at the table already, talking animatedly. Jisung was telling a story, big gestures making everything seem more dramatic, making Jeongin laugh and Minho smile slightly.
Felix felt a swell of affection while watching them. When they had first parted ways, he had been anxious, worried they would lose touch, contact between them fading until it would feel awkward to reach out first.
Now though, he realized how stupid it was of him to worry.
He put the bowl down, sitting down next to Changbin who immediately scooted over to try and make room for Felix.
“-throw the stupid coffee in his face but I didn’t want to get fired, yet. Though I feel it would have been justified,” Jisung ended his story and despite not having heard the full thing, the small smirk on Jeongin’s face told Felix that he might have been a bit overdramatic.
When Chan came, setting the last bowl down on the table, they finally started. One thing Felix hated about living alone was cooking. Baking he enjoyed but there was just something about having to cut all those vegetables into the smallest possible pieces that bored him to no end.
Most of the time he ended up having something delivered. And while that was good, nothing beat a home cooked meal.
“Oh, right,” Jisung said once the casual chatter had died down a little. “I got accepted at university.” By the casual way he said it, Felix almost didn’t realise what exactly he had said. Only once it settled in, did he splutter, eyes going wide. The same way Chan’s did, taking a double take before a huge smile spread onto his face, his whole demeanour lightening.
“That’s amazing, Jisung. What courses are you going to take?”
Jisung fidgeted a little, pushing his food around for moment. “I was thinking about maybe taking law classes. I mean, I don’t know if I would be any good, but I think it would be interesting and it would be a way to really help people. At least if I did it right. I know there are lawyers who are not the best people but-“
“I think that’s a great idea,” Chan interrupted his rambling, the smile taking more of a proud touch to it. Though, Felix saw a glint of something in his eyes that he couldn’t quite place. For now, he ignored it, focusing instead on Jisung, who was still pushing his food around.
It was hard to imagine Jisung, their loud and energetic Jisung to sit around all day in a suit brainstorming over files. And yet, it wasn’t really hard at all.
At Chan’s words a small, timid smile made its way onto Jisung’s face. Then it dimmed a little. “But I would have to move to Busan.”
Felix could feel the smile slowly slip of his face. He hadn’t known Jisung had even applied in Busan. He was happy for Jisung, truly. But it would be the end of their weekly get together. Busan was only two hours away, but it would be the first step to actually parting ways. Not living together and working together had felt like the beginning of that. But it hadn’t been; this would be it.
A bitter pain ran through his chest, a weird mix of happiness and grief.
Perhaps he was being a bit dramatic, he told himself. After all they had done just fine until now. And Jisung would rather move back to Seoul than let the contact between them fade out. Maybe they could do their dinners once a month instead of once a week.
It would be alright.
“I don’t know if this is the right moment,” Seungmin said, pulling Felix from his thoughts. “But I had a job interview last week for this leading position in a really good tech company.”
Felix didn’t like the way Seumgin was looking down on his food instead of at them.
“And I got the position.” This time there was no congratulations, as Seungmin obviously wasn’t done yet. And telling by the silence that followed his words, Felix wasn’t the only one feeling the heavy change in atmosphere.
“It’s located in New York.” If possible, it got even quieter.
“I haven’t even accepted yet,” Seungmin hurried to add. “I mean, I can’t leave Korea right now anyway.” He glanced towards Chan, quickly, but Felix saw it anyway. “But, yeah, it’s a really good job and I want to do it.”
Felix bit his lips, taking a deep breath. This was it then. It really was only a matter of time anyway.
Jisung and Seungmin would leave. Minho disappeared every now and then anyway and if they were allowed to leave Korea again, there would be no telling where he would go.
“That is great, Seungming. You really do deserve a position like that. What does the company do?” Changbin spoke, the first one to actually congratulate Seungmin on his achievement. His voice was carefully neutral though it was clear he tried to put some excitement into it. Excitement that he no doubt felt but it was overshadowed by the looming doom of having the group break up.
A huge smile spread onto Seungmin’s face and that was all that was needed to let Felix know that there was no turning back. Seungmin wanted to do it and who was Felix to stop him.
“They develop softwares to search through the dark web for illegal activity, to help find missing people, stop the sharing of illegal material and find the people behind it. Another department develops equipment for the police and special forces.” His smile turned a bit more playful, a rare sight on Seungmin and a clear sign of just how excited he was for this job. “There’s also a department that just develops phone apps.”
That sounded perfect for Seungmin. It was exactly what Felix had expected Seungmin to do in the future. And apparently, the future was now.
Chan leaned back in his chair the food completely forgotten. “I guess now would be a good time to tell you all why I invited you today.”
Felix’s heart stopped. If Chan moved away, he didn’t think he could take it. He almost didn’t dare breathe as he waited for their former leader to explain.
“I’m going to resign, officially end the contract with the FBI.”
Felix almost didn’t know how to react, simply stared at his Hyung. He himself hadn’t really cared about the contract; he didn’t have a position in the USA waiting for him. At least not anymore. But it still felt weird. It would officially be the end of their time at the FBI, even if it had unofficially ended a year ago.
He wasn’t the only one not sure what to do because Minho was the first to react, a very unusually unsure ‘oh’ leaving him.
Chan just nodded.
“Well, I guess this is really the end then,” Jeongin said.
“Of us working for the FBI, yes,” Chan said, voice strong as if he wanted to make sure they knew that it was only the end of them working for the FBI, not for them.
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was unusual. Felix couldn’t remember a time where there had been absolute silence apart from one time, a time that he didn’t really want to remember.
“This feels weird,” Jisung finally said, picking up his chopsticks again.
There were a few hums in agreement.
“It’s weird to think that we’re never going to go on a mission together. I mean, we knew that, but the possibility was still there and now it will be impossible,” Changbin added.
“Legally.”
Chan narrowed his eyes at Minho, the conversation from just a while obviously not forgotten. “And we’re all going to be good citizens from now on because Jisung will have better things to do than get you out of jail.”
“What if I am the one in jail?” Jisung asked, getting a laugh out of them and an affronted ‘Jisung’ from Chan.
Jisung put his hands up in defence. “I’m just saying.”
Even Chan couldn’t hold back his smile anymore.
Felix watched them continue their playful banter. Yet, there was still a weight pressing onto his chest, making it difficult to breath. There was so much to this that his mind couldn’t catch up. The fact that they were moving away, the fact that they were never going to work together again, and also the knowledge of what their last mission was and how it ended. And the fact that that would now be known as their last ever one.
“What is it, Felix?” Chan’s voice pulled Felix out of his mind. He hadn’t realized that the others had stopped talking to look at him, eyebrows furrowed.
Startled by the sudden attention on him, Felix sat up a bit. Briefly, he thought about lying his way out of the situation, the others didn’t need to be reminded of what he had been thinking about. But they would see right through him.
He let out a long sigh. “I was just thinking about how our last mission ended and, you know, that that will be how we end the era.”
He wasn’t sure if the others understood what he meant to say but as he watched their reactions it was obvious that they did. And that none of them had thought about that; that none of them liked the idea.
“That’s true. It really isn’t a nice ending. Almost as if Taewon managed to break Stray Kids,” Jisung said, voice subdued as he stared into nothingness.
Perhaps he had in a way.
But if all of them shared one trait, it was stubbornness. And that wouldn’t allow them to let them give up like that.
When Chan spoke, he sounded unsure. “Jones has been sending me requests for cases,” he started slowly, intensely watching their reactions. “I turned them all done obviously. But this morning he asked again. We could do one last one.” He worried his lips between his teeth and for a second no one reacted.
Even though Felix had technically been the one to initiate the suggestion, unease spread through him. Maybe it was fear of history repeating itself or maybe it was just the sudden change of direction.
Then Minho nodded, mind made up quickly, just like always. “I like that.”
“As long as it’s over before I start at university, I’m in too.” Jisung was the next to speak, before taking a piece of the meat that had no doubt gone cold now.
“Yes, me too. If it doesn’t interfere with my move to New York.”
One by one they agreed and with every word they spoke, something grew in Felix’s chest that he couldn’t place.
Finally, he felt Chan’s eyes on him. There must have been something on his face that their former leader didn’t like because he hurried to say: “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“No, I want to,” Felix surprised himself with how quickly he said that, as if he was sure of himself. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it wasn’t a hard choice. “I’m in too.”
The bright smile that spread on Chan’s face lifted the weight from his chest, even if just a little, making it easier to breath again.
“It’s settled then. We’re all in.”
______________________________
Jones looked older than Minho remembered him to. Only a year had passed and yet there were significantly more grey hairs in the black mess that was Jones’ hair. If it was from age or stress, Minho couldn’t tell.
The meeting room they were sitting in felt cold, the walls blank and just enough space for all of them to fit. It was no comparison to the one they had in their warehouse and while Minho hadn’t expected it to meet those standards, he had expected more from a meeting room within the FBI headquarters.
A picture lay in the middle of the table. A photograph of a painting that was worth more than what was reasonable.
“The job is quite simple,” Jones said, arms crossed and leaning back in his chair. Fine stress lines adorned his face, but Minho had clearly seen them disappear once they had entered. Perhaps Jones was indeed a bit fond of them. Or at least of their work.
“We need you to recover this painting. It was stolen from the National Gallery last Tuesday. We have the guys on camera but they’re not in any of our databases.”
The big carton box next to Jones was a familiar sight and Minho wasn’t surprised when the agent opened it to grab files. He pushed them towards Chan who immediately flipped it open.
“You know how this works. Good luck.” With that Jones left the room. Minho wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but he would have sworn Jones lingered in the open doorway for a second longer, looking back to them before finally leaving and letting the door fall shut behind him.
Minho had never taken him for the sentimental type.
He grabbed one of the files, surprised with how slim they were. Apparently, there were still a lot of things to be done.
Seungmin’s laptop stood open before him, the USB stick already in. “I’m going to run them through our database.”
The only response he got was a low hum from Chan. Minho himself continued to flip through the file. The painting wasn’t a well known one, but it was expensive. Or maybe it was a known one, Minho wasn’t that deep into the art scene. But he had a decent knowledge and the painter’s name didn’t ring any bells. So, no lead he could come up with there.
Next was a screenshot from the CCTV.
Three guys in total, a fourth one driving the car. One of them had taken off his mask just before entering their escape vehicle. He must have been a new addition. If someone was able to rob the National Art Gallery, they weren’t stupid enough to take off their mask before being in a secure place.
So that guy was their weak link.
Nothing about the guy stood out too much. He seemed about average in height, black curly hair and fairly light skin. Around late twenties, maybe early thirties. Nothing that would help them figure out who the guys were.
The huff that reached him from Seungmin was enough to tell him that there was no luck in the database either.
Minho flipped to the next page. Another screenshot just a second after the last one. This time, however, the guy was looking back, his face perfectly on display and caught by the camera as he pushed his hair out of his face.
What an idiot.
Minho studied the picture for a while, looking for anything of interest when a small black dot on the inside of the man’s right hand caught his eye. Eyebrows furrowed, Minho leaned closer, trying to figure out if it was what he was thinking it was. It could be the tattoo he was thinking of. Or it could be just a dot obscuring the camera lens.
Flipping back to the page before, Minho let out a quiet curse. The picture didn’t catch his right wrist, only his face. And as Minho flipped to the next page, there was no luck either.
There was one more option though.
“Seungmin, show me the video.” Minho got up, for now ignoring the looks he was getting.
The younger stared at him with surprised eyes before turning back to his computer and restarting the video. Minho leaned of his shoulder, getting as close as possible to the display. The quality wasn’t the best, but it would have to serve.
He watched as the men hurried out, as the van screeched to a halt and the door was thrown open. Then he watched as the man made the stupid mistake of turning back and pushing the hair out of his face. For only a few seconds his wrist was exposed. But it was enough for Minho to see that the dot moved with his arm. It wasn’t something on the camera.
Nodding to himself, Minho returned to his seat. When he didn’t immediately speak up, Changbin pushed him, leaning forward in interest of what Minho had found.
“So?”
Minho picked up the pen in front of him, twirling it around as he thought about where to start.
“A couple years ago a friend and I wanted to find a painting that was stolen from him. We hired a guy who found it and sold it back to us. He had the same tattoo the guy has.” He held up the picture in the file, pointing towards the small black dot that definitely wasn’t visible from where the others were sitting. All of them immediately flipped open their own files, looking for what Minho was describing.
“We asked about it and he told us vaguely that it was a symbol for being part of a group. I don’t know what group or what they do but considering he got our art back and these guys stole a painting, I would dare to assume it has something to do with the dealing of expensive paintings.”
Chan’s eyebrows were furrowed in concentration as he stared at the picture, a fine line forming on his forehead. “It could be just a birthmark or something.”
Minho shrugged, because, yes, it could be.
Seungmin was already typing on his laptop again. “Do you remember what those guys were called?”
“Juan. I doubt that was his real name though.”
As Seungmin continued typing, Minho felt eyes on him. When he turned, he was met with Jisung looking at him, almost in wonder. “Sometimes you amaze me, Hyung. One could fill two lifetimes with the things you have already experienced in your twenty-three years.”
Minho just shrugged. Sure, he had done a lot of things but most of them he regretted. Even if they were useful now.
Chan was still intently looking at the picture when Jeongin spoke up: “But if he stole your friend’s painting to give it back to him, why would he steal from the museum? I doubt there is a respectable owner.”
“He probably just steals what he is told to steal.” Felix shrugged.
Minho wasn’t even sure if the guy they had hired actually was the one stealing paintings or if he was just the one selling the stolen goods and had someone else steal it back for them. It hadn’t really mattered. His friend had gotten his picture back.
“Which means that there could possibly already be a buyer,” Changbin continued the conversation with Felix.
“Whose identity probably won’t be easy to find out about.”
Minho listened to them talk.
“We could always just try to offer more money than them.”
“Only if we get into contact with that guy somehow.”
Finally, Minho spoke up: “I still have his numbers. And Juan is indebted to me.”
At that Jisung’s eyebrows shot up. “I thought he got that picture for you and your friend.”
Minho nodded. “Yes, and we paid him for it. And then I helped him not get busted by police for free.”
“Why would you do that?”
A small smirk formed on Minho’s face and he stopped twirling the pen between his fingers. “Would you believe it if I said I did it due to the good nature of my heart?”
Jisung snorted. “Oh, absolutely not.”
Minho only continued to smile, not wanting to go into detail about what happened. It had been more to save himself than because he actually wanted to help. But those things were in the past. The most important part was that Juan had a debt to fulfil.
“I could call him, tell him I know one of his gang members has a picture I’m interested in and to consider us even if he brings it to me.”
It was their best shot for now but as he had done every time when working with his members, he looked towards Chan for his opinion. While the elder was no longer their link to the FBI because of their contracts and therefore also no longer their official leader, they naturally fell back into the dynamic. Everything else would just feel weird.
Chan was still frowning, arms crossed across his chest as he leaned back in his chair. He had fixed Minho with a stern look. “Do you honestly think that guy is important enough in whatever gang he’s part of to be able to make those decisions?”
Minho could only shrug. Honestly, he didn’t know.
His answer clearly didn’t please Chan who grumbled lowly and slowly swung his chair from side to side. “It is an option. Let’s see if we find a different way though.”
Silence settled over them again as they continued to work through their files. There really wasn’t much left to look through though. The FBI hadn’t found out about any names, no reappearing of the painting after it was stolen and no more sightings of the guys that had stolen it.
In short, they had nothing apart from a CCTV shot.
Every now and then Seungmin would let out a huff as yet another search came up with nothing.
After going through the file for a fourth time Minho was sure there was no other way than to call Juan. They had nothing. The guys had been good, which wasn’t surprising. If one of them hadn’t put his wrist on display even having his face wouldn’t have helped them.
No DNA was found, no fingerprints were left, not even marks from the rubber of their shoes. Nothing. Which was close to impossible and quite frankly rather impressive. They clearly were the best of the best. Well, and that other guy.
After another hour of searching, Chan let out a long sigh of defeat.
“I wanted an easy case as our last one and here we are, having absolutely no idea about anything.”
Then, after a short moment of thinking, he dropped his shoulders.
“Alright, Minho. Ask for that favour. It’s our best shot. Honestly, our only one.”
Minho pulled out his phone from the back pocket of his jeans immediately. He tried to ignore the heavy feeling settling over him as he remembered the resemblance to their last case. Right now, he needed to focus.
There were a lot of contacts he hadn’t used in years, and he wasn’t sure if they were even still working. Juan was one of those. It had been a while and the more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed that someone like Juan had indeed changed their number.
All he could do, though, was try.
So, Minho scrolled down until he found the contact and pressed dial.
It rang for a couple moments before the line connected.
“Minho.”
Juan had always had a weird way of speaking. The way he slurred his words together, accentuating his words in a way that was so clearly him. Minho had told him once under the pretence of worry that it was a dead giveaway to his identity.
And now, hearing him speak, it was clear that he had taken Minho’s advice to heart. And yet, Minho still knew that it was him just from that single word alone.
A small smile turned the corners of his lips upwards. They hadn’t parted in a good way but also not necessarily in a bad one. Minho had never wished him bad and after years had passed, Minho had realized that the way things had gone down was mostly due to his fault. So, hearing Juan’s voice brought a small pang of relief that the other was doing fine.
He ignored the shocked faces of his team members at hearing the other man address Minho by his actual name.
“Hello, Juan. How are you doing? How’s Cassandra?”
“I’m good. She’s fine too. Finally got that old hip that had been bothering her for so long replaced a few months ago. Now she’s running ‘round like she’s forty-five again.”
To his own surprise, the chuckle that left him was a real one.
“That is very good to hear. I have been thinking about her recently. Glad to know she’s okay.”
The hum on the other was hard to interpretate but Minho didn’t have to guess before Juan spoke up again.
“So, how are you? Didn’t think I’d hear from you again. Heard you work for the FBI now though.”
Ah, Minho cringed at those words. He didn’t like that; didn’t like that anyone could trace him now to any of the people he was in the past. Especially not to the stupid younger self Juan knew.
“Yeah, well I’m doing quite good. Though the FBI thing is done with. We parted ways last year after a mission gone wrong.”
Again, he felt how shocked his members were that he even went as far as tell him that. Sure, there were no details but considering how secretive he knew he was, he doubted any of them had expected him to be even honest in the slightest.
“Sorry to hear that. So, you’re back in business? That’s why you called?”
He cracked his knuckles, a nervous habit of his. Only after doing it, did he realize that he was indeed nervous. Not about the case but rather about talking to an old friend. He should have amended and fixed things earlier.
“Not exactly. At least not right now. I’ll let you know when the time comes though.”
He pointedly ignored the look Chan gave him.
Through the phone, Juan chuckled. “Sounds great. Wouldn’t be too bad to work together again, would it?”
“Sure wouldn’t.” Minho took a second to just smile to himself. With all the regret he had for his past actions, sometimes he forgot about the good times. The time spent with Juan was, for the most part, one of these good times.
Then, after a moment, he spoke again. “Listen, there is actually a reason that I’m calling. You know that gang you were part of that we spoke about a few times? Are you still in it?”
There was no doubting the wariness that swung with his words when Juan spoke again: “I am. Why?”
Across the table Chan sat up straighter, obviously content with the way things were going, even if he was still looking at Minho like he had never seen him before. As if him having opened up to anyone before them didn’t fit the Minho they knew.
And it really didn’t. But Minho had been stupid. And to be fair, Juan didn’t know much more than his name and his face.
Which was more than most people.
He turned his attention back to the phone, leaning onto his elbows.
“Someone from within it stole a painting that I’m interested in. Do you think it would be possible for you to sell it to me instead of the buyer you have?”
“Do you have that sort of money?”
Minho looked towards Chan at that question. He wasn’t sure under what terms they were working now; if they would get financial support from the FBI. But Chan nodded, so Minho continued.
“Money is not a problem. And do you remember that time when –“
“Yeah sure, I’ll sell it to you,” Juan interrupted without letting Minho even mention the time that indebted Juan to him.
Surprised at how easily he agreed, Minho spluttered for a moment. Then when he spoke again, he stumbled over his words a little, cursing himself for being so stupid.
“Great. I’ll send you a picture and the name and you’ll tell me when I can come get it.”
“Alright, see you soon, Minho.”
After hanging up, Minho continued to stare at his phone. That was weird. No one agreed that easily to hand over an expensive painting especially if they already had a buyer. There was the possibility that they didn’t have one yet, but Minho highly doubted that. You didn’t steal a painting like that if you didn’t have someone to sell it to.
“I want Jeongin with you for protection. Changbin and I will hide somewhere close in case we need to interfere,” Chan said, obviously uneasy with the turn of events as well. Minho nodded, once again trying not to think about how similar all of that was to what happened a year ago.
Juan wouldn’t cheat him. At least that was what Minho had been thinking before he had called. Right now, he wasn’t so sure anymore. _____________________________
Jeongin sat besides Minho with the heavy weight of his gun sitting at his waist. They were waiting in a public park at two in the afternoon. When Minho’s friend or ex college or whatever had texted them the time and place, Jeongin had felt a lot less nervous. There was a lot of a smaller chance of being shot during an exchange if it was done during the day. Surely there were some statistics about that or something.
By Minho’s side stood a black leather suitcase, the model Minho’s friend had specified, filled with more money than a painting should ever be worth.
The bench they were sitting on was right next to a small truck selling crêpes. The smell was tempting and if they weren’t on a mission Jeongin would have bought and eaten one right away. He knew why they were here, right this place, he knew the plan. And yet he felt it was cruel to make them sit through the smell of freshly baked crêpes while waiting.
From what little Minho had told them, he had screwed the other guy over. At least to an extent. Maybe this was his way of getting revenge at Minho.
He looked around a little, trying to see if he could find Chan and Changbin. He had seen Chan run around as a jogger a couple minutes ago. Changbin was dressed in a suit and posing as a businessman.
It was a warm day, the first one of the year, and the sun was shining through the branches hanging over them almost timidly. Buds were starting to bloom slowly, and the first few flowers were baring petals again. Spring was Jeongin’s favourite season. For a moment he closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth as the sun touched his face. Winter was so cold he Jeongin hated it. But it made him appreciate moments like this one even more.
A long sigh left his lips before opening his eyes again. Despite the urge to just enjoy the warmth, they were still on a mission. And even a mission in broad daylight had the potential of going wrong.
A day like this was guaranteed to bring out all sort of people. Especially businessman on their lunchbreak that were used to sitting inside and watching the rain slide down the glass of their windows.
Changbin would blend int perfectly.
Finally, Jeongin noticed a guy with an identical suitcase in the mix of people going about their day in the park. It was a small man, nothing special about him, perfect to blend into the crowd. He strolled down the pathway with a spring in his step.
The guy looked towards the crêpes truck and to his credit actually looked like he was thinking for a moment. Then, he quickly made his way over.
He didn’t spare them a single look as he put down his case right next to where Minho’s stood and went on to order.
Jeongin couldn’t help but watch him out of the corner of his eye. And in doing so, he also noticed that Minho was not. His Hyung continued to read the newspaper opened in front of him without sparing his friend, ex-teammate – whatever - even a single glance.
Even when the guy bend down to pick up the suitcase, Minho’s eyes never strayed from the words in front of him, never made sure that the guy was taking the right suitcase. Jeongin, however, did. Not so much because he didn’t want the guy to leave with their painting again, but because he was somewhat worried, he would just take both suitcases and make a run for it.
But he didn’t.
The guy picked up the suitcase with the money and went on his way without looking at them once.
At that was their exchange.
It was impressive with how seamless it all went down. If only it always worked like that.
After a moment Minho stood, taking the suitcase. Just from the effort it took him to lift it, Jeongin could tell that at least something was in there. He could only hope it really was the painting and they hadn’t been ripped off.
He sat there for another moment, then with a quick glance at his watch, he stood. He hesitated only slightly before going to stand in front of the crêpes truck, a small smile on his lips. Today was almost going too well.
As he waited for his crêpes to be made a small wave of sadness crashed over him, surprising him. This was their last exchange. Their last case. It was officially over. Or would be very soon when they handed the painting over to Jones.
When he finally got his crêpes, he turned, eyes meeting Chan’s from across the path. Their leader was smiling at him, though there was a hint of sadness that Jeongin understood well.
He trotted over to their leader, or ex leader, offering him a bite of his crêpes. The other shook his head though, throwing an arm around his shoulders and pushing him towards the exit of the park.
“Let’s go hand over the painting. I’m sure Jones will be happy with how quickly it all went down.”
Sure, Jones would be. Jeongin wasn’t sure if he himself was though.
The walk to the FBI building wasn’t far, a risky place to do an exchange now that Jeongin thought about it. But then again, things were always going on in plain sight that surely people thought they would notice if they ever thought about them.
They didn’t. They never did.
Even FBI agents missed things.
Through the sadness shone a bit of pride too. They had solved the case within two days; a case the FBI hadn’t had any leads on for almost a week.
Their last ever case.
Now Jeongin only had to figure out what to do with the rest of his life. Everyone else already seemed to have an idea or were certain they would find something, but Jeongin didn’t know. He had no special talent apart from shooting, he didn’t want to go to university but he also wanted to make money in a honest way.
He had always been sure his Hyungs would be there for him forever. And he knew they would come running if he said something that would enlighten even the smallest spark of worry in them. But it would take a lot longer coming over from Busan, let alone America.
“What’s up?” Chan asked just as they entered the FBI building.
Jeongin felt the eyes on them as soon as they walked. He would miss even that, the way the agents would look at them in distain, making it so very clear they didn’t fit in here. And yet, they had a higher solving rate then any of them.
Jeongin shrugged, not sure how to tell Chan or if he even wanted to.
“It’s just weird to think that it’s over now.”
Chan hummed but didn’t answer.
There wasn’t a lot he could say anyway.
The elevator ride to the tenth floor was spent in silence. Next to him, Chan texted Jones, telling him to come meet them in the meeting room they had the briefing yesterday.
When they entered the room, relief washed through him at the sight of a huge painting laying in the middle of the table. Jeongin really didn’t know much about art, but he had to say that it looked nice. Not worth millions of dollars nice but still nice.
“So he didn’t rip us off,” he said more to himself than anything else but Chan obviously heard him if the disappointed look he gave him was anything to go by. Which was hypocritical since Jeongin knew Chan. And Chan didn’t trust other people not to harm them. Whether that be physical or just by tricking them. Especially not some sketchy ex colleges that knew a bit too much about one of their most secretive members.
Chan stepped closer to the table, looking at the painting that was official the last one they would ever be send after.
“It looks pretty good,” Chan said which was pretty much code for exactly what Jeongin had been thinking. Nice.
The door to their meeting room opened with a bit too much force and Jones stumbled in. He opened his mouth as if to speak when his eyes fell onto the painting. Words failed him as he slowly came closer. He reached out a hand as if to touch it but stopped just centimetres away from the paint. In disbelief he turned towards Chan.
“You already found it?”
Chan shrugged, gesturing towards the painting as an answer.
Jones looked at it for a while longer before letting out a long sigh.
“Having you guys leave is probably the biggest loss the FBI will ever have to go through.”
Jeongin’s eyebrows shot up. That was the nicest thing the agent had ever said to them and certainly not something Jeongin had been expecting. None of the others knew how to react either so an awkward silence settled over them.
Even Chan who had his fair share of sentimental moments seemed uncomfortable, a hand coming to rub at the back of his neck.
Finally, Jones caught up to how weird his words were and cleared his throat. “Well,” he started., “you are officially discharged. It was good working with you.”
There he was. The front of a trained agent back up as he straightened and regarded them with a single nod before gesturing to the door. Jeongin didn’t have to be told twice. He loved the mission aspect of working for the FBI but hated the FBI part.
With the rest of them following him, he walked outside.
Even if he hated it hear, there was a weird sense of sadness as he walked through the hallways, knowing it would be the last time.
When he had left after their last mission, he hadn’t known he would resign. And when he came here to resign, he had just wanted to get it over with, not being able to bear being within the walls of the headquarter. Now, though, enough time had passed for his first reaction to not be the instinct to flee. He still wasn’t comfortable, but he still took the time to look around.
And then they stepped outside, and the door closed behind them.
Jeongin looked back towards the rest of his group; all them looking a weird mix between uncomfortable and sad.
Just like that, it was over.
___________________________
The fourth time. It was the fourth time Changbin was over at Chan’s this week.
This time, however, it was accompanied by a weird, almost nostalgic feeling. A celebration of a chapter closing. A new one opening. While Changbin never really cared for sentiments like that, he couldn’t help the weird tingle behind his eyes as he watched Chan pour seven glasses of champagne. The eighth one staying empty but always being there.
Music played through the way too expensive speakers that Chan had sitting beside his TV. A strong and upbeat beat that promised to create a great mood. With the lights dimmed and all of his favourite people in one place, Changbin couldn’t help but feel a mix of delight and deep sadness.
He took the champagne glass from Chan, waited until everyone had their own and then Chan said: “To new, exciting things” which was probably the worst toast ever spoken, and they clinked their glasses.
Changbin took a long sip from his glass. The champagne tasted expensive, a stark contrast to the 2000 won one he bought at gas stations from time to time that were probably an insult to even call champagne.
They split into small groups and Changbin went straight for the row of snacks aligned on the dinner table. As he threw a small salty pretzel into his mouth Minho came up beside him, taking a hand full of the choco drops.
“So, do you know what you’re going to do?” He asked Minho. Most of them had some sort of idea and he was curious.
The other chuckled between the choco drops he had stuffed into his mouth.
“I have absolutely no clue.”
“You could pick up dancing again,” said Chan, appearing seemingly out of thin air on Changbin’s other side.
Minho chocked, coughing and bending forwards. With a small laugh, Chan hit his back to help. But Changbin was still stuck on what Chan had said.
“You dance?” That felt like something Changbin should know after so many years of living and working together.
“Well, not anymore.” Minho said, wiping away a few tears that had escaped during his coughing fit. “I haven’t in a really long time.” Then he glared at Chan. If looks could kill, Minho’s would be at the top of that list. “And I regret ever telling you about it.”
Chan shrugged innocently, taking a sip from his glass that was concerningly empty with how little time had passed. “You said you really enjoyed it. Maybe you should pick it up again. That would be a lot safer and more legal than other options.”
Chan had told Changbin that he worried the most about Minho. Changbin understood why. Minho was unpredictable at times and a great actor on top of that. It was hard knowing what was going on inside his head. With how everything was going, Changbin didn’t expect Minho to stay on the right side of the law for long. Something Changbin knew Chan wanted desperately for him.
Changbin did too which is why he didn’t hesitate to jump in.
“A friend of mine works in this dance school on the other side of town. It’s quite small but they’re always looking for teachers and it would be a first step into the industry.”
Minho still looked at him, vary eyes scanning Changbin as if afraid he was messing with him.
Changbin pulled out his phone when Minho didn’t say anything. “I can give you his number and then you can decide whether you want to contact him or not.” When Minho still didn’t react, Changbin pulled out his phone for him and unlocked it. Minho watched him do it but didn’t stop him when he created a new contact and typed in his friend’s number.
He handed the phone back and Minho put it back into his pocket. He didn’t immediately delete the number which Changbin took as a win. When he looked over to Chan, he saw the older smiling, clearly pleased with the development. Then he turned towards Changbin.
“What about you? Do you have any plans?”
Changbin took another sip from his glass. Even if only to stall. He did have plans. But he wasn’t sure if he wanted to share them. The others wouldn’t judge him, he knew that. But it was still something he hadn’t mentioned to them before.
Clearing his throat, he said: “I was thinking about trying out producing. You know, music. I used to do it a lot when I was younger but kind of lost touch with it.”
Chan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and he took a step back. A huge smile spread on his face.
“No way. You produce? I do too. And so does Jisung.” His eyes scanned the room for the others but when he couldn’t find him, he turned his attention back onto Changbin who was in disbelief himself. Years of living together and he had no idea the other two were into producing as well.
“For real?”
Chan nodded; the glass held in his hand swinging dangerously with the movement.
“Yeah. Weird that it has never come up.” He chuckled. “We should do something together. The three of us. Well, as long as Jisung can fit it into his schedule with university and all.”
The idea was amazing, the smile that came onto Changbin’s face was completely involuntary. The thought of making music with two of his best friends topped everything he had thought of himself.
Just as he was about to answer, Chan’s phone began ringing. The other pulled it out of his pocket and Changbin had just enough time to see Jones’ name flash on the screen before Chan was putting down his glass and excused himself.
Changbin watched him leave, confused.
“That was weird,” he said, addressing Minho who had picked up another handful of choco drops. The other nodded, having stopped his hand mid air when Chan’s phone had started ringing.
For a second, they stood there, before Minho shrugged and put the chocolate into his mouth. “If it’s important, he’s going to tell us.”
Which was true but Changbin still couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. There was no reason for Jones to call Chan. The contract had officially ended.
For a while he kept sipping on his champagne, then the second glass when Jisung stumbled into him, the bottle ready in hand and refilled it.
After a while, he had forgotten about the weird phone call. That was until Chan pushed open the door so hastily the handle hit the wall. He turned on the light, making Changbin squint under the sudden light, and turned of the music.
All the chatter immediately died when Chan sat down at the table. Almost as if on instinct, they all settled around the table. Chan ran a stressed hand over his face, holding the phone in the middle of the table.
“Alright, Jones, they’re listening. Now tell me, what is it?”
Jones voice was stressed when he spoke. Jones was always stressed but rarely did he sound like he did when he spoke now; as if the worst possible scenario had happened and he didn’t know how to fix it yet.
“The painting you recovered was a forgery. It is not the real thing.”