Archive of Our Own ^beta

“I should pull this trigger right now”, Minho mumbles, forefinger pressing against the cold metal underneath his finger. One small movement, that’s all it would take.
“You should. You’ve got this far, after all”, Chan grins, pressing his forehead harder against the cold muzzle of the gun. Got this far. Minho has got this far so many times he has lost count. And yet.

Chan holding his hand. Chan kissing the crown of his head. Chan’s lips on his own. Chan’s hands roaming-

Minho pulls back violently and hisses, doubling over as in pain just as Chan lunges for his leg, kicking him out of balance. Minho can feel the gun slip from his grip and clatter against the cemented floor of the warehouse, he falls to his knees, pain flaring up his leg. Then, in seconds, there is a gloved hand lifting his jaw, forcing him to look up.

And there he is. On his feet, with a grin tugging the corner of his mouth, the rope Minho tied around his fists long gone. Fucking Houdini. Chan doesn’t have a gun with him, that’s why it all has been so easy today.
“But you won’t”, Chan lets out a mocking laugh. You won’t, you can’t, because something is there to stop you, something inside of you that absolutely refuses to pull the trigger. So Minho won’t. He won’t pull the trigger, not today either. But neither will Chan.

“See you around, Minho”, Chan mutters, pushing Minho to the ground. Minho’s palms hit the concrete, he watches the dust set as Chan’s steps lead him away from Minho. Minho doesn’t lift his gaze, doesn’t take the gun and shoot Chan right at the back of his head, and they both know that. It’s not Minho’s style.

And he simply can’t seem to pull the trigger when it comes to Christopher Bang.

***

It’s a weakness. That’s what they say at the Office. A weakness one develops when chasing after one specific target for a long time. It’s something of an obsession, something that will eventually catch Minho by his throat and make him pay. He’s not the only one who’s been assigned mister Christopher Bang and his little gang of thieves, oh no. Half of the organization is after him, yet Minho is the only one who’s managed to get close enough. Close enough to pull the trigger. And then he hasn’t.

Minho groans, the hot water nearly burns against his skin as he tries to scrub the embarrassment of tonight off of him. He’s frustrated, he’s angry, and he hates Bang Chan’s guts. He should be dancing on his grave right now, not pondering whether he’s able to pull the trigger next time. Or maybe he should just knife him.

Christopher Bang is many things, you see. An asshole. A thief. A murderer. Minho is all of those things and more, but that’s beside the point. Chan needs to be rid of, he’s stolen from the Office, stolen from the organization that created him and then he betrayed it, and now he needs to be put out of his misery. Or perhaps killing Bang Chan would technically be putting Minho out of his misery, since Chan is the one causing it all.

Minho sighs, rubs his forehead, rinses his hair and hopes no conditioner will get into eyes. Then he turns the shower off and steps out of the glass box before drying himself on a towel. His leg is still a little sore, otherwise he’s unharmed. He glances at himself from the mirror above the sink; the wound on his left bicep is healing well. From a knife, by that one long-haired sad excuse of an assassin that works for Chan. The memory makes Minho’s blood boil, he had been ambushed on his way to the Office. Oh well, the other guy had left that battle a little more bruised and bloodied than Minho had. Still alive, though. At least from what Minho has gathered from the streets.

It's three in the morning as Minho changes to an old t-shirt and some shorts. He knows he won’t be sleeping yet, his head is spinning with one too many things. Chan, mainly. The mission he has for the next week, that has nothing to do with Chan. The fact that the new cat tree order he did last week should be at the nearby post office by tomorrow. Minho’s phone buzzes on the nightstand, it’s Jeongin. He has some dash cam footage Minho might be interested in, so Minho tells Jeongin to send it to him. His little hacker, his little infiltrator. Cop by day, criminal by night. And he’s good, Minho knows he won’t get caught, not in many months to come, not unless he fucks up big time. He has a talent to wrap people around his pinky, make them blind to things he doesn’t want them to see.  

Soonie is snoring on Minho’s bed, Doongie and Dori are curled up together on the sofa which is piled with discarded clothes. But Minho can’t sleep, so he goes to the kitchen, pours himself a glass of water and makes his way over to his working space. Office. Whatever the hell it is, a small room he’s packed with everything he needs to work on his cases.

The neon lights from the busy street below his feet stream in from the windows, lighting the room in shades of pink and blue. There’s a desk, a drawer, a chair and a bookcase. There’s also a giant map of the city on the wall along with pictures, news articles, printed papers and red marker drawings on it. And in the middle of it all, a blurry picture of Christopher Bang. Minho doesn’t need a better one, he can recognize the curly hair and sad eyes in a crowd immediately, even better if Chan is grinning. That signature grin of his is basically carved into Minho’s mind at this point, he knows he’ll never forget it. In the picture Chan is drinking a latte in a café near the city center, trying to keep up his perfect picture of a wealthy businessman. But he’s a thief. The leather gloves hide the bone tattoos on his hands, the black suit hides the scar left by a bullet years ago. He’s not looking into the camera, he’s looking out of the window. Minho has taken the photo roughly a year ago.

The symptoms had started a year ago, too. Right after Minho was assigned to kill Chan. Minho doesn’t know what else to call them except symptoms. First, they were just… feelings. Emotions. They were odd sensations that something wasn’t right. That something… something was very wrong whenever Minho stared at a picture of Christopher Bang from the newspaper. Then, one time when Minho had Chan at gunpoint at this one parking lot, hidden away behind a car, it hit him for the first time. It wasn’t a real memory, no, because Minho knows he’s never experienced it, nor the ones that have come after it. It’s not a flashback, either. It’s just… something. A feeling. Somewhat of a fleeting memory, a sensation, and after that sensation Minho just knew he now knows how Christopher Bang’s lips feel on the skin of his shoulder.

After that, the symptoms had got… worse. Tonight’s had been the worst one during the entire time. Not once have the sensations hit as strongly when Minho has been so close to Chan, but now they did, blindsiding him completely. Minho doesn’t understand them. He doesn’t know why they hit him. He has never, ever imagined Christopher Bang being anywhere near him, except when he’d have his brain splattered on the pavement at Minho’s feet. Minho hates him. Loathes him. A shudder runs down his spine and in a fit he draws his knife from one of the crevices of the table and throws it at the picture on the wall. It lands just above Chan.

Just above him. Just above his head.

Minho is so fucking sick of this. He’s so fucking sick of chasing after Christopher Bang. He’s so fucking sick of him. And what did he do? All of the things!

Minho and Chan, they go, well, beyond this stupid assassination thing. Chan used to be part of the Office, used to be one of them, and then he… wasn’t. Isn’t. He left. The hatred, it has been there way before, Minho and Chan used to be at each other’s throats all the time for god knows what kind of stupid reasons. They just didn’t match. They don’t match. Their personalities don’t go together, Chan is way too… not good for an assassin, and Minho is cold and all hard edges and has the moral compass of a weathervane (at least, that’s how he tries to appear to the outsiders).

Minho can remember the old days, that one time they were assigned to a mission together just to get them to work together better and the whole thing had failed and Minho had been so incredibly angry and Bang Chan had dared to just grin at him as an apology and it had pissed Minho off so bad he had nearly decked him right in the face. He should have decked him in the face, he would have deserved that.

There is just something about Christopher Bang that gets under Minho’s skin so fucking bad, had been already back then, is now, too. Then there’s the whole betraying the Office -scheme, in which Chan had revealed to the police where their organization was then situated at and what they did, then proceeded to steal half of their money and announce his withdrawal and something something killing people for money not being right. As if the man isn’t stealing and thefting left and right and simply assigning the murdering to someone else. He’s not the saint he thinks he is, not at all.

The Office isn’t perfect, there are certain tensions and secrets in it that shouldn’t be, Minho has thought many times about just retiring already or something, but he knows it’s not really an option as those who ‘retire’ very often suddenly disappear from the face of the earth unless they’re very old and sworn their life to the organization and all that. Minho is loyal, sure, he wouldn’t pull something like Bang Chan did just to get out. However, Minho has to admit it, Chan had managed to catch all the best bits from his training during the years in the Office and keep them in order to not get caught by anyone. Except Minho. Who is unable to pull the trigger. Which is infuriating.

So, Minho has a billion reasons to loathe Bang Chan to his very core, above all him being prone to unloyalty and his annoying face. And all that façade of riches and business. He’s annoying. Point blank period. The organization wants him dead for a good reason, the rich want him dead for a good reason, the underworld wants him dead for various different reasons. So, Minho does, too.

At least he thinks so.

***

“You saw the footage, right?” Felix asks Minho as he walks into the Office. The Office is, well, code for the headquarters of the organization, an organization solely with the purpose of killing people that get into other people’s way. It pays well, Minho is good at it. And the whole city is rigged from the inside out, anyway, who gives a shit anymore. Minho sleeps his nights well and guiltless.
"I did”, Minho mutters his answer. Footage showing one of Chan’s right-hand-men, Seo Changbin at the harbor with a stranger, waiting for a ship to arrive. Ship containing what? Minho doesn’t know, and that bothers him. He’s going to have to find out, he knows most of Chan’s warehouses and what he keeps in them, he knows where he spends time, the clubs he goes to, or well, owns behind a fake identity, the hotels he owns, he’s up in his business better than anyone else. And still, there’s more to discover. Minho doesn’t know his home address. He doesn’t know what’s his relationship with Han Jisung, who seems to spend a lot of time at his clubs.

“What do you think?” Felix asks again. He tries to tuck the blonde curl on his forehead behind his ear. It never works. Minho shrugs:
“He’s preparing.”
“For what?”
Minho shrugs again.
“You should be the one to know that”, Felix scolds him, half-heartedly. Minho rolls his eyes at him.
“Who knows who he’s going to rob next? Some miserably rich old man, he’s prone to that Robin Hood-type of garbage. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’d start throwing money down the central square next week.”

But ‘who cares’ is a bold statement and a lie, because Minho cares. And he’s already going through the list of possible victims in his head. He doesn’t care about the ones being robbed, not really, he knows those people don’t deserve the money. But they’re also the source of his own income, they’re leeches and so is Minho, leeching off their fear of losing it all.

“The boss wants to see you, by the way. And she wants the report from last night”, Felix hands Minho a few papers, he’s done some research for the next week’s target. Some reporter who’s being too nosy and bothering someone. Minho doesn’t care. He doesn’t get acquainted with his targets, doesn’t want to know too much of them apart from their routine and where and when it’s best to hit. Which, well, routines say a lot about a person. Which is why Minho still doesn’t know enough of Bang Chan, because he doesn’t know his routine perfectly, because he doesn’t know where he lives.

“Of course she does”, Minho mumbles. He doesn’t have the report, he knows he’ll be scolded, but that’s it. He has the boss wrapped around his pinky, because she doesn’t have anyone better than Minho to do the job. He’s the best in the whole office, and they all know it.

He gets scolded, then he gets praised for his work, and then Minho is out. That’s how it always goes. Seungmin hands him more papers, tells him he should be training the younger ones and Minho graciously tells another coworker to train them for him. He can come watch over their little training camp, however, fix the mistakes he sees. Minho is not the teacher type, not at all, he says he has his hands too full right now, Which isn’t exactly true, his hands are mostly empty. His head, however, isn’t.

It's occupied by Bang Chan.

Minho sits down on the creaky stool at the edge of the training ground. Cage. Whatever it is. Their office is a warehouse that looks abandoned to the outside eye, but inside it’s buzzing with life. It’s divided into smaller spaces, the warehouse next to them is neater, the one where decisions are made, the actual offices. The training warehouse is not neat, there’s blood on the cement that has been forgotten to clean up, the place is all rusty and musty and way too dark since no one has bothered to fix the lamps. But nobody cares, because you’re not here to care. You’re here to learn to kill. Just like Minho had been years and years ago.

Instead of watching the kids fight each other, Minho stares eyes glassy somewhere ahead of him. Why is Christopher Bang in his head? Why the hell had that thing happened yesterday, where had it come from? The worst thing is that Minho doesn’t really see the memory, the sensation. He feels it. He knows it. He knows that Bang Chan is ghosting his lips over his own. Yet at the same time, it’s not really Bang Chan. It's… someone else. But it’s Bang Chan. And the memory, the image, the feeling is so vivid that Minho can still recall it, the feather-like touch on his hips, the hair tickling lightly his neck. Why. Why? Why is it in his head, clouding his mind, making him fail over and over again? Why is the sensation so strong? Why is it there?!

Minho can feel himself get angry again. He doesn’t understand it. He hasn’t- fuck. The fuck is wrong with him? Why is he vividly daydreaming about kissing Bang Chan of all people? Hell, he’d understand daydreams about Felix, he’s pretty as fuck and straight as a boiled spaghetti and very good company on top of it all, but Christopher Bang? The one Minho has attempted to kill at least four times now, and who in turn has attempted to kill Minho without ever doing so?

Minho can still remember the first time. It happened at one of those clubs Chan owns, Minho managed to get himself in and lure Bang Chan into his trap which included batting his eyelashes prettily and wearing clothing that made it very difficult to cover his guns in. Minho had sat on his lap, and three seconds later pressed a muzzle to Chan’s chest, hidden away from anyone else and told him not to yell for the security. Chan had looked surprised, it had overjoyed Minho, and then Chan had requested to take it to somewhere more private. Minho hadn’t agreed, but…

He just hadn’t been able to pull the trigger. Not when those sad, sorry puppy eyes had been staring at him, looking so… odd. Like they knew something. Something that Minho didn’t know. Something that he still doesn’t know.

The sensations hit right after that, right after Chan yelled for the security and Minho was thrown out of the club. The sensations that he knew Chan, that he knows Chan beyond… everything, that’s where they hit, at the back alley of the club as Minho’s knees scraped against the asphalt. Not know him by his name or as a person, but that he knows him with intuition. That he could pick him out of a faceless crowd easily. That he could meet him for the first time without ever having seen him from a picture, and he’d still recognize him. That kind of knowing. And Minho doesn’t understand it. He doesn’t. Which makes him want to kill Christopher Bang ever more.

Which sends another spark down his spine, makes him close his eyes and breathe sharply as a fleeting memory passes through his mind. It’s warm, there’s sunlight on his skin, he’s in an embrace, he can hear the sea. He knows who that embrace belongs to, he doesn’t need to see it himself. He knows the arms around him, knows them by heart. And then the memory passes and Minho is at the training hall again, and a few trainees look at him a bit oddly. Minho’s hands are shaking, he very soon realizes, clears his throat and stands up. He needs to get out.
“Sorry, long night, last one, I’ll get going”, he mumbles and receives an approving nod. He needs to get out. He needs some fresh air to clear his head.

***

“I’m going insane”, Minho blurts out. Felix eyes him curiously, the pint in front of him is half-empty. So is Minho’s.
“Give me something new”, Felix lets out a laugh. 
“He’s in my mind. All the time.”
“Who?”
“You know who.”
Felix snorts. “Well, doesn’t he own this bar, too? No wonder he’s in your mind.”
“No, I mean like…” Minho chews his lip. This is a bad idea. It’s bad idea to tell Felix, he could say something, he could tell the boss he’s going off his rocker and they make him change to a desk job or just kill him.

Except Felix won’t do that, unless Minho is a threat to Felix or himself. Felix doesn’t care for the organization, he’s in because his mother used to be in it, he’s inherited her sins.
“I keep. Having these. Emotions.”
“Regretting your career choice?”
“Shut up, it was never a choice, they killed my sister. No. About him.”
Felix doesn’t understand it, Minho doesn’t expect him to.
“You’re having feelings about Bang Chan?” Felix asks, one eyebrow slightly raised. Minho is glad the dim lighting of the bar covers the red of his ears.
“Not feelings. Fleeting moments.”
“Of?”
“I don’t know, alright!” Minho groans. This feels weird. Minho doesn’t talk about… himself, not even to Felix, who has been on his side for most of his life. “They’re just… memories, but they’re not mine.”
“Of what?”
“Him!”

Felix takes a long drink out of his beer and measures Minho up and down. Minho feels like hiding, like pulling the hood of his hoodie up and escaping the situation.
“What the fuck”, Felix mumbles after a long while. Minho feels miserable. He stares at the scratched, stained surface of the table while tapping a rhythm against his glass with his fingers.
“Tell me about it”, he quietly mumbles.

“You need to get out” is not the response Minho is waiting for. He raises his eyebrow at Felix.
“You need to give up the task. It’s been what, a year? And you’re hallucinating about him or some shit. You’re obsessed. You need to focus on something else.”
“But I can’t, boss won’t let me-“
“Yes, she will. You know it damn well. Take a break, at least. Share what you know with Seungmin and he’ll assign a new one for the task.”

But for some reason, Minho doesn’t want that.

***

“I need a break.”
“For what.”
“For… a break.”
“Minho, you are one of our best-“
“I know. I need a break. For research.”
“For research?”
“I need mister Bang dead, just like your client. And I need more time. Or something. Assign someone else my cases.”
“Fine. Take as long as you need.”

***

Minho doesn’t share what he already knows about Christopher Bang, oh no. But he attempts to take a break, just as Felix suggested (or rather, forced with his constant nagging about a break). Minho lets sunlight soak into his skin as he sits at his very own balcony with a cat lazing by his feet. He’s reading a book that he actually very much enjoys, there’s a somewhat already-cold coffee on the glass table next to him. It’s cozy. It’s nice. Minho likes his balcony, the sun warms it nicely, it gives him a brief moment of normalcy. As if anything in this city is normal.

But his attempts to relax fall futile. He is not relaxing, there’s a certain someone in his mind. And not in a good way. After the coffee really has turned not-cold-but-not-hot-either, Minho sighs and puts his book down. His cat yawns and stretches himself, clearly content in the sunlight. Minho can’t focus. He can’t focus on anything. For the past few days he’s been trying to focus on absolutely anything that isn’t his mission or his job, and he’s failing very badly.

He's bored. Out of his mind bored. He isn’t enjoying the quiet comfort of his house, neither that of the coffee house’s downstairs. Sure, his cats are great company, and keep him entertained, but there’s just… he’s bored. Because he isn’t chasing anyone. Because he isn’t currently trying to figure out Bang Chan and his doings.

It’s a slow realization. It’s somewhat of a weird realization – Minho enjoys the chase. He enjoys the cat and mouse-game that is most likely going to be everlasting, because neither of them ever pulls the trigger. Minho doesn’t do that because he simply can not do so, like there’s some entity stopping him from doing so, and Christopher Bang is way too much of a gentleman for that, it’s not his style, it’s his assassin’s style.

Minho enjoys the chase, and now that he’s not chasing, he’s bored. He hasn’t even really realized it: the past year he has spent nearly every day digging up anything about Bang Chan, asking around, getting acquainted with new people, everything just to get to him. And he’s got to him. In fact, he could probably march into one of his warehouses, point a gun to a worker’s head and ask for their boss and would eventually get Bang Chan’s attention, but he doesn’t want to do that. It’s not his style, it's not the Office’s style. It needs to be sneaky, leave no witnesses (unlike the very first time Minho attempted to kill Bang Chan, but hey, perhaps Minho is the one for the dramatics even if the Office disapproves).

So Minho sits up, awakening his cat from his nap as he storms back inside of his house. Fine. Since he can’t relax, he might just well continue the chase. It’s not like he has anything else to do with his life.

***

Except to go to museums.

Okay, Minho has to admit it, while he may have been trained to be a heartless killing machine with non-existent morals, he still is, well, somewhat of a human. Okay, he is. He has feelings. He has emotions and he has cravings and wants and don’t-wants. He has things he adores, like his cats. And museums.

Minho loves museums, especially those smaller ones that don’t attract tourists like the huge scientific ones or those at the city centers. Minho likes the atmosphere, the different kind of quiet. It’s an examining quiet. It’s a quiet where people discover things. It’s a hushed quiet; you’re supposed to be quiet to let other people enjoy the art as well, but sometimes those hushed whispers turn to exhilarated yells as you get too excited about the beautiful discoveries of art. This, to Minho, is closest to comfort he’ll probably ever find. He likes discovering things. He could sit down on a sofa and stare at a painting for several hours, deep in thought. It’s sort of a hobby to him, he guesses, a hobby that no one else needs to know about.

Which is why he’s dressed in all black, cap covering his head along with a hood. No one needs to know he’s here, at a small art exhibition at one of the side streets of the city’s center. Well, it’s not small, it’s medium-sized. A few rooms full of paintings from the nineteenth century, presumably. They’re beautiful paintings. Realistic, yet not too much, with vibrant colors. The walls, apart from the paintings, are creamy white, the floor a soft wooden tone. Minho’s steps sound hollow against it, yet quiet. He’s not alone at the exhibition, there are a few people there, lounging around, gazing at the art, some deep in thought, some not.

Minho is unrecognizable; he blends into the crowd, even when it is not a crowd. It’s a trait he has learned during the years, he knows how to avoid attention, how to act to be as unmemorable as possible. None of the people in the museum will remember that he has visited the place, only the security cameras will know that, and even to them Minho will seem as insignificant as possible. Minho wants it that way, he likes it that way. It’s the only way that brings him his peace.

Minho has his hands in his pockets as he slowly makes his way through one of the rooms filled with art. He’s done with that specific room, he’s stared at the sculptures and paintings enough, and almost excitedly skips to the next room (you can’t really see the excitement in his slow steps, to an outsider’s eye, he seems almost indifferent to all the pretty art around him).

More paintings, this time the theme is lovers. The most ancient thing that has been pictured through the history of mankind. Love. Perhaps not Minho’s favorite theme for art, but he does appreciate the beauty. He appreciates the emotion he knows he’ll never be able to convey himself, he’s too beyond repair for that.

A specific painting catches Minho’s eye. Of course it does, it’s meant to do so. It’s a big one, alone at the back wall, there are a few people examining it a polite two meters away from the safety rail in front of the painting. The painting is beautiful, it’s from two centuries away. The colors of the painting are very vivid, Minho can clearly see the brushstrokes as has clearly been the painter’s intention. The painting is about a couple in a wisteria garden, one of the painter’s subjects is holding the other one by their waist. Two men, Minho assumes. How delightful.

And then, the painting suddenly starts haunting Minho. He takes a step back, then another to see it properly, to see the people pictured better. The face staring right at him from the painting, it’s familiar. Eerily familiar. Not the same, no, just… there’s something to it, to the full cupid’s bow, the sculpted jaw, the cheekbones, the gentle, yet piercing eyes, the-

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Minho’s blood turns ice in his veins. Perhaps, for a brief, incredibly stupid second he thinks the painting just spoke to him, until he realizes the presence next to him, a careful arm’s stance away. Minho breathes in sharply, keeps his eyes at the painting, pondering whether he should just ignore and walk away, or-

“I really like the atmosphere of this one. The painter has really captured the love, don’t you think?”
Minho swallows thickly. Suddenly he’s very aware of the weight of his knife in his breast pocket, the weight of his handgun behind his back. The gun would be a faster choice, Minho makes a small, quick movement for it, and then
“We are in a public space, Minho. The cameras are on and you are not wearing a mask.”
“What the hell are you doing here?” Minho hisses through his teeth, wishes the side-eye he gives Christopher Bang is enough to burn. Chan has the audacity to shrug, glance at Minho and then turn back to the painting.
“I’m here to see the art. Isn’t that what you usually do at art exhibitions?”

Chan looks very… relaxed. He, too, is hiding underneath a black cap and a leather jacket. Minho can see the way the other pocket looks heavy, he knows Chan’s gun is there, the other one is behind his back, just like Minho’s. He’s alone, which is why he has his guns with him.
“You? At a museum on your own volition? Give me a break”, Minho scoffs.
“What? I’m banned from the Central Museum, it’s not like I have many choices if I want to relax on a pretty Saturday and admire some of the finest art of modern history.” ‘Finest art of modern history’ is perhaps a bit of an overstatement, but Minho knows Chan doesn’t understand art like Minho does, so he says nothing. Although, perhaps he indeed does understand art, since he’s stolen a few artefacts from the Central Museum and got caught on cameras like the dumbass he is.

“And how come you end up at the exact same exhibition at the exact same time as me, I wonder?” Minho feels like boiling over. Has Christopher Bang been tailing him? Has he been stalking Minho? Why is he here right now? And how dare he approach Minho in the first place?!
“Coincidence”, Chan, again, has the audacity to smile at him. Minho snorts, like hell it’s coincidence.
“I’m serious. Although I have been quite missing you. It hasn’t been the same without having your gun pointed at my back for the past week.”

Week. That’s how long Minho has been on a break. Why does Chan know he’s on a break?
“Who’s your informant?”
“Why would I tell you? I don’t want you strangling them to death.”
Minho is going through a list of possible people through his mind. Who’s been ratting him out?
“Oh, how could I possibly do such horrible things like that?” Minho laces his voice with honey which him and Chan both know to be fake.
“How long are we going to pretend to stare at this painting and talk about it? I think I have seen enough of it already, we’re looking suspicious just standing here.”
“You don’t know how to appreciate art, nor how to analyze it deeply, it takes time. Why are you here, Christopher?”
“I love it when you call me by my real name. But seriously, Minho, we’re getting odd looks from the security.”
Minho rolls his eyes as he takes a few side steps before turning his back to Chan. There are more paintings in the room to look at, and a certain unwanted presence has ruined Minho’s entire day by now, and he doesn’t even know that the reason why they’re getting odd looks isn’t the fact that they’re standing in front of one painting for too long, but because Chan looks like a carbon copy of the guy in the painting. It makes Minho’s skin crawl. He doesn’t think Chan himself has realized it.

“Ah. Yet another beautiful painting”, Chan comments, he’s standing way too close to Minho as the painting is a small one. He’s correct, though, it is a beautiful painting. A landscape, of the same wisteria garden, Minho presumes, just this time without the couple and from a different angle.
“Why are you tailing after me? Can’t you let me have my peace?” Minho half-whispers again in order to not let the other people hear what they’re talking about.
“Is it my fault that you and I happened to be in the same place at the same time?” Chan’s voice is calm, almost teasing. Minho loathes it to his very core.
“Yes. This city is big enough for it to be your fault.”
“Yet not seemingly big enough for both of us. I swear I am not lying, I didn’t know you’d be here, although I did know you enjoy museums.”
“And how the hell do you know that?” Minho hisses again, and perhaps there’s a spark of fear in the back of his head. Chan knows things. Chan knows too many things. What else does he know? What other things does he know about Minho?
“Little birds”, Chan laughs, and someone standing by wouldn’t know Chan means his informant and now the painting about the little birds. Who’s a little bird? Minho needs to find out!

Chan’s shoulder bumps against Minho’s as they stop in front of the bird painting. They’re too close to each other. Minho feels like he can’t breathe, he’s going through all the possible escape routes in his mind if he’d decide to pull out his gun right now and shoot Chan point blank. But he doesn’t do that. Because there’s a certain electric zing going through him the second their shoulders meet, and it freezes him to his place. He’s almost anticipating a flash to go through his mind, but it doesn’t happen.
“How have you been, Minho? Has the break been treating you well?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“C’mon, now. I’m just trying to be nice.”
“Why?”
“Because? Do I need a reason for that?”

Minho scoffs. Chan isn’t nice. He isn’t nice without a reason, and Minho can only fathom what his is for all of this ‘niceness’ today.
“Walk with me, will you? It’s nicer to experience museums with someone else.”

It’s not like Minho has any other choice. Chan keeps following Minho as he steps from one painting to another, then to look at the sculpture in the corner. He makes comments that make Minho’s eyes roll, he truly doesn’t have the eye for the fine arts, that’s for sure.

“Love the details here. And the colors.”
“Shut up, will you?” Or don’t, actually, because there’s a slight stir in Minho, the one that calls for his attention. This is his job. This is a perfect opportunity, to learn more, to perhaps inquire a little bit. The unfortunate thing is that Chan is sure to understand what Minho’s goal is, if he is to ask him directly… certain questions. So he shuts up, he doesn’t respond to Chan’s comments, he’s studying him instead of the paintings.

The other unfortunate thing is that Chan looks extremely relaxed. He looks like he’s actually enjoying himself. He doesn’t have his gloves on, Minho can see the tatted skeleton hand on his right hand as he takes his phone briefly out of his pocket to check the time. So he’s in a hurry, or he’s waiting for something since he’s keeping track of the time. Or perhaps he’s waiting for an answer. Whatever it is, he’s waiting, yet still calm. Very calm.

And yet another unfortunate thing is that while Chan looks very relaxed, he also looks very. Handsome. The word tastes almost bitter on Minho’s tongue. Sure, he’s always acknowledged that part of the charm Chan has around him is the result of his fine looks on top of everything else. But he looks. Well. Good out of his stupid business suit Minho usually sees him in. Relaxed shoulders, his hoodie a tad too big. He looks normal. And the tattoos peeking out of the collar make it all so much worse. Or better. Minho isn’t sure.

“I feel like you’re watching me more than the paintings, Minho. I don’t think you’re giving enough justice to the artist.”
“You look like you’re in a hurry”, Minho bites back, even though he can feel the back of his neck tingling. Chan arches a perfect brow at him, that signature quirk of the corner of his lips appearing again.
“Not necessarily. Just waiting for a friend. Jisung, I bet you know of him. Me, him and Changbin decided to meet up and have a little dinner at this cozy place along the riverbank. You want to join us?”
“No thank you, Christopher. I don’t think your company would appreciate my company.”
“Ah, no, they’d love to get to know you! I’ve been telling about you to them. They know you’ve had me at gunpoint several times now.”
So they know Minho hasn’t been able to pull the trigger. How fun! Minho loves it when his enemies know about his weaknesses! So much!

“Incredible”, Minho mumbles. They only have one room left, and Minho has barely gathered anything except that Han Jisung is apparently a friend of Chan’s, that’s what he’s been wondering for quite some time lately. Oh well. It’s better than nothing, he guesses.

“Minho?”
“Hm?”
“Can you stop analyzing me for a brief moment and pretend we are simply some old acquaintances?”
What?
“I don’t think I can”, Minho lets out a chuckle.
“Shame. I would have offered you something if you could have.”
“And what could you possibly offer me that I don’t already have?” Minho scoffs, perhaps a tad too loud for the quiet museum.
“A job.”
It takes all of Minho’s willpower to not burst out laughing. A job. Christopher Bang is here to offer him a job!
“A place. I think your talents go to waste in the Office.” Chan’s voice sounds genuine. There’s not a trace of that smugness that’s usually there.
“So that’s why you followed me here. And how do you think you can offer me a job that doesn’t let my talent go to waste. And what could possibly that be?”
“Come work for me.”

Minho’s willpower finally snaps, and he bursts into laughter in the middle of the exhibition hall.

***

But for some reason, as he finally shuts his front door after him, it all comes back to him, and the laughter dies from the corner of his mouth. He feels haunted, he can feel how his skin starts prickling when he recalls the moments in the museum, right before Chan decided to arrive.

The painting. It haunts Minho. Because not only did one of the people in the painting look like Christopher Bang, the other one looked like Lee Minho.

The one being held by the nearly-perfectly clear picture of Christopher Bang, was the nearly-perfectly clear picture of himself.

And Minho isn’t sure if Chan noticed that back at the museum.

***

Minho doesn’t understand it. He keeps pondering it, keeps wondering as to why Chan would ask him to join his little crew of thieves. That thing, the entire conversation, the whole interaction keeps repeating itself in his head, whether he’s out grabbing a coffee, at a walk, at another museum, or visiting Seungmin to keep himself updated on the Office’s business (ha, so much for a real break). Perhaps it’s a tactic, a strategy to keep his friends close, but enemies closer, and that’s why he wants Minho to join him. Or he wants Minho to stop hunting him. Which is a very stupid thought.

They’re enemies, for goodness’ sake. They have been that for the past years, most of their lives. Sure, it had perhaps started as something funny that wasn’t entirely based on hatred, but it sure had grown during the years to something entirely else than friendly rivalry (and it really hadn’t been that friendly from Minho’s side at all, if he’s being honest). So why? It’s ridiculous. It’s funny. It’s stupid.

And yet Chan had sounded very sincere when he had asked Minho to join them. Like there was something more to it. Chan knows by now that Minho won’t pull the trigger, not yet, but there’s nothing stopping Minho from ratting all of his information out to someone else to finish his job.

And yet. Minho doesn’t do that. And Chan seems to know that, too, since he’s asking Minho to join him to keep him from ratting out that information. But there’s something more to it, it’s not just that, either. Because there was that sincerity. There was no laughter, no joke to his voice, no punchline when he had asked Minho to join him. It had been sincere. And it irks Minho. Scares him. It fills his mind again and again and again and Minho doesn’t know why.

There haven’t been any new flashes, thank goodness. Minho doesn’t think he can take any more of this nonsense, at least for a while. The weird memories-but-not-really, the painting, the Chan knowing him a tad too well, they all have Minho feeling some type of way that is not pleasant at all. He feels like he’s slowly, yet steadily losing it. And maybe he is, if he’s being completely honest. Maybe he indeed is going off of his rocker and soon the Office will realize that, too, and put a bullet through his brain when he’s not anticipating it.

But at least there’s a breath of normalcy surrounding him as he sits on his sofa with a cat on his lap and watches some brainless series from his television. He hasn’t talked to anyone except the store clerk and his neighbor for the past three days. He feels at peace, mostly. But only mostly.

***

That ‘mostly peace’ is broken the next day, when Minho is at the store a block away to get himself some food. There’s a flash, a ghost of a touch on his shoulder and a shudder down his spine because he knows whose touch it is, yet not entirely. He closes his eyes for a brief moment, tries to chase after the flash, tries to understand it better, but he doesn’t. He can’t quite catch it, it flees his mind and leaves only the sensation of longing into his mind. Longing. Or that’s what Minho thinks it feels like. He can’t describe it any other way.

“Hey, I didn’t know you’d be here.”
“What the hell?!” Minho nearly screams, but only nearly, suddenly scared out of his mind. He spins around, almost drops the grocery basket he’s holding. Chan looks way too charming for Minho’s good under the fluorescent lights of the corner store, he’s clearly on a break, too, he’s abandoned his suit. And Minho only has his knife with him!
“You have cats?” Chan asks, eyeing the food containers in Minho’s basket, instead of explaining what the hell he is doing at Minho’s corner store at seven in the evening.
“None of your business”, Minho hisses as he takes a big step away from Chan, pondering for a moment whether he should just drop the basket and run to the opposite direction of his home. His groceries are giving Chan way too much information about him, such as yes, he indeed does have cats, and he’s obsessed with broccoli these days.

Minho is just about to turn his back to Chan and make a run for it, but the other man manages to grab his arm faster and pull him back. All of a sudden he looks very serious, he quickly pulls the neck of his polo shirt a bit better to cover his face.
“Don’t. There are two guys who have been following me for the last three blocks in the next aisle. From Kang’s gang, I assume.”
“And now you’re pulling me into it? Seriously, fuck you”, Minho whisper-yells back at him, yet eyes cautiously the aisle over. There are two guys, dressed in black, Minho can see that from in between the shelves, and they’re most likely trying to spy on him and Chan. Oh, for fuck’s sake!
“Sorry, I really wasn’t expecting you to be here”, Chan smiles. Smiles. Minho’s mind seems to pause for a brief moment. He has never seen Chan smile like that, sheepish and a little embarrassed. What the fuck. Why doesn’t it make Minho feel irritated?
“Yet you came to me immediately when you did. Thanks a lot, I love having Kang’s little pests after me”, Minho rolls his eyes.
“Well, you’re not going to let me out of your sight when I’m being hunted since you want to be the one to put a bullet through my brain, so it really isn’t a stupid move from my side, is it?” Chan’s smile turns to that all-too-familiar smirk.

But unfortunately, he’s also correct. Chan is a wanted man, not only by Minho, yet Minho doesn’t want to give the prize from getting his head to anyone else, so he… stays. Turns his back to the two guys and pretends to get something from the cooler. They’re in a public place, nothing’s going to happen to Chan immediately, but he’s going to need some company or someone to get him from the store with a car or he’s going to get stabbed at the back alley the second Minho leaves him alone.

It invokes questions, a lot of them. Where are Chan’s guns? Why is he here all alone, when he’s usually mostly hidden or with his lap dogs Changbin and Hyunjin if he’s out? He’s usually more cautious of his own safety, hell, even the police are looking for him and he’s at some corner store with his face barely covered. Why is he here? Why is he at Minho’s block’s corner store at seven in the evening?

“So, do you come here often?” Chan asks. Minho knows how this needs to go – they’re just two acquaintances meeting, the guys don’t recognize Minho because the face of the Office’s deadliest assassin has never been revealed, he’s only a whisper in the wind, so they think he’s just a stranger and strangers can’t be pulled into the schemes of the underground, not like this. Kang doesn’t move like that. So Minho has to pretend to be an acquaintance of Chan’s, and so far it doesn’t seem to go so well.

“Out of all the things you could say to me, that’s the one you pick?” Minho asks him with mockery in his voice.
“You could at least pretend to be amused.”
“And you could walk out of the store and get stabbed in the back alley for all I care. No. I don’t go here often.” A lie.
“Liar”, Chan mumbled, earns a sharp gaze from Minho. Chan wouldn’t call him that unless he knows something.
“Why do you know where I shop?”
Chan shrugs: “I like to keep tabs on people who try to get rid of me as a full-time job.”

Magnificent. How in the hell has Chan found out this is Minho’s corner store?
“Do you know where I live?” Minho asks. He knows Chan isn’t going to tell him the truth.
“No. I swear”, Chan shakes his head, opens the cooler door they’re still standing by and drops a soda into his basket. He doesn’t even drink sodas.
“Yet you know I shop here”, Minho mutters. Why does Chan know so much? Who has been spying on him in such a way Minho hasn’t been able to notice?! Minho can feel the frustration building in his guts. He hates this. He hates this so bad. He’s being the worst assassin in the world right now.

“Can we pretend to be normal people for one second to get rid of those guys?” Chan asks, sends a quick message to presumably Changbin with his phone.
“No”, Minho scowls at Chan.
“Great. How was your day at work, Minho? You recently started a new one, didn’t you?”
“It’s been fine. It pays surprisingly well, and I like the people I work with.”
“Sounds great! Say, have you heard about the new exhibition at the Central Museum?”
“I have, yes. I have yet to see it, though.” Not a lie.
“You wouldn’t mind coming with me? I’d love to see it, the media-based sculptures are very intriguing.”
“Are you asking me out on a date?” Minho is nearly left speechless. What the hell is wrong with this man?
“Perhaps?
“Don’t you have an entry ban into the museum?”
“Bribery works. C’mon, I want to see it and I have no one to go with.”
“Fine.” For the sake of normalcy. Just for the sake of sounding normal to the people behind them.
“Great! On Saturday?” Why does Chan sound so excited? Why does he not seem like the thief Minho knows at all? What’s wrong with him? Is he sick?
“Sure, fine, whatever.”
“Amazing. Anyway, Changbin’s here, I need to go. See you around, Minho!”
“See you, Chan.” Like hell. What the fuck.

***

Saturday.

Minho isn’t going to the Central Museum. Of course not, he’s not stupid, it had all been just words and pretending to be acquaintances or some shit to get the gang members away from Chan. Which, now that Minho thinks about the incident two days later, is… well. Why on earth had he agreed to protect Chan? He could have just left him and someone else would have finished his job. But he didn’t even really hesitate, he just… stayed there until Changbin came to pick him up from the street in front of the store, and then Chan had waved at him and then he had been gone, and Minho had been left to wonder what the hell had just happened. Which he has been doing for the past two days. Wondering what the hell just happened.

Minho knows the whole date thing was a fake, yet there’s still that little itch of doubt at the back of his head. What if it wasn’t just jokes, after all? Does Chan want to make Minho comfortable? Forget his guards and the walls he’s built around himself? Does he want to get rid of Minho in the worst way possible, by befriending his enemy and then betraying him? That would be very much his style. Except that Minho isn’t a rich old man about to die in Hwang Hyunjin’s hands at the command of Christopher Bang, he’s simply trying to kill Chan himself. Because he has a job that’s been assigned to him. And some personal vendetta.

And an itch. A weird one. The flashback-memory-sensations haven’t returned in two days, but Minho hasn’t forgot the feel of Chan’s hand around him, either. Not the one that’s supposedly a ghost, nor the one imprinted on his wrist. And the worst, the absolute worst thing is, that he doesn’t hate it. Not even if he wants to.

It’s evening, the day is slowly seeping into the night. Minho can hear the commotion at the street below his apartment, it’s going to be another busy Saturday night despite the rain, and Minho is going to take it easy, probably watch a movie, and then dive into the new dashcam footage Jeongin has sent him. Hwang Hyunjin has been spotted a few unfortunate times near some unfortunate rich old man’s apartment. He’s going to get necked in just a few days, Minho knows it. That’s the kind of assassin Hyunjin is. He plays with fear, he lets himself be seen a few times, then lays low a few days, and then strikes. He’s a weird one. Minho doesn’t really understand playing like that.

And then, there’s a loud, hurried bang on Minho’s door, and Minho nearly drops his plate on the floor like the fearless assassin he is. He quickly and quietly places it on the table, listens for a few seconds, and there’s another hurried bang. Someone’s in distress. Why is someone in distress behind Minho’s door? There are only a handful of people who know where Minho lives, and he knows none of them should be knocking on his door right now.

Minho grabs a knife from the countertop of his kitchen and tiptoes to the hallway. Third bang, too harsh and powerful to be just knocking. Someone’s out to get him. Minho has two options, to open the door and confront them or to escape through his balcony to the ladder leading to the roof. But Minho doesn’t want to leave his cats, and he knows he needs to take a look at who’s behind his door first before making the decision.

So quietly, very quietly, as there’s another knock, a bit less powerful this time, he peeks out of the peephole of his door, and is met with the most horrifying view in the entire human history.

Christopher Bang is behind his door.

Minho blinks. His brain is screaming at him to leap through the window and escape, because that is his arch nemesis behind his door, a door he shouldn’t even know about. Bang Chan should not know where he lives, yet he’s behind Minho’s door, and Minho knows for a fact that it is not a funny coincidence.

Then Minho spots the red on the floor behind Christopher Bang, realizes that he isn’t sitting up straight but slouching, and he’s holding a hand over his left side, a little above his hip. There’s blood on his hand. And now Minho’s brain is screaming at him to open the door and help the man. He’s bleeding. He’s injured, and he’s behind Minho’s door.

Seeking for help.

Minho’s hands make the decision for him. He lets the knife clatter on top of the drawer next to the door, next to Minho’s keys, as he fumbles to unlock the door. He swings it open, Chan nearly falls face first on the floor but catches himself just early enough to stay upright. For a brief moment he looks surprised that Minho actually opened the door for him. Minho stares at him for a second, bewildered, a billion questions in his mind, but Chan is faster to open his mouth:
“I didn’t know where else to go.”

It's a whisper. A whimper, almost, and on top of it all, it’s a confession. He’s in pain, a lot of it. A stab wound, not a gun wound, Minho can tell that by the amount of blood, and by the knife still clearly stuck in Chan’s side, slightly above his hip. Luckily, it’s missed all the important bits of Chan’s body. Luckily. Luckily?!

Minho takes a step to the side, which Chan takes as an invitation to go inside. He slumps against the wall and Minho is sure he’s going to have to buy more bleach to get the blood off of his pretty tapestry. Chan hisses and attempts to pull the knife out now that he’s under the watchful eye of someone else.
“Not yet, dumbass”, Minho hisses, finally catching up to the moment that Christopher Bang is actually standing in his doorway, bleeding. This is almost too good to be true. He should simply pull that knife out and push Chan back into the corridor, maybe even down the stairs and then buy tickets to another continent. But he’s not doing that. He isn’t. And they both know that.

“Kitchen’s on the right”, he mutters, pointing further in the hallway. He’s sure Chan is able to walk there at least, he’s still on his feet, and yes, there’s a lot of blood around them, but it’s also raining outside and the blood is mixing in with the raindrops on Chan’s leather jacket, dripping on the white carpets of the hallway. Minho turns his back to Chan, quickly makes it into the bathroom to grab supplies. He hears fumbling behind him, then soft footsteps, at least the man has the audacity to take off his shoes before walking further. Then chair dragging against the flooring, and a slump as Chan sits down, the wet leather creaking. Minho grabs everything he needs to sew a wound shut, enough towels and a bottle of disinfectant, who knows how dirty that knife stuck in Chan’s ribs is. Minho hears a grunt just before he quickly makes it back to the kitchen, his dinner going cold on the counter where Minho placed it.

Chan’s trying to get the knife out, but by the grimace on his face, it’s not exactly fun nor going well. Minho places all the equipment on the table beside Chan before dropping on his knees.
“Take your jacket off”, he orders Chan, to which Chan answers by peeling off his jacket slowly and with a look that indicates that every move hurts. His white shirt is all bloodied, too, Minho needs to take the knife out before he can lift the shirt off.
“Stakeout?” Minho asks, since Chan is pretty much drenched. Chan nods, his curls dripping water everywhere. He pulls his gloves off, too, he’s got new ink on his arm to fill up the previously inkless spots. He has a good taste in tattoos, Minho has to admit that.

Minho takes a hold of the knife as carefully as he’s able to.
“Ready?” he asks, Chan nods at him as he braces himself by taking a hold of one of the towels beside him to squeeze it. Then Minho yanks the knife out quickly and Chan grits his teeth, hisses at the pain flaring through his side which Minho knows to feel white hot. He has a nearly identical scar on his side that Chan is going to have.

Minho pulls Chan’s shirt up to examine the wound. It’s deep, yes, Chan probably should go to the hospital, but Minho knows he won’t go there, he’s a wanted criminal. Minho also could call his friend over who is an actual doctor, but he’s not going to do that, because that would end up being a mess.

It’s almost hypnotizing, how the blood keeps trickling out of Chan’s body with every shallow breath he takes.
“I should let you bleed out”, Minho mumbles as he discards the knife on the table. Chan takes a deeper breath and lets out a shaky laugh. Minho knows what he’s going to say.
“You should”, and then there’s a somewhat painful grin stretching over his features: “But you won’t.”

No, Minho won’t. And they both know that. Minho takes the bottle of disinfectant and pours it on one of the towels, then presses it without a warning against the wound on Chan’s side to clean it up. Chan howls, nearly doubles over to scoot away the pain, to which Minho answers by pushing him back against the backrest of the chair. He’s clearly never been stabbed before. Shot, yes, as Minho can tell by the scar right above the stab wound that he can see now that he’s cleaning up the area.

“Who was it?” Minho asks.
“The guys from the store”, Chan hisses through gritted teeth. Minho cocks a brow at him as he pours more disinfectant on the towel, turns it to a clean side. He has Chan’s blood on his hands, something he hasn’t experienced before.

And yet there’s something so wrong with it. It’s a feeling that suddenly takes over him, almost panic-like, he shouldn’t be having Chan’s blood on his hands, not at all, it’s just blatantly against every possible rule of nature, and then, with a blink of an eye, that feeling is gone.

“Those? You’ve got sloppy, Chan”, Minho snickers. Chan rolls his eyes.
“There’s a mole in the crew. Need to get rid of them”, Chan mumbles. Minho can make a few guesses as to who the mole is. Someone from the lower levels for sure, Chan’s magnificent three would never betray him.
“The hacker, probably”, Minho takes a wild guess. Chan, surprisingly, nods. Chan knows Minho knows a lot about him and his little heist crew, as he’s supposed to in order to catch him.

But Minho really hasn’t grasped yet that it goes both ways. Chan knows a lot, too, as is clear because he’s sitting in Minho’s kitchen. Chan knows where Minho lives. It makes Minho swallow a lump in his throat down as he cleans the wound. It’s still bleeding, and it will continue to do so for a while, and Minho’s favorite shirt is all bloodied now, too. With quick fingers Minho takes the wound tape to get the wound shut in order for him to sew it. Chan doesn’t look too happy to see the needle in Minho’s hands a moment later as he pushes the thread through it.

“So who else knows where I live?” Minho asks as he sticks the needle through Chan’s skin. He doesn’t flinch, no, he keeps his jaw clenched and eyes trained at the window behind Minho’s back. There’s some commotion from the living room and Minho knows there will be a cat head peeking from the doorway any moment now. His cats are curious, yet very careful around new people, and don’t make acquaintance immediately.

“This is not a very fair moment for an interrogation with you sewing my skin”, Chan hisses.
“Answer me”, Minho demands. He thinks this is a perfect time for an interrogation. Chan has never been at his mercy like this.
“No one”, Chan mumbles. Minho sticks the needle through his skin again. The stab wound isn’t that large, to Chan’s luck.
“Really?” Minho doesn’t entirely believe him.
“I swear. But there is a letter in a safe in my office that has your address in it and I’ve told Jisung to come search me from that address if I ever disappear without a trace. He doesn’t know it belongs to you, though, and he’s not allowed to open that safe in any other case except me going missing.”
Minho nearly laughs. It’s almost flattering.

“And how did you manage to find me? How long have you known where I live?” Minho asks. He doesn’t expect a true answer, not really, why would Chan tell him that? Why would he tell Minho anything in the first place at all?
“You’re not the only one taught by the Office. It was hard, I can tell you that.” Ah, so, stalking. Minho feels something in him boiling, but settling as soon as one of his cats pokes his little head from the hallway to take a peek in the kitchen.
“Oh”, Chan softly exclaims, clearly forgetting the pain for a brief second, but then Minho wipes the wound a little and stabs him with the needle again. Soonie is curious, cautiously he approaches Chan to sniff his leg, then at the blood on the floor and figures it smells awful. Then he’s followed by Dori, and Chan seems to forget the pain once again.

“I didn’t know you had two cats”, Chan mumbles. Minho is nearly done with the wound.
“Three”, he corrects and almost smacks himself in the face. Why on earth would he tell Chan that? He doesn’t need to know anything about Minho, at least not any more than he already does!
“Aww”, Chan coos, and perhaps Minho punches the next stitch a little more forcefully through his skin, just to tie them all together. He cuts the thread with scissors and then presses a bunch of clean paper towels against the wound.
“Hold them”, Minho orders Chan and Chan presses a hand over the towels as Minho reaches for the gauze. Then he glances at Chan who is very much looking at him with an unreadable expression and Minho realizes that this is the line he won’t be crossing anymore. He hands Chan the gauze.
“I’m sure you know how to tie it around yourself.”

He does, even if it looks painful to do so. Minho gets up from the floor, Soonie headbutts him on his leg, begging for scratches but Minho’s hands are all bloody, so he needs to wash them. And the floor. And everything else. Oh, for fuck’s sake, so much for that peaceful Saturday evening. Minho cleans himself up, then the table and wipes the floor somewhat clean before dragging the carpets Chan has bled on to the bathroom to sink them into cold water before washing them. As Minho returns, Chan is all banded up and he has washed his hands, too, and he’s petting Soonie, Dori is curiously watching him from further away. Odd. Soonie doesn’t usually let strangers close that easily. Minho kind of hates it.

Well, Chan’s bound up and ready to go. Minho should kick him out now. Yet he feels reluctant, what if the guys are still there, what if they’re waiting for Chan somewhere? And he’s dripping and the rain only seems to get worse. Minho fumbles for one of the cabinets as Chan is focused on petting Soonie, gets out a few strong painkillers and sets them on the table beside Chan along with a glass of water. Chan eyes him, a bit curiously before thanking him. It feels very off-putting coming from Chan’s mouth.

Perhaps this is an opportunity for Minho to inquire. People in pain are usually sloppier and slip out secrets more easily than those who aren’t. But Chan is dripping and Minho hates that all of his furniture is getting wet and damp and oh Minho hates this so bad, he leaves Chan in the kitchen and grabs a few pieces of clothing from his room that he hasn’t used himself in ages and then grumpily shoves them to Chan as he returns.
“You’re ruining my kitchen. Bathroom is the next door in the hallway.”
Chan looks even odder now, he glances at the pile of clothing and then at Minho.
“There’s a spare towel, too. Now go change so I can finally finish my dinner.”

Minho doesn’t finish his dinner, instead he paces around the living room and realizes that he doesn’t understand why he’s doing this. He shouldn’t be doing this. But Chan shouldn’t know where he lives. He shouldn’t trust that Minho won’t let him bleed out, but he does, and he trusts him rightfully because Minho won’t let him bleed out. Because there’s something in him that spurs him into action and makes the blood in his hands feel wrong, and Minho is confused and angry at himself, and then the door opens and Chan returns from the bathroom, this time in Minho’s clothes. Or well, they don’t differ from his own clothes all that much, but Minho hates knowing that the hoodie is his and it looks good on Chan. And fuck, he looks so much better in casual clothes than in his stupid ass suit.

And now Doongie is in love with him, too. Great. Why does this man seem to attract Minho’s cats into his orbit better than anyone else? Hell, it took Felix ages to become friends with them, and now they’re all curious about Chan, when they usually steer clear from new people. Minho feels almost betrayed.

“You didn’t come”, Chan says as he sits on the sofa. He’s clearly not leaving any time soon, and perhaps it’s for the better – if he loses his consciousness, Minho will need to take him to the hospital. Or let him die. And they both know he’s not going to do that.
“Come to where?” Minho asks as he takes a seat on the armchair, roughly across the room from Chan. There’s some shouting coming from the street below, the rain seems to get heavier.
“The museum. Today’s Saturday in case you forgot in the midst of your break.”

The hell?
“I was waiting for you for a while there, then you didn’t come, and I decided to return home and got stabbed.”
Minho squints his eyes. He knows Chan hasn’t actually expected him to come, it’s somewhat of a joke, but he still went to the museum to wait for him. What is wrong with him?
“Hurts to be ghosted like that, Minho”, Chan pouts as he leans forward on the sofa, grimaces, and then continues petting Doongie. Soonie decides he’s had enough of Chan and jumps on Minho’s lap instead. Dori has lost interest over Chan already and curls up in the corner of the cat bed next to the sofa.

“So you live close to the Central Museum”, Minho mutters, completely disregarding the fact that Chan had actually waited for him at the museum despite damn well knowing Minho wouldn’t come. Did he hope Minho would be there?
“I do. Not far away from here.”
Clearly, since he has been walking instead of driving, and he clearly got stabbed at the vicinity of Minho’s apartment, too, since he’s come here.
“Three blocks away, actually. At the same building as the bookstore.” There’s a light grin on Chan’s lips. Minho is horrified at the thought that Chan could live so close to him, unless he’s lying.
“Why are you telling me this?” Minho isn’t entirely sure Chan isn’t lying.
“I figured you’d prefer it if we’d be even.”
So he isn’t. Or at least Minho chooses to believe so for now. Which means that all through these years he’s lived incredibly close to Minho and Minho hasn’t noticed anything. So much for an amazing assassin.

“And you’re entirely sure I won’t tell the Office where you live.”
“I’m sure. You don’t like to share the spotlight.” And the grin stretches to a smile. Soonie attempts to bake cookies against Minho’s thigh. Chan is right. Minho doesn’t like to share the spotlight, he won’t allow someone else to do his job for him. But this one may become just too hard to do on his own, so perhaps…

Or not. Because the moment Minho even thinks about giving all of the information he has to the Office which would most definitely lead to the death of Christopher Bang after years of chasing after him, the little voice in the back of his head is screaming at him to stop. That he shouldn’t do that, he can not do that. It irks Minho. Scares him, too. What is that sound, why is it there, why is the emotion so damn strong every time he even thinks about Chan dying? What is wrong with him? What is wrong with Chan?

“So, looks like we’re getting that Saturday date after all”, Chan grins as he leans on the sofa, propping his arms against the backrest. The gesture would be oozing confidence if it wasn’t for the grin turning to a grimace even at the slightest of movements. The painkillers haven’t kicked in just yet.

Minho lets out a laugh. He doesn’t mean it to come out, but it escapes his throat before he has time to stop it. The situation they have at hand is very weird, to say the least. Minho should just kick Chan out, but he doesn’t, and Chan seems reluctant to leave, too. Of course, it could all be a scheme, maybe Jisung and Changbin are currently making their way up the stairs to Minho’s apartment, ready to tear him apart and make him an example to those trying to go after Christopher Bang and his little group of thieves. But then Chan eyes around the room and Minho realizes he looks incredibly relaxed despite the pain, and that he isn’t waiting for anything or anyone.

“I thought you’d be more into dramatic colors”, he says, before his gaze settles on Minho.
“Did you know?”
Minho’s apartment is rather soft in color. Lots of browns, whites, grays, beiges. That’s because it’s meant to be as peaceful as possible, a contrast to the life Minho leads. And also most of the cat furniture sold is very neutral, and Minho wants it to match to his other furniture.
“Yes. Reds, greens maybe. Violet.”
Interesting.
“But then again, you’re not really that type, are you? Not as eccentric in your daily life as you are at your job. You appreciate normalcy. The daily. The mundane.”
“I’m not eccentric.”
Chan rolls his eyes. Minho is eccentric, he gets that a lot, he admits he is very… well, not like most of the other assassins nor like most of the coworkers he has. But he’d rather die than admit that Christopher Bang is correct about something that has anything to do with Minho.

“So, what do you do in your free-time, Minho? I can see you like books, unless the shelf is full just for decoration.”
“Why are you attempting to get to know me? Why are you here?”
“Why wouldn’t I? And I already told you, I had nowhere else to go.”
“I’m not telling you anything. I’m trying to kill you. I don’t acquaint my targets.”
“You’re not being very active with your attempts to kill me.”
“It wouldn’t be a fair fight given your current state.”
“Has it ever really been a fair fight?”

Well. Alright. Perhaps Minho usually strikes when his targets are at their most vulnerable. Alone, lost, easy to catch, but able to defend themselves. Chan is not an exception. Except for that first time when Minho had sat on his lap in the middle of the club. Minho still occasionally wonders how he let that happen, and how Chan let that happen. Surely Chan recognized him, but still… Interesting. And a little bit horrifying.

“It could be a fair fight if you sent your little pet after me.”
Chan snorts, he’s about to say something, probably protest, but Minho is quicker to continue: “But you wouldn’t do that, would you?”
“I’d rather not lose my best assassin in a chase after you. Could be the second best, the offer is still on the table, by the way.”
The offer. The offer Minho doesn’t really understand.

‘You do know that I’d never join your little heist crew because I hate you and what you have done?’ Minho nearly says it. Nearly. He’s about to, but the words get lodged into his throat, they refuse to get out. Minho doesn’t lie, it’s not his style, so why- why does the thought feel like lying?

“I’m considering it. Very hard”, Minho laughs, hopes the sarcasm is more evident in his voice than his confusion. He doesn’t understand what the hell is going on with him anymore. And there’s that slight tingling, that feeling that there’s a flash about to go through his mind, but it doesn’t, and Minho doesn’t chase after it, he doesn’t want to.
“You’d fit the team. Jisung would really like you, Changbin, too.”
“I very much doubt it.”
“What do I need to do to get you in my team?” Chan asks, and to Minho’s horror, he looks like he’s serious. He isn’t grinning, he isn’t smiling, he’s simply looking at Minho, curious evident in the arch of his brow.
“What?” Minho chokes out.
“Is it better pay? Protection from the Office? I can do that.”
“Why the hell do you want me in your team so damn badly? Last time I checked we-“ hated each other to guts. But Minho doesn’t say it. He can’t.
“We what?” Chan raises his brow, and there’s that little spark of a grin again that’s making Minho go insane.
“We, um, didn’t get along at all, never have.”
“It’s you who isn’t getting along with me, I’m getting along with you just fine.”
“No I’m not-“

But is he? Is it just Minho? Is it just years of built-up tension and hatred and dislike from the Office, and from Minho’s end? It’s always been Minho crossing paths with Chan, not the other way around, not really, apart from the few times during the past year where the attempts to kill each other have been mutual. But Chan has done it for his own protection. Minho has done it out of his hatred.

Hatred. Hatred hatred hatred is it really hatred? Does Minho hate the man he has just bandaged up, who’s sitting comfortably on his sofa, petting his cats? Does he hate him? Does he really hate him, when he keeps fucking daydreaming or some shit about him and his kisses and touches and how his curls feel against the nape of his own neck? Does Lee Minho really hate Christopher Bang?

“Get out”, he mumbles, he can feel himself getting angry. At Chan or himself? He doesn’t know. The grin is there again, Chan knows he hit Minho right where it hurts, and he’s won this round.
“Think about it, Minho.”
“I’ve thought about it enough. Get out. You’re not dying anymore.”
Minho stands up, carefully places Soonie on the floor. He’s serious, and Chan can see that as he hauls himself up, the pain still clearly there. Minho stomps past him, through the hallway and pulls the front door open to see his guest out of his apartment.

“Thank you for your hospitality”, Chan has the audacity to smile at him as he steps over the threshold. It’s right at that moment that Chan’s shoulder accidentally brushes against Minho’s, that shivers run down Minho’s spine and his skin starts feeling tingly and his mind gets foggy. A flash runs through his mind, more powerfully than ever before. There’s sea salt on his skin, on his tongue, he’s in an embrace. The sound of waves and the feeling of love fill his instincts. He opens his eyes and there are familiar features, dark curls, sad eyes, glossy lips and-

Minho flinches back to reality, he’s holding to the door for his dear life. It is then that he realizes that Chan, too, is holding on to the doorframe as if he has just stumbled, and when he straightens himself, there’s an odd expression on his face, almost vulnerable as he glances back at Minho.

He sees them too, the realization hits Minho.

And in a haste of panic, he shuts the door right at Christopher Bang’s face.

***

Chan sees them too. He has the flashbacks, too. Does he see the exact same things as Minho? Minho’s not sure, and he isn’t entirely certain if he even wants to know. The touch at the door, the flashes going through Minho’s mind, and Chan’s reaction, he has to have them as well. Minho recognizes that reaction from his own experience.

How long has he had them? As long as Minho? How much has he seen? What the hell is going on? Are they both going insane at the same ways at the same time? Horrible. Horrible horrible horrible!

Is that the reason why he showed up behind Minho’s door? Is that the reason he’s offered Minho a job with his crew? To protect him, to get to know these feelings better? Or to end him to end the flashbacks? What is it? It’s making Minho go crazy, it makes him want to rip out his hair and scream and throw a vase out of the window. But he doesn’t do that. No, he washes the blood off of his furniture and sits on the sofa at the same place where Christopher Bang had just sat moments ago. A day ago. Two days ago. And Minho can’t stop thinking about it, what are the flashbacks, why are they in his mind, why are they in Chan’s mind?

How can he get rid of them?

And then it sinks in. There’s a reason why he’s still alive. He knows Bang Chan, he knows he’s definitely wanted to get rid of the flashbacks as badly as Minho, he hates distractions like that, yet he hasn’t. He’d first try to go to the source, and to get rid of the source, that’s how his mind works. Which is why he has attempted to kill Minho. But he hasn’t.

Because he is just as unable to pull the trigger as Minho is.

***

Minho wants to investigate. But he doesn’t want to investigate with or alongside Christopher Bang. In fact, he doesn’t want to include him in any way in his investigation as to why and how he’s having these stupid ass flashbacks. Yet at the same time, he doesn’t want to investigate, he wants to either disappear and flee the country to live at the mountains somewhere far away from his job and Bang Chan, or either kill the source, which is Bang Chan. At least supposedly. Minho can’t think what else he’s supposed to do.

But he’s out of options, really. No, he can’t straight up ask Chan if he’s daydreamed about fucking Minho into oblivion recently (which happened last night when Minho was about to fall asleep and Minho doesn’t want to think about that, no sir, not at all, he wants to forget that image in his head so bad), so he has to figure out something else. He needs to be certain that Chan is having the same flashes in his mind that he is.

Unfortunately for Minho, he’s discovered something odd about these flashes during the past two days. The more he thinks about them, and Chan, the more he sees them, feels them, imagines them, even more vividly. And he’s discovered something else, too. The images, they’re not… they’re not from this day. It’s almost like they’re memories, from the times past. Either there are horses on the street instead of cars when Minho is waiting for his… lover to approach him, or there’s the backache of an old person and smell of a garden and music clearly from the fifties, or something else that’s not from this day. The flashes are from times gone. Not from this day. And Minho doesn’t understand them.

And there’s another thing.

He doesn’t hate them. He hates the realization, though. He doesn’t hate the flashes anymore. He doesn’t hate the touch on his skin. He doesn’t hate the bubbly and vivid sensation of love filling his chest, nor the kisses imprinted against his back. But what he does hate is that it’s always Chan, and he knows that it’s Chan. He knows that all of it is his doing, it’s him that’s making Minho feel loved and love in return. And Minho hates that, because that, that should be his enemy. His arch nemesis. Minho shouldn’t be kissing his enemy with so much love he feels like bursting.

Yet he is kissing him. And he feels extremely conflicted by it.

***

“Good evening, Minho.”
The voice makes Minho’s skin crawl.
“Can you move someone further from my home? I don’t want to run into you when I’m grocery shopping”, Minho mumbles. He’s once again holding a grocery basket, in it is cat food and vegetables, as is the custom. He’s standing in front of the dairy section, it’s 10 in the evening and the fluorescent lights are so bright they nearly hurt his eyes. Chan is standing next to him. He looks better. Better, as in he’s clearly not hurting as badly anymore, but his movements are still a little stiff.

“Jisung complimented you on your sewing work”, he snickers. Minho rolls his eyes:
“Thank you. Not my best work. Now why are you in my store once again at the same time as me? Are you being tailed?” Minho can’t ignore the shiver of worry running down his spine. Chan shakes his head:
“I’m not, and I am simply here to shop for groceries.” He’s not even carrying a basket.
“As if you don’t have at least three shops closer to you than this one.”
“This was the first one that was on my way home from my evening walk.”
Evening walk. After four days of being stabbed. And wouldn’t one pick the one closest to home? The logic isn’t matching.
“Why are you attempting to meet me at my corner store, Chan? Have you been here every night?”
“I haven’t, actually. I had someone to hack the security cameras and dig out your grocery shopping habits.”
“Jesus fucking Christ”, Minho mumbles under his breath and pushes himself past Chan to move on to the next section.
“I’m kidding!” Chan laughs from behind him. It doesn’t take long for him to follow Minho, much less graceful in his steps than Minho due to the pain. Minho isn’t entirely sure if he believes Chan is kidding.

“So, how are you, Minho? Is the break treating you well? I hope I didn’t do a lot of damage to your carpets last Saturday.”
Minho doesn’t want to answer. Yet he does.
“I’m fine. It’s fine. And no, I managed to wash the blood off of them.”
Not all of it, but Chan doesn’t need to know that. The lady at the laundromat had looked at Minho a little oddly when Minho had dragged one of the blood-stained carpets there to be professionally cleaned (and he’s supposed to be a professional himself, after all).

“How about you, Chan? Is the stab wound still hurting?” Minho asks out of an emotion he can’t describe as anything else than curiosity as he takes a few items from the shelf and puts them into his grocery basket.
“It is, thank you for your concern. Still hurts, but it’s getting better. The guys who did it aren’t doing so well, though.”
“Your little pet?”
“Hyunjin has a name. Yes. They’re not dead, though. Just… well, they will be proceeding from the hospital to jail. Downsides of being wanted by the law enforcement.” Basic topics to discuss at the pasta aisle of the grocery store on a quiet evening.
“How unfortunate. Now they have a motive for a revenge.”
“I shall sit back and see them try”, Chan grins.

“Great. Anyway, I’m done, and I will be returning home now. Please don’t follow me or I’ll call Felix to call the Office”, Minho nonchalantly states as he drops the last things he needs into his basket.
“I wasn’t going to”, Chan mumbles. There’s an odd look on his face. Minho pays for his things, Chan follows after him, he’s not buying anything. He could at least attempt to stick to the lie.

The air outside is cool, it feels gentle against Minho’s skin. He likes evenings like these, weekdays when the city is almost quiet, when it pretends to be a normal city not full of bitterness, anger and hatred that unravels in the form of crime. Chan looks like he’s about to say something. Minho wants to say something. He wants to ask, wants to inquire if Chan really is experiencing what Minho thinks he is experiencing, but he doesn’t. And neither does Chan. He just keeps looking at Minho with that same odd expression that unsettles Minho a lot.
“Um. Good night, Chan. Please don’t be here at the same time in three days or I’m going to think you’re actually stalking me.”
A small smile tugs the corners of Chan’s mouth. It’s… sincere. It’s not a grin. It makes Minho. Feel. Some type of way.
“Alright. Night, Minho.”

***

Chan is at the grocery store three days later at the exact same time. Minho isn’t entirely sure how he feels about it, but he’s expected it. Their gazes meet, Minho pretends to be interested in some zucchinis for a second, and then the strangely familiar presence is on his side, without so much trying to discreetly approach Minho.
“Evening, Minho.”
“Evening, Chan. Here for yet another evening walk?”
“Exactly”, he smiles. They both know it’s a lie.

It's strange. Very strange, how Minho doesn’t feel the need to… suddenly push Chan away. There’s just. It’s. Oddly. Comforting. There’s weird comfort to having him around, even if it’s just a nearly empty corner grocery store. It’s just. Odd. Minho doesn’t feel the need to pull his gun out anymore. Not here. Not in the grocery store. Not in this space.

And it happens again in three days. And then after three days, too, all while Minho keeps having the flashes, once, sometimes twice a day. And finally, finally he understands what it is about the meetings, what has happened during the four meetings they have had. They have turned mundane. They have turned… normal. They both pretend to be normal during those grocery store meetings, Chan keeps asking Minho how he’s doing and Minho does the same to Chan. They chat about… things. About normal things. Everyday things. And there’s comfort in it. And Minho hates it.

Yet he doesn’t. And he… he doesn’t think he hates Chan so much anymore. Not when he genuinely seems curious of how Minho is doing.

***

It’s a bite back. Or perhaps it’s to remind Chan that Minho is still an assassin sent after him. Or perhaps it’s an evening walk that has continued too long and Minho has wandered to the harbor and even if he’s on a break, he keeps tabs on Chan and himself updated on Chan’s business. The containers and warehouses are graffiti-stained, rusty, there’s old blood splatter on the ground. Minho’s steps are quiet, they blend into the night against the wet asphalt. He hears sounds from somewhere ahead of him, carefully approaches them. Perhaps he’s feeling stupid, perhaps there’s only a knife in his pocket. Perhaps he’s here to stick his nose into Chan’s business and make it everybody’s problem.

He turns to an alley, then quickly returns to the shadows. They’re ahead of him. Two cars, a few people. Three of them are getting into one of the cars, three people remain. Minho knows one of them is Chan, he knows that profile in that suit, hair pushed back, hands gloved with leather. He looks sexy like that- no. That is a very weird thought to have of his… enemy.

One of the cars leaves, Minho can’t make out who’s driving it. This is one of Chan’s warehouses, this is where he keeps his stolen artifacts and sells them forward in the black market. Minho guesses Chan has sold something, that’s why he’s here today with his two little dogs. The cops would kill to know about this place.

Minho pulls his hood up, shields himself into the shadows as he quietly and quickly makes his way along the container towards the warehouse. The red rear lights of the car disappear behind another warehouse as they turn to a road leading away from the harbor, and Minho knows Chan is with his two trusted ones now. And perhaps, just perhaps Minho wants to try something out. Test something. Test Chan and their bond.

So as he’s close enough, he steps out of the shadows.
“Evening, Chan. Surprised to run to you in my evening stroll.”
Changbin spins around, he doesn’t recognize Minho immediately, Jisung freezes. Chan’s head snaps up, slightly surprised, but then there’s a gentle smile spreading on his lips. Changbin recognizes Minho and pulls his gun out, points it directly at Minho as he clicks the safety off. Jisung follows immediately after, even if he probably doesn’t recognize Minho yet.
“Evening, Minho. I guess I should have seen this coming.”
Now Jisung recognizes him, his face goes from surprised to shocked to angry.

There are a few seconds of tension, Minho keeps his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders relaxed, gaze fixated on Chan. Chan seems almost happy to see Minho.
“It’s fine, guys. It’s just Minho.”
“The fuck?! Have you hit your head or something?” Changbin nearly yells, gun still pointed at Minho. Jisung’s gaze flickers between Minho and Changbin and Chan, until Chan nods at him and he decides to lower his gun.
“I haven’t. It’s fine, Changbin. I doubt he’s here to end me tonight.”

Chan is correct. Minho is not here to end Chan tonight. And Chan seems to not have any desire to end him either, because this would have been the perfect opportunity for him to tell Changbin to pull the trigger. But he doesn’t. Because he’s unable to do so. And perhaps even reluctant to do so.
“Changbin.” The voice turns from asking to a demanding one. Changbin’s gaze finally leaves Minho as he glances at Chan just to see if he’s actually being dead serious. He is. So after a few seconds of doubting, he switches the safety back on and lowers his gun, but doesn’t put it all the way into his pocket like Jisung.

“Thanks. I thought I was going to get killed”, Minho says nonchalantly, voice monotonous. Chan snorts at him, Changbin’s brows furrow in anger and confusion. He doesn’t understand what’s going on.
“You two can go. Get back to the house, help Hyunjin with his plans if he needs any help.”
“And you’re going to stay with him?” Changbin shrieks. Chan takes a few steps towards Minho.
“Yeah. I could use an evening walk after tonight.”

It warms Minho. How horrifying. Yet not. Changbin seems equally horrified as Minho feels.
“Seriously. It’s fine, Changbin. He isn’t going to murder me at some back alley.”
“He has attempted to.”
“And failed to do so, just like I have done. As Hyunjin has done. Now go. That’s an order.”

There’s protesting mumbling from Changbin’s end as he gets behind the wheel of the car left by the warehouse door. Jisung gets on the passenger’s seat, very curiously keeping his eyes on Chan and Minho. The two of them watch Changbin turn the car and driving off of the alley to the road and disappear behind the warehouses.
“He’s going to stop and turn and try to follow us with the car”, Chan mumbles.
“I ought he’d do so. Too bad his car won’t fit the narrow spaces of the containers, nor can it be driven in the walkway along the river.”
“What a pleasant way you have planned for us, Minho. Care to tell who told you you’d find me here on this specific night?”
“I’m afraid I don’t share the specifics of my informants with my arch-nemesis”, Minho smiles. It’s a slip up, the smile. And Chan notices it. He doesn’t say anything, but Minho notices how his gaze falls on the smile, how it catches on him, too, just like smiles have the tendency to do. Horrible. Horrible horrible horrible.

Minho doesn’t need to say anything. He simply turns in his tracks, and then Chan is on his side as together they start walking towards the way Minho came from. Away from Changbin and Jisung, away from anyone, since the harbor feels somehow way too public compared to the grocery store. Which is, perhaps, a bit odd. But there’s something about the moon and the streetlights and the fresh air that feels different from the grocery store. The grocery store is almost a different world. It’s normalcy. It’s where Minho can meet Bang Chan without having the need or the obligation to kill him. Here, however, at the empty, abandoned harbor, he does have the obligation to kill him, and they both know it. Yet he doesn’t do that. He doesn’t drive his knife through Bang Chan’s skull. He just… walks with him.

“Was it a good gig?” Minho asks after they’re far away enough from the warehouse, definitely alone. Their steps sound hollow, echo against the steely container walls. Minho is less careful now that he has another pair of eyes and ears with him. He shouldn’t do that. But he does.
“Hmh. Normal. Just a few paintings we stole from the Grand Museum a few years ago, from a private collection. Dude had it coming. I sold them to get a little extra to get some equipment from overseas.”
“What for?” Minho asks. Maybe it’s genuine curiosity. Chan hasn’t spoken of his work this openly before.
“Wouldn’t you like to know”, Chan laughs. Minho pushes him gently on the shoulder and then he realizes, rather horrified, what he’s doing.
“For an upcoming gig. I think the mayor needs to be humbled a little.”
“The mayor? Good luck with that.” Minho isn’t exactly opposed to the thought of him losing a little bit of money. It would also make him angry and he’d definitely get a task force to search for the criminal, or rather, all the criminals, and that would just be some added fun to Minho’s line of work. Amp up the stakes a little. He’s missed a good chase.
“It won’t be all that hard. But you know, we could use a break-in expert who knows how not to leave even the slightest of traces, you know, someone cat-like.”

Oh, Minho knows that. He knows that that’s how he’s referred to on the streets. Cat-like. No traces, no sounds, he’s an expert, Chan has first-hand experience of that (and he’s also the only one to survive from Minho’s claws).
“So your offer is still on the table?”
“It is”, Chan confirms. “But I doubt you’re here to take it.”
He's correct. But why is Minho here? Just to confirm that Chan wouldn’t let even his dogs kill him if he showed up to one of his warehouses uninvited? Or for some other reason?

Minho doesn’t answer. They’re walking close to each other. Way too close. Minho wouldn’t have let Chan this close just a few weeks ago. But now it just feels… right. Even if Minho admits it through gritted teeth. Chan’s presence is very grounding. It’s different from what it used to be. It doesn’t make Minho violently defensive anymore. Even if he doesn’t want to let it show.

“How are the cats?”
“Fine. I woke up to vomit on the carpet this morning, though”, Minho mumbles. He doesn’t miss the way his hand gently, almost feathery, brushes against Chan’s gloved knuckles. He doesn’t pull back. Neither does Chan. He chuckles:
“Not a very odd occurrence, I assume?”
Minho shakes his head.
“As long as it’s not frequent or bloody, it’s just… normal.” Why is he talking about his cat’s vomiting habits to Christopher Bang at ass o’clock in the night at an abandoned harbor? Why is he even here?

Because this is one of those days where he craves normalcy. Since he’s apparently started calling Chan’s presence normalcy. And perhaps his head has been filled with too many thoughts and flashes through the entire day and Chan’s existence next to him seems to be the only thing driving them away, at least for a moment.

They talk. They’re civil with one another. Their walk is quiet, there’s only a few people making their way down the street of the riverbank. The dirty water in it seems almost sparkling in the moonlight, and for a moment Minho can pretend the water is clear and clean and he’s someplace else with a person that he’s not assigned to kill. The conversation flows almost… naturally. It doesn’t feel odd nor pressuring. They don’t really talk about work, they tiptoe around the topic, occasionally jabbing the other jokingly of how they have ended up in this situation. And that feels. Not horrible.

Minho finds out more things about Chan. He doesn’t directly tell them, not really, but this has become a sort of game for them. They read each other from in between the lines. Chan wishes he could get a dog, he used to have one when he was little. His parents are no longer around, which Minho already knew, but his grandparents apparently are. Chan’s reason for becoming whatever he is today is very similar to Minho’s. No, Minho didn’t lose his entire family, just a central part of it. Chan, however, lost almost everyone. Heartbreaking. Nothing new in their line of work that’s really based on the motive of revenge.

Chan would love to eat out more, but he doesn’t want to get caught. He’s a bad cook, Changbin complains about his cooking a lot, he has nearly burnt an entire building down while trying to cook (perhaps that makes Minho laugh, a lot). He also doesn’t fancy reading books, he’d rather listen to them in audio form while driving a car (dangerous, really). He barely has time to do anything, most of his life is just work. Which, well, Minho can relate.

And perhaps Minho lets him slip through the cracks. Maybe he tells things about himself without really noticing it. Chan’s a bad cook, but Minho is not. Minho likes books, but Chan already knows that. He loves cats, he knows that, too, and perhaps losing his sister, his twin-soul was the thing that pushed Minho to become what he is today. Rest of his family are alive, yes, but they’re not in speaking terms, partially because of Minho’s decision to cut ties with them to keep them safe, partially because they’re money-hungry assholes. The only time Minho has failed a mission, he was on it with Felix and nearly got him killed by accidentally dropping a heavy vase on him (or well, it was the second time he failed, the first one was with Chan and they both remember it). Minho laughs as he tells the story because even if it had been horrifying back then, nowadays it’s just funny. Chan laughs along with him. His laugh is large, it’s serene, it’s clear. It makes Minho’s fingers tingle.

The walk, while it is rather long for just an evening walk, comes unfortunately to an end. They’re in front of Minho’s apartment building, only the streetlamps lighting their way. There are a few more people out on the streets, it is the weekend, after all even if the area is a quieter one. All the bars and pubs are a few streets over.
“See you at the grocery store tomorrow?” Chan sounds expectant. It makes Minho feel… something. He shrugs; possibly. There’s a brief silence, which Chan spends by studying Minho’s face. He manages to look handsome even in the yellow light of the lamps, accentuating the shadows on his face.

“We should probably talk about the flashbacks we’re both apparently experiencing about each other.”

Minho’s stomach drops, suddenly the air turns tense and he takes a small step back. No, he has not forgot the flashbacks, but Chan just broke through his façade of normalcy and splashed cold water on Minho’s face. He’s here just to figure the flashbacks out. And Minho, he’s… he’s what? To figure out the flashbacks. To take evening walks with Chan. Or…?

Chan’s face remains the same. There’s a gentle look in his eyes, his head is a little tilted, he expects an answer, yet isn’t demanding one. Minho doesn’t understand why he suddenly feels so horrible. Perhaps it’s the realization that Chan just wants to find out the source of the stupid ass memories-but-not-theirs, and now Minho really has a confirmation that he really sees them, knows they’re about the two of them, and… And these meetings have been nothing else. And now Chan is inside his head, inside of his mind, Minho has let him past the cracks and walls and guards accidentally and oh fucking hell.

“Yeah. See you at the store”, Minho answers. He ignores the flashback thing, ignores how he feels the familiar feeling creeping up his back. Minho spins on his feet, quick to approach the front door to his apartment building. He slams his keycard against the reader, knows he’s left Chan a little confused on the sidewalk behind him. But he can’t… he doesn’t know what else to do. He needs to get home. He needs to get away. This is just. It’s nothing to Chan. But what is this to Minho?

What is this to him?

***

“I need to kill Christopher Bang”, Minho announces as he steps into the Office wearing full gear for the first time in weeks. His guns feel heavy, yet safe. He’s safe. He’s going to kill Chan. He needs to kill Chan. He needs to get rid of the memories, the emotions, the feelings he’s experiencing real time. Not just flashes. Not just some things from the past. Feelings from today. From yesterday. From the day before. Feelings he’s actually experiencing. Of fondness. Of. Everything else except hating him. Intensely.

“Glad to see you back, too”, Felix mumbles from behind his computer. The Office is buzzing, everyone is surprised to see Minho, yet he isn’t the center of attention. The back wall is. Minho has never seen it so full of bullet points, maps, pictures. Felix nods towards it, so Minho approaches it to get a better view, to understand what has happened and will happen next since he’s missed quite a few things during the past days.

“They found his headquarters. And the warehouses”, Felix mutters as he approaches Minho. His headquarters. Chan’s.
“There’s a meeting, sort of a party at one of the casino’s tonight. The one at the Central Square. He’ll be there, and so will we.” Felix sounds a little off. There’s something odd about him.
“I’ll be there”, Minho mumbles. “I’ll put the bullet through his head.”
“You sound surprisingly certain.”
“I am certain. I need to get rid of him.”

Minho is not entirely sure what kind of life force is driving him. He perfects his shot (as if it needs perfecting) and forces Felix to tell him everything they know. It’s nothing that Minho doesn’t already know, apart from the information on the headquarters. Close to the harbor, as Minho had assumed, disguised as a pub. How unoriginal. Chan could have gone for something grander.

Someone has ratted Chan out, Minho guesses that, too. Someone from the organization, not Chan’s inner circle, they’re loyal. No, someone from the lower ranks, not the hacker since he’s already gone, probably someone who helps at the warehouses or something. Someone that has something against Chan, and now he’s going to have the entire Office after his ass tonight. Minho pulls the trigger again and again and again and every single one of his bullets hit the target at the end of the shooting range. Why is he even doing this? To release stress? Probably. He should go home, put on his best suit, get ready for the night. He should get ready to pull the trigger. He’ll have to do it in public, he knows that, that’s when Chan won’t be anticipating it since Minho always attacks when his targets are vulnerable, which means alone. So Minho has to rely on surprise. And kill him in front of everyone, in the middle of the meeting, in the middle of the casino.

It only takes a flash in his mind, not the kind he’s seen during the past months, and then he can taste acid in his mouth. His hands start trembling, he needs to lower his gun. His guts twist and turn and Minho closes his eyes. He needs to focus, he needs to kill Bang Chan, he needs to, he needs to kill him, no matter what, he has to pull the trigger, he has to be able to do it-

But there is a voice at the back of his head. It’s been there all of this time. Will he really pull the trigger? Is he really able to pull the trigger? To kill Bang Chan? To kill the one Minho is so, so drawn to? The one that brings him so much comfort with his mere presence, the one that is a breath of fresh air, a hint of normalcy? Will he really pull the trigger? Will he? Will he be able to handle the blood on his hands? To accept them?

Or does the thought of Christopher Bang dead, by anyone’s hand, make him sick to his stomach?

***

The suit feels uncomfortable. Minho doesn’t like suits. He pushes his earpiece in, Felix is going to be in the other end to give him and the rest of them instructions. Five people will be sent into the casino, four of them are meant to keep Minho safe and shoot in case he misses. The boss had been pleased to see Minho back and had immediately given him the task of killing Christopher Bang tonight at the casino. His story would end here, no matter the costs. Shouldn’t have fucked with the Office.

The casino is almost at the heart of the city. It’s on the worse side of the center, it’s on the side where normal people rarely wander unless they really need to. The evening isn’t a very pretty one, it’s raining, the asphalt seems to suck in the neon lights reflecting on the puddles. The casino isn’t just a casino, there’s a hotel, too, among other things. It’s also quite… well, lawless. It’s a publicly known secret that the games aren’t exactly legal. It’s also a publicly known secret that a lot of wanted criminals spend their money and time there, and if the police just wanted, they could probably raid the entire place and cop a few names off of their long lists, but well, corruption runs deep in this city, and Minho recognizes the man smoking a cigarette right outside of the casino door to be none other than one of the police officers assigned to work on catching the Office.

Minho climbs out of the taxi, the driver’s been paid beforehand. Minho eyes around, he fits the scene. He looks expensive. He can see one of his own people at the door, keeping an eye on the police officer. Useless, he’s a dirty cop. Minho walks up the stairs to the door, which is kindly opened for him, as is custom to places like these. They don’t ask questions, the golden, dangly jewelry in his ears and around his neck and fingers are enough to let him in. They don’t body check him either, which is, well, their loss, since Minho has three guns on him right now, hidden into the fabric of his crimson red suit. Right now he’s being just as dramatic as Chan has always thought him to be.

Too warm lighting, red carpeting, gilded frames and doorknobs. Chatter, not too loud, some pleasant music to add to the atmosphere. The casino is divided, the slot machines and games and whatnot are on the left side of the corridor, Minho can hear the sounds from there, he can see how different that place is to the one where he’s headed. Violet neon lighting, glowing drinks, the place lacks class, it’s too loud. But Minho heads right, in through the double doors, and then he’s where he’s supposed to be at.

The heart of the casino. Rows and rows of round tables, bar corners, low chatter, dark wooden tones. The clatter of the poker chips. The sound of the dice hitting against wood. A marble making its way round and round the deck. People in suits and pretty dresses and pretty colors. Minho is walking through it all, calmly, blending into the crowd. He sees familiar faces, unfamiliar faces, too. None of them recognize him, as he wouldn’t be a very good assassin if they did.

Minho orders a drink, he’s asked to join a game, but politely he refuses. That one, at least, soon he has to play to blend in better. Chan isn’t here yet. Minho can’t see him, can’t find his familiar face among the people at the casino. Minho takes a seat, at one of the lounges.
“Seo Changbin seen in the parking lot behind the hotel”, Felix speaks up from the earpiece. Ah, so he’s arriving. All of them, and he has his dogs with him, too. Minho isn’t entirely sure what he’s in the casino for, perhaps to strike a new business partner or to rob the jewels from the safe upstairs. Both of them would be his style. And it’s something grand, since Changbin and Jisung and most likely Hyunjin are with him, too.

“Minho, you’re standing out.” No, he isn’t, but he might in a couple of minutes. With a drink in hand and a dashing smile Minho joins a table a minute later. It’s poker, of course it is. Minho is going to lose, he has to admit that he’s not exactly the best at games like this, which, sure, are mostly based on luck, but as with every game, there are certain strategies and Minho is not a master of those strategies. Oh well, it’s not his money he’s playing with. The Office has plenty of it.

“They’re in.” Felix doesn’t need to tell him that, Minho can feel the heat crawling on the back of his neck the moment Christopher Bang steps into the room. Minho doesn’t look up, he doesn’t turn his focus from the game, even if he can visibly see how Chan gathers attention, how heads keep turning to his way. Then Minho can see the person he’s sitting opposite to, a man in an expensive suit, shift a little towards his friend on his right and whisper something. Bodyguards. Or the ones Chan has come to make a deal with. Fuck.

Minho gets his answer very, very soon. There’s a ghost of a hand on his shoulder, and a tad too late he realizes there’s an empty seat next to him. It’s pulled back, Minho freezes as a very familiar presence takes a seat next to Minho. Fucking hell.
“Shit, Minho. Nice going,” Felix mumbles into the earpiece.
“Evening, mister Park”, Chan starts the conversation. Minho finally glances at him and oh,

he looks like that. There’s some sort of a feeling inside of Minho that is not a flash nor a memory nor nostalgia, it’s utterly and purely him and his own brain. Chan looks good. He looks… he looks like the thief he is, but somehow different, somehow more sculpted, more mean. Hair pushed back, a black, expensive suit, Minho can see the golden pocket watch chain in the breast pocket of his waistcoat. Minho notices he’s gripping his poker chips a little too hard.

“Mister Bang”, this Park guy responses with a smile. Minho has seen him somewhere, he now realizes. Not from the better side of the people, probably a smuggler or something.
“Delighted to see you here, too, mister Lee”, Chan moves his attention from the Park guy to Minho. Minho, unfortunately, notices how his stomach tightens a little. He doesn’t like this. Not one bit.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here tonight, Chan”, Minho smiles, ignores whatever feeling he is feeling right now. Chan knows it’s a lie, he knows why Minho is here and he has understood it the second he’s seen Minho. He glances around briefly, most likely searching for the rest of the members of the Office. Minho notices Changbin seating himself in the next table, then the earpiece in Chan’s ear. He knows Changbin will have eyes on Minho the entire time. This just got a whole lot of more complicated.

The plan had been to sit somewhere far away from Chan, then approach when he’s done with his business and about to leave, shoot him and flee. But, unfortunately for Minho, he’s sitting at the same table with Chan. Oh well. Change of plans.
“Boss says someone else will take the shot. Hyunjin is at the table behind you. Keep him distracted if needed”, Felix’s voice sounds from the earpiece. They’re watching from the cameras. Jisung, then, is most likely somewhere close to the corner, searching for other Office members.

Someone else will not take the shot. Minho shakes his head lightly, covers it to be a shrug. He will pull the trigger. He will.

He will take the…

“Shall we restart?” The dealer asks, the table agrees. There are six people seated around it, Minho doesn’t care for the rest, but very soon understands four of them are the people Chan is here to do business with. Hah. Minho is not being very much of an assassin right now once again. Oh well, they had had no idea who Chan would be meeting, just that the meeting would be at the casino, so… Perhaps one could not blame Minho.

The conversation is casual, it’s just daily business, until Chan takes the dive deeper. Minho notices how there’s a gentle touch on his leg. It’s Chan, poking him with his foot. Minho understands what he means, he’ll have to play a role, since the Park guy is looking at him a little oddly and refuses to chat about the deal.
“I’m also a business partner of mister Bang’s”, he smiles, gently. He doesn’t explain further, but Park nods approvingly, so Minho’s presence is now accepted, despite him being an outsider to the deal.

“Minho, what are you doing?” Felix asks. It’s not him asking, not really, but the boss. It’s a slip up. They understand that Minho knows a lot more than the Office. That Minho… knows Chan a whole lot better than they assume he does.

Another brief touch on Minho’s foot, to signal gratitude. He’s not… why is Chan acting like this? He knows what Minho is here for. Why isn’t he pushing him away? Why isn’t he telling Changbin to get rid of him, to get security or something? Why is he keeping Minho seated next to him, as if they’re business partners, especially when he knows the entire Office is watching? It makes Minho go insane. Why is Chan sitting on the stool next to him and pretending like he isn’t about to die in a matter of minutes?

Because he isn’t.

He isn’t going to die in a matter of minutes, and he knows that. They both know that. Minho won’t pull the trigger. Minho will not pull the trigger nor take the shot when there’s a voice in his head telling him to get out, get away from danger, take Chan somewhere safe. Because he’s… he’s something. Minho doesn’t know what. But he won’t take the shot, he won’t draw his gun out, not point it at Chan.

But the others might.

It sets alive a flame of panic in Minho’s guts. They won’t shoot yet. They won’t do anything yet, they will wait until Chan steps up so he’s an easier target, less cautious. Chan and Mister Park are talking about the deal. Not specifics yet, no, just generally this and that, the proper deal will be done later behind closed doors. This meeting is just for testing the waters, Minho knows how these things go. He also knows these meetings don’t last long. He doesn’t have time.

Minho swallows, he knows his nervousness is starting to show, Chan tells it to him by glancing his way and quirking a perfect brow. Minho needs an excuse to pull him aside. He needs something that will look threatening enough for the Office to fool them for a moment. And then? Then what? What then?

Something. Something that will satiate the drive inside of Minho to get Chan out of here. He doesn’t understand it, it’s almost panic-like, it’s something so primal and old that Minho doesn’t understand it, but he can’t let Chan die, not like this, not here, not today. He needs to get him out. Even if he dies while attempting to do so.

“Do we have a deal then?” Chan asks. The game should continue a few rounds more, but it won’t, all of them know it. The game is just for diversion to the outsiders.
“We certainly do, Mister Bang.”

Minho is running out of time. He’s running out of time. He needs to get out, Chan needs to get out. Minho can see a member of the Office standing up from the corner table. Shit.
“Minho”, Felix sounds odd again. He isn’t in this one hundred percent, is he? He has secrets, hasn’t he?

Mister Park and Chan shake hands over the poker table. An excuse. Minho needs an excuse, he can see how the Office member has her eyes on Chan, hand in her pocket, ready to pull out a gun. Changbin has noticed her, too.

“Chan”, Minho looks up at Chan, batting his eyelashes as Chan stands up from his seat, he’s going to leave. He hasn’t noticed he’s being already chased. Minho can hear the blood pumping in his veins.
“Do you mind if we could talk somewhere more private. It’s about the ships.”
There’s the slightest of a questioning look in Chan’s eyes, but then he nods.
“Of course.” He understands. And he understands that Minho is attempting to save him.
“Fantastic. If you excuse us”, Minho smiles sweetly at mister Park and his dogs and doesn’t wait for an answer. He grabs Chan from the sleeve of his suit and Chan understands the hurry they’re in. Another member of the Office is after them.

“Minho, what are you doing? Minho, stop, right now”, the voice isn’t Felix’s anymore, it’s his boss’.
“Private’s better”, Minho mumbles. Chan hears it, probably thinks it’s directed at him, but it’s at his boss. Or well. Chan probably guesses that. He most likely has his own people yelling at him in his earpiece.

A swift change, and suddenly it’s Chan pulling Minho to another direction.
“Permission to shoot on sight”, rings from the earpiece, but then Minho and Chan are in through a side door.
“I got it, no need to worry”, Minho breathes out, and both he and Chan know that it’s a stupid lie, which will very soon be brought to light. They’re at the back of the casino, someone from the security calls after them, in through another door, they’re in some corridor, Chan seems to know the way, of course, he probably has stolen something from this casino, he knows the blueprints of half of the city. Down some stairs, to another corridor, the walking turns to running, along another hallway and door and even narrower hallway, Minho has no idea how many turns they take, there are multiple doors leading wherever and soon they burst to the hotel side of the building. Minho sees Chan take out his earpiece and wonders briefly if he should take out his own,
“You’re on your own. Survive.” It’s a quick whisper in Felix’s voice, he’s trying not to get caught. Minho realizes they’re going to cut him out of the lines. He rips the earpiece out, it’s useless now. They deem him as a traitor. And traitors get killed.

Minho throws his phone from his pocket. It’s a burner phone, the one he uses with the Office business, there’s nothing important in it. And now they can’t track his movements. Chan glances at him, shakes Minho’s grip of his sleeve off and instead takes his hand in his. It’s electrifying. It’s horrible. It makes Minho’s world twist and turn and then they’re in the fire escape, running down the stairs. Minho finally knows where they are.

Chan leads them out, they burst out of the building to a side alley.
“They expect us to go to the left”, Chan mumbles, so they take the right, to the darker alleys, they won’t be safe there for long, but they will be hidden for long enough. The fast steps carry them a few blocks, Minho can hear yelling further away. He isn’t sure if it’s the one’s chasing after them, or just the city. There are raindrops on his shoulders, wetting his suit.

One block, two blocks, three blocks, Chan’s hand doesn’t lose its grip, but they’re both getting steadily out of breath. Another side alley, calm and quiet, and Chan stops finally. He leans against the wall and lets go of Minho’s hand to catch his breath. The rainy night air is almost refreshing. Almost. Minho decides he doesn’t want to be a traitor.

A change of mind, stick to the script, Minho pulls out his gun, points it at Chan as he stands upright. They’ve been in this scenario multiple times before.
“I know you, Minho. You won’t do it”, Chan says. He doesn’t even sound scared. He should. But he doesn’t. Minho feels like he‘s boiling. He’s confused, he’s angry, he’s sick of not understanding what is going on. Why doesn’t he hate Bang Chan? Where has that hatred gone?

“Why?” Minho whimpers. He doesn’t know what else to ask. He wants to kill Bang Chan to not be a traitor. No, he doesn’t. Yes, he does. No, yes, no, no.
“Why can’t I fucking shoot you? Why can’t I pull this fucking trigger no matter how hard I try?” Minho yells out. Someone is going to hear it. There’s a lopsided grin on Chan’s face. He’s expected this to happen, hasn’t he? It infuriates Minho so bad. So bad the dam in him finally breaks.

“Why do I keep fucking dreaming about you all the time? Why do I keep having these flashes, why are you in them? Why do I have this fucking thing where I need to save you from certain death?”
Chan takes a step closer. He takes a step closer with every question Minho has. Minho’s hands are shaking. The gun he has isn’t even loaded, and they both know it.
“Why are you in that fucking painting at the museum? Why am I in that? Why do you… why do you…” Feel so familiar? Feel so comforting after all these years of bitterness and hatred?

Chan presses a finger against the muzzle of the gun, pushes it to point at the ground instead of himself. The smile on his face is gentle. Understanding. Minho hates how it makes his knees weak. He’s supposed to be an emotionless killing machine. And yet.
“I don’t know. But you are not seeing those things alone.” Minho hates how he sounds. He sounds like he adores the flashes.

“Why are you in them? Why can’t I hate you anymore?” Minho’s throat feels clogged, his voice is barely a whisper.
“I don’t know that, either. But I wonder if this will help with the flashes.”

For once, Minho is slower in his reflexes than someone else. Chan wraps his arm around Minho’s waist, pulls him closer within a second and presses his lips against Minho’s.

It’s an explosion.

It’s a wave of warmth that nearly engulfs Minho, wraps around him like a cocoon. He understands. He finally understands.

It’s him. It’s him. And this has gone on and on for centuries. Minho is bound to him. Minho is bound to Chan in ways that the human mind can not really comprehend, but Minho finally does. Chan is his as much as he is Chan’s, and they have lived together so many lives. All of them. All of their lives, in each of them they have found each other again and again and again, as they have done now. They’re bound. They’re soulmates. They are meant to collide in every single universe, no matter how many times it twists and turns like a kaleidoscope. Their atoms will always attract each other, they will always find each other among the sea of people. They will die in each other’s arms, in love, as they have done in every life before, and will do in every life after this.

“Oh”, Minho whimpers as Chan pulls away. Chan is out of breath. He looks winded, he looks like he suddenly understands the secrets of the universe. Because he does. And so does Minho.
“It’s you”, Chan whispers, and then his gloved hand is on Minho’s cheek. Minho presses himself against that touch. It’s familiar. It’s gentle. Minho knows this man. He knows Chan from the bottom of his heart. No, he doesn’t remember their past lives, he doesn’t remember what they used to be, but he remembers that this is the man he loves. Has loved. Will love in every single life to come.

“I’ve finally found you”, Chan mutters under his breath. Both of them know that they haven’t really been looking, ever. They haven’t known to look. And yet they have found something they have been both searching for.
“As I’ve found you”, Minho mumbles back, and then Chan’s lips are on his again. They’re familiar. They’re safe. They’re Chan’s. The touch around Minho’s waist is no longer a ghost, the lips on his are no longer memories, they’re real. They’re Chan’s. And he’s here, and Minho loves him, he knows this for a fact. The kiss is perfect. It’s perfect. Chan tastes a little bit like the champagne he drank at the casino, and raindrops. And himself. And Minho remembers that taste, it’s centuries old.

They are bound to each other. They are soulmates.

“We need to go”, Chan whispers against Minho’s lips. Right. In this life, they’re a thief and an assassin, both traitors, being chased. The grip from Minho’s waist doesn’t loosen.
“Then you need to let go of me.” Until it does, hesitantly.
“Your gun”, Chan mumbles. Minho hadn’t realized he had dropped it. Minho picks it up, careful to not leave any evidence.
“Let’s go. Changbin will take us to the airport.”

***

There is the sound of waves somewhere far away. The sheets feel gentle around Minho’s body, as does the arm around his waist. Chan’s curls smell of sea salt, Minho has his nose buried in them. It’s the best kind of morning. And he hasn’t had many of those yet. But he has many of those to come.

Chan grunts, he’s about to wake up. It’s been a week, they’re somewhere far, far away, hidden in a safe place on the opposite side of the world.
“Morning”, Minho mumbles, shifts a little. He’s been awake for a few minutes, now. He knows the day is far already, but he doesn’t mind it.
“Morning, love.” Chan’s voice is full of morning. Minho loves it, it sends a pleasant shiver down his spine. Chan shifts a little in Minho’s arms, and Minho is pretty certain that if humans could purr, he’d do so right now.

Speaking of cats.
“Will my little loves be here today?”
“Mmhm.” An affirmative hum. They had had to flee, quickly. Changbin had come to get them, he hadn’t inquired any further as Chan had dragged Minho into the car and told Changbin to drive. He had understood that something had happened and perhaps his boss and enemy weren’t so enemies anymore. Except when it came to playing chess. Then they definitely were still enemies.

There had been a plane waiting for them, it had swept them away. Chan had perhaps seen this coming, or he had been very quick to arrange things. Either way, now they were far away from the people looking for them, and obviously, as the leave had been a hasty one, Minho had had to leave his cats behind. It would have been too dangerous to go and get them, so Jisung had been faster than the Office to pick them up from Minho’s apartment and now he’s on his way to their little secret place with Chan’s private jet, and Minho’s cats are with him. They have apparently been ‘little devils’, as Jisung has put it. Minho is proud of them, and he misses them dearly.

Minho has another question, too. Something he’s been trying to get an answer to the whole week, but Chan has been dodging answering and blatantly refusing to answer. But now it’s morning, and Minho has very quickly learned that he gets his way more easily in the mornings, when Chan’s head is still full of sleep.

“Who’s the informant that got you the tapes from my grocery store? Who told you where I live?” Minho asks. Chan chuckles. Alright, maybe he knew to expect the question.
“Wouldn’t you like to know that?”
“Oh, come on! You’re not being fair”, Minho whines.
“I’ll tell you if you accept my offer.” The offer that is still on the table. Chan had reminded Minho of that last night while littering kisses all over his body. Minho sighs.

“I accept it on one condition.” He’s been thinking about this. Chan’s attention perks, he looks up, through his messy hair that has fallen over his forehead.
“Really?” He sounds genuinely surprised. Minho doesn’t on comment how the bargain isn’t being exactly fair right now.
“Yes. I want two of my best men from the Office out.”
“Name them.”
“Lee Felix and Kim Seungmin.”
“Felix will be easy, he’s already acquaintances with Changbin.” No wonder he had sounded so odd.
“That little shit”, Minho mumbles.
“Seungmin doesn’t like us, are you certain he’d like to work with us?”
“He doesn’t like the Office either, but he likes me, so he’ll follow me. You’ll see.” Okay, well, Seungmin’s and Minho’s relationship is perhaps best described as ‘odd’, but he knows the Office won’t last for long anymore, and Seungmin is a smart one, so he’d eventually follow to the winner’s side.

“Alright, you can bring your friends and I get a fiery assassin and a few tech experts. Works for me”, Chan smiles. Minho can see the wheels turning in his head, he’s already planning something.
“Now I want my answer. Who’s your informant from the Office?”, Minho pouts.
Chan lets out a laugh Minho so very much adores.
“It’s Jeongin.”
Minho closes his eyes. Another little shit.
“Of course it is”, he mutters.
“He works for the one that pays him the best. I have to respect that.”
“And he’s been ratting me out to you.”
“Yes, among other things. He’s a great one, though.”
“I bet he is. I’m going to gut him the next time I see him.”

Chan laughs at Minho. Perhaps he feels a tiny bit betrayed, even if he knows that this is exactly what Jeongin would do. Work for those who pay the best. His moral compass is as much that of a weathervane’s as Minho’s.
“Please don’t do that. I like to keep myself updated on what the cops are up to”, Chan mutters.
“Change my mind”, Minho challenges him. Chan simply cocks a brow at him, as if that hardly is a challenge.
“Fine.”

The sea salt really has stuck to Chan’s skin. It’s stuck to Chan’s skin all over, and Minho won’t mind spending the next eternity with that taste on his tongue.