Archive of Our Own ^omega

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“It’s just, how come Minghao gets all the fun assignments?” Seungcheol complains, setting up his computers. “While we’re stuck in this cramped van, he gets to dress up, go out, live his life. The bar our target’s sitting at looks cool too.”

Wonwoo quietly drags his favorite chair back into the setup. “I’d rather be here.” 

Seungcheol huffs in response, lips tightened as he connects their radio to Minghao’s channel. “I don’t know. It feels like the agency is just sucking all the life out of me. Personally, I think I should get to seduce the rich man next time.” He misses Wonwoo’s amused glance as he plops down. 

“What’s my outlook?” A clear voice is filtering into his ear when he tugs on his headset. 

“Alright, The8, you are cleared to go,” Seungcheol reports, clicking his mic into place. 

There’s a little static on his headset before a quick response as always. “Cool.” He can’t help but be a little disappointed when there’s nothing else on the line. 

When Seungcheol leans back, Wonwoo is giving him a look over his own computer. “You know you don’t have to call him by a code name anymore, right? Our channels were secured a few months ago. You’re sounding like Vernon.”

Seungcheol sniffs. Wipes a finger under his nose. Keeps an eye on the live surveillance footage loaded onto his PC setup. “Yeah. I guess it helps keep things impersonal, you know? Like the bosses always say, keep a distance or whatever.”

A scoff. “Hyung, we literally have gaming nights together on Fridays. You never listen to the bosses anyway.”

Seungcheol sits back up restlessly and puts his chin in his hands. Wonwoo’s eyes catch onto the movement. He’s a terrible liar and they both know it. “Keep an eye on the exterior footage,” he huffs, a sore loser too. “No getting distracted.”

And still Wonwoo’s right as always. Seungcheol knows his team like the back of his hand, and not even the agency can prevent it.

Wonwoo (Code Name: WW), who was scouted into the business because of his sniper experience from all his years of gaming alone. He loves his headphones, well-used from a childhood of ignoring the blaring sirens around him. Also eerily good with computers and can read people like books. Seungcheol wonders sometimes how much the younger man knows about him. Knows, and doesn’t say. 

Minghao (Code Name: The8) , whose family are all generals in the military except he wanted to join a company of intelligence agents instead. Minghao is their official field man. He’s sleek, he’s fashionable, and he’s quick on his toes. He also probably has every living person who's ever glimpsed him wrapped around his (long, pretty) fingers. 

Maybe that’s why Seungcheol is blushing as he watches him on the camera. 

They’ve been a group for five years, rogue twenty-somethings impressing higher-ups until they were finally allowed to form a permanent team.

And they’re the first family Seungcheol has had since he was coerced into the company, constantly paying off an inherited debt.

It doesn’t feel so hopeless when he’s around them.

“Minghao’s approaching,” Wonwoo warns, and Seungcheol leans in, tracking a tall, slender figure on the camera. 

This time, they’re just placing a bug on a target, no interceptions. They’ve rented out a company van, where Seungcheol and Wonwoo usually provide support unless on-site backup is needed. It’s a relatively simple Saturday mission for them, and yet still Seungcheol can’t feel completely at ease. 

Typical team leader anxiety. He’s gotten used to the constant worry.

He watches Minghao enter the large room. “He’s to your right,” Wonwoo advises, and Seungcheol can see him locking onto the target on the footage. Minghao glides towards the man and positions himself at the very edge of the bar. The target turns slightly in his seat, finally catching a glimpse of him. 

Bingo. It’s easy going from now. 

Seungcheol watches as the man stands up smoothly from his chair, approaching their agent. Slides into the stool next to him casually. Ah.  

This one’s not playing too hard to get. He finds it hard to believe that anyone could resist approaching Minghao, especially when he looks like this. Seungcheol’s been in the business for more than five years and even he doubts himself sometimes. 

Even with an easy catch, Minghao makes it believable. He leans in, small and blurry on the camera, and yet somehow Seungcheol can vividly imagine his heavy lidded eyes flickering down. The golden lights above the bar must reflect on his skin as it flushes with feigned pleasure. His eyes are probably sparkling, the side of his red lips curling up in an infuriating smile. 

“You’re handsome yourself,” he croons, likely in response to a stammered compliment, sultry voice dancing in Seungcheol’s earpiece. 

Seungcheol tries to imagine himself receiving that compliment, and knows that it’s more far-fetched than a promotion. The only way Minghao’s saying that to him is if he becomes a wanted criminal.

What scares him is that for a moment, he actually considers turning to a life of crime, just to live out that single moment.

He’s seen this same seduction strategy so many times from The8, he can guess every next move. Minghao’s heavy voice is melted and cottony over the comms. He’s reaching forward and tugging at the lapels on the man’s jacket, smoothening them out. Then, he grasps his drink and wraps his lips around the thin edge of the glass. 

He’s mechanical and practiced, only the man’s too enraptured to notice. 

A loud crackling noise disrupts his focus. 

Seungcheol whirls around, eyes wide and hand over weapon, only to find that Wonwoo has opened a packet of chips and is picking through it contentedly while watching him. 

The younger tosses him one, and Seungcheol catches it in his mouth without a second thought. But they’re still looking at each other. 

Wonwoo doesn’t say anything for a while, but Seungcheol knows that he’s been caught staring.  Again. 

“Alright, just spit it out,” he sighs, rubbing his forehead. “Because it’s not what you think it is.”

Wonwoo feigns innocence for some time. “Spit what out?” he asks, before scratching his ear with a cheese-dusted finger. “Oh look at that. Minghao’s kissing him.” 

WHAT? He doesn’t usually- Seungcheol twists in his chair again, eyes popping and heart beating out of his throat, only to find that Minghao is actually not doing anything at all. Everything looks normal.

And realizes that he’s been caught for the second time this night. Great.

“Hyung, you need to tell him.”

“Tell him what?” Seungcheol chuckles nervously, cracking his knuckles. “There’s nothing to tell. This is nothing like what it looks like.”

There’s an unimpressed look sent his way. Or maybe that’s just Wonwoo’s normal face. Seungcheol can’t really differentiate between the two anymore. 

“Come on man, we’re stuck together in a cramped van for half the year. I’m not stupid.” Wonwoo is eating again, his nose scrunching up as he chews. “You can’t just keep on watching your useless romance movies and pretending you’re the main lead.”

Seungcheol puts his face in his hands. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a phase. I’ll get over it.” 

“It’s a phase that’s lasted five years.” He lifts his face up just in time to catch the cheese puff that Wonwoo has chucked at him. 

Seungcheol knows why he can’t let go of it. Wonwoo probably does too. It’s an undictated part of his life.

One that even the men with the weapons can’t control about him. He isn’t used to feelings like this, and too enamored by the sensations to forget them.

Minghao’s voice on the other end of their lines startles them both back into concentration. “Yeah, of course I’ll have another drink.” 

Seungcheol can’t believe he let himself get distracted. That too by Wonwoo and introspection .

When he’s focused on the cameras again, he hears Wonwoo speak behind him. “You’re the glue holding this team together, you know. We work so well together because you send us lame birthday gifts and organize cheesy movie nights.”

It’s an attempt to cheer him up.

Seungcheol waves him off, though a little flattered, focusing in on the pair at the bar again. As he is resetting his headphones, he hears the big line. “Yeah, this place is really bugging me too. We should meet again sometime,” Minghao purrs. 

The sound rushes through his ears and fizzes out Seungcheol’s brain even though it’s nothing unfamiliar. “Alright, mission successful,” Seungcheol mumbles robotically, watching Minghao stand up smoothly and lope out of the bar again, leaving behind a made-up phone number and a dumbstruck target.

Seungcheol understands the feeling. He gets dumbstruck too sometimes.  “You’re good to leave, The8. There’s no detectable threats.”

Wonwoo x’s out of his portal into the security cameras, and Seungcheol closes the radio comm connection, readying himself for some more romantic preaching. 

“Marti’s?” Wonwoo rumbles, seemingly done with deep conversation. 

Seungcheol grins, relieved. “Marti’s.”

~

Marti’s is a dingy pizza joint in the darker corner of the town. It doesn’t have great pizza, but it is open at ungodly hours of the morning, so it’s basically their only option. Seungcheol orders the usual from the waiter with dead eyes, and watches Minghao tug the wired comms out of his ear. 

He joins them near the window. The fluorescents from the neon sign light up the dark street. There’s broken glass littered outside the windows. The only stop sign is bent and rusty in the yellow glow. Always the same, every time.

It’s perfect. 

He longs for a little stability.

He’s exhausted. 

Wonwoo slides a laptop onto their plastic table. The black screen blinks, and flashes into color. Vernon’s eyes pop into picture. “Marti’s again?” he asks, voice crackling while the audio steadies.

“Yeah. Can you believe it?” Minghao is poking at his steaming slice, watching the hot pepperoni curl. “After all my hard work, I thought you’d treat me to caviar. That guy was slimy.” 

Seungcheol knows that Minghao always complains, and yet ends up eating his share anyway. Actually, it makes him a little pleased that Minghao wasn’t happy with the target.

He argues anyway, just because his sleep-deprived mind has no filter. “Come on, Hao,” he rasps, clacking his soda bottle down. “How could you resist all that melted cheese? Just take a bite!”

Minghao physically shrinks away from the pizza box that’s being enticingly hovered in front of his face, sticking his tongue out.

“Life is like a pizza,” Vernon says, cryptic, then doesn’t elaborate.

Seungcheol’s about to ask him to back up so they can see something other than his eyes, but figures that it’s useless. Vernon does as Vernon wants. 

He reaches for the slice with the most meat, only to find Minghao’s (perfect, flawless) face inches away from his. 

Red lips. Pretty eyes. Seungcheol startles back, stammering, and Minghao leans in further. His eyes are snake eyes. But Minghao is much prettier than a snake. 

“Don’t you think I did a good job, hyung? ” he asks, voice dripping with diamonds. 

It’s too late for this.

Seungcheol swallows, licking his lips, knowing that the red blush on his face is probably radiating across the street. “Uh-yeah?”

He doesn’t have to embarrass himself much further before Minghao dissolves into giggles, patting him. “Ah, gosh. You should have seen your face.” But when he stops laughing, he looks unusually pleased. 

Wonwoo is looking at him weirdly, and Vernon’s eyes are about to burn through his soul, but Seungcheol snatches his slice and slumps into his chair, ignoring all of them. 

“HQ has made some changes to the employee handbook,” Vernon is saying after a pause, and God , Seungcheol wants to not hear about the overbearing headquarters for once. 

He leans back and zones out for a minute, letting Wonwoo take over his conversation. Wonwoo isn’t team leader. He doesn’t have to hear from the bosses all the time.  

There’s a leaky spot on the ceiling. It drips onto the table next to them, water racing across the shiny white surface. 

The same cheap flick is playing on the TV. He watches the male lead seduce the same lady for the tenth time, and still feels butterflies flitting around in his churning, pizza-filled stomach. 

The three of them are probably paying Martis’ bills at this point with their weekly after-mission expeditions and Wonwoo’s appetite. In all his years, he hasn’t yet seen another customer.

Of course, that could have something to do with the fact that their normal dinner time is at 2 A.M. in the morning. 

The trashy music that blares from the speakers is actually half alright this time. He’ll have to give the dead-eyed waiter his playlist for greater hopes next time. 

Minghao’s hand is still on his thigh.

Seungcheol figures that if he tells him about it, he’ll just get teased more. ( Oh hyung, were you that bothered by it? Did it make you all blushy and giggly?) He doesn’t mind the warm weight anyway. 

The night is delirious and he feels ready to pass out from all the pizza and seductive gazes. Minghao’s hand grounds him, despite his otherwise infuriating presence. 

“Anyway, your assignment-” Vernon starts, voice crackling in his earbuds, and Seungcheol drowsily blinks back into awareness, sitting up with a start. 

Hao flashes him a mocking grin from the corner of his face, and Seungcheol rolls his eyes, dragging his chair closer. It squeaks against the wet floor.

“-is to capture the Blade .” 

Seungcheol snorts down laughter.

 But Wonwoo is contemplative as he peels off a piece of pepperoni and pops it into his mouth. “No, I’ve heard of him. He’s a tricky one. Smuggler, right?”

Ah. Seungcheol knows tricky ones. They take longer to manipulate.

“Yeah,” Vernon agrees. Green letters roll down his bright-lit face as he loads a new screen. “Sleek type, a little like The8, actually.”

“Well, then,” Minghao doesn’t seem to mind the comparison. He wipes his greasy hands with a silk handkerchief. “It’s the usual then. Code 9. I walk in, flirt a little, put something in his drink and drag him out of the interception zone.”

Not another one . But there’s nothing much he can do anyway. It’s his job to follow orders, and these ones are printed out clearly in paper. 

Seungcheol nods reluctantly. Wonwoo agrees too, humming around a mouthful of neon yellow cheese. 

Vernon’s voice is uncertain though. “Nope, nope. HQ has ordered different assignments this time.”

“Oh?” Seungcheol asks, allowing himself to hope. He can’t remember the last mission where they’ve switched roles. Maybe there won’t be any Code 9 this time. He cracks a smile, and for the first time, thanks headquarters. “Is our Wonwoo going to be the seduction agent this time?”

Wonwoo looks a little offended when Minghao snickers into his pizza. 

“No, no.” Vernon is biting his lip, pale eyes focusing onto him. “You are, hyung.”

Silence. 

Three pairs of shell shocked eyes are slicing into the computer. 

Even the ceiling leak stops dripping, shocked. 

Seungcheol clears his throat first, because there’s no way that HQ (even in all their stupidity) looked at him and thought changing assignments would be wise. “What?” 

Vernon seems equally as uncomfortable with the idea. “Uh, yeah. Apparently something about compatibility.”

Hadn't he complained about his job earlier in the evening? Maybe headquarters was listening into him too. That…actually explained a lot. 

“Wait, wait,” Minghao is stammering. “ Seungcheol hyung is going to be flirting with the target?”

And, well, that hurts a little. It’s not like he can’t do it. He just hasn’t had the opportunity to. 

“Yeah. HQ’s orders. They think he’ll be better for this one.”

Wonwoo clears his throat, finally abandoning his pizza. He licks some sauce off his cheek, considering his thoughts. “The8 has the style, though. He’s really good at this. We don’t want to mess up the whole thing because of some last minute changes,” he says.

Seungcheol nods along in the background despite himself. Because Minghao does have the style. 

He’s all designer suits and round yellow sunglasses, dark black hair slicked back into a roguish mullet. His voice is like honey, heavy and smooth. His black eyes are agents of hypnosis: One look and any man can be lured. 

He’s bewitching. He’s tempting. He’s dangerous. And criminals love danger. 

Some get into lawlessness for the money, and some get into it because they have to, but there’s no doubt. All their targets love the thrill. Minghao looks thrilling.

Seungcheol simply doesn’t have the same appeal. Apparently he’s too fluffy or something. 

“And we definitely can’t get around this?” Wonwoo asks. 

“Nope. Nope, or else you guys are defo going to be disbanded. I can hear the higher officials talking about it right now, behind me.” Vernon eyes them anxiously. 

Pizza drop silence. 

Seungcheol chokes on his soda. 

Disbanded? It’s unprecedented. He’s never heard of teams being disassembled over a small disagreement. 

It’s a show of authority, no doubt. They’re the most successful team the agency has had in a long time, and yet it’s always the successful ones that go rogue.

The bosses have tried it before, assigning them dangerous individual missions to test their grit and remind them that they’re pawns in the big game.

 Seungcheol has fought them out of it each time, with a combination of thoughtful reasoning and wild-eyed threats.  

But they’ve never been promised a separation as a consequence.  No amount of fighting will get them out of this one, and he hates the agency for it. For making him feel so powerless in a life where he doesn’t have much power to begin with.

And yet, Seungcheol isn’t willing to take the risk, not for something so trivial. They work well together. It makes sense for them to be in a team. 

Wonwoo has just started to have long, deep conversations with him. He can’t never listen to them again, even if they’re long tirades of advice on his romantic life. 

And Minghao. At least he’s allowed to spend time with him. At least he can be teased and pushed around and have someone to laugh with, even if it’ll never become anything else.

Minghao’s family has been distant for some time now. Will he be able to turn to anyone else for support?

Some people are just good at manipulation. Some people are forced to become good at it. Seungcheol isn't going to let Minghao turn into some cutthroat robot because the devils on their thrones overwork him. 

After five years, he knows how HQ rolls. Unless they’re in a team, agents aren’t allowed to interact with each other, and even then, Seungcheol had to negotiate with his supervisor to even hold gaming nights. 

He’s unlikely to ever see any of them again if the agency pulls them apart. And they’re the only part of his life he can actually feel something about.

They’re his. He’s their’s. It’s a sense of belonging that he can’t find even within the company that’s given him everything else. 

Yeah. Yeah. This is nothing. “I’ll do it,” he declares, sitting up. “Especially since there’s no way around it. It can’t be that bad, right?”

“No!” Minghao’s voice is loud. Even the cashier stops mopping to stare at him. 

Seungcheol gets it. Their roles are practically natural for Code 9s. Being a Code 9 field agent is likely sown into Minghao’s skin, just another side to him.

And if he knows anything about the younger, it’s that he loves comfort zones, where he can’t be surprised. But with stakes like this? “Do you want us to be broken up by HQ?” Seungcheol asks, incredulous. 

“Yeah, The8, why so touchy? I bet hyung could do it.” Vernon sounds like he knows something Seungcheol doesn’t.

 It’s true though. Why does he look this angry? 

“Okay, show us something then,” Wonwoo says mildly, peeking around Minghao and chewing on his fourth slice of the night.

Minghao whirls around. “Hyung, don’t encourage-”

“Nah, I want to see this,” Vernon is leaning back, and his nose pops into screen too. That’s how Seungcheol knows he’s excited. 

Well, he might as well start practicing. “Alright.”

Seungcheol unzips his black jacket carefully and flicks it away. Musses up his soft hair. Rolls up the sleeves of his white tee until they’re curled up around his bicep. And flexes his arm casually while leaning in on the table. 

Please listen to me, oh Gods of seduction. 

Somehow, his dazed trips to the company gym have paid off. 

Pale muscle bulges out of his shirt when he leans forward. The seduction gods seem to favor him too now, because suddenly black hair is falling across his eyes. He dims his lids in time to peer at Minghao with what he hopes desperately is an alluring gaze. 

The tower fan is rickety, creaking whenever it turns.

Across town, a police car is blaring distant sirens as it races down the freeway.

The pizza ovens are making dying sounds behind him(and Seungcheol knows what dying sounds like). 

“Wow.” Vernon’s voice is breathy. 

Success. Seungcheol sits back up and beams at him. 

“Well the effect is ruined now,” Wonwoo laughs, coughing on the expired tomato sauce. “You’re too wholesome, hyung.”

But Vernon is inspired. “No, no. There’s a reason HQ chose him. He’ll totally go for Cheol,” he rambles, fingers flying across his laptop keys. “Yep, yep, got the file right here, let me send it to you. Just look at his past flings.”

Minghao is still staring at him, lips going from red to white. He reaches out a slim hand as if to touch him, but pulls back, choosing to instead crumple a napkin tightly in his pale fist.

Bing! Wonwoo clicks onto the mail from Vernon, pulling it up. One by one, men pop into the screen. 

 And all of them look exactly like him. Broad shoulders. Large eyes. Milky skin. And dark cut hair. Their target’s got a very specific weakness. It’s him. It seems that, for once, headquarters is being sensible.

Seungcheol leans back, feeling as if the air is sparking around him. “ See?” he says. “It’s not too bad.”

“Alright then.” Vernon sounds relieved. “Makes sense. I’ll update the boss. We’ll have The8 in the van and Seungcheol-hyung intercepting the target.”

“Are you all literally hearing yourselves?” Minghao cries, finally dragging his gaze away from Seungcheol. “We’re talking about Cheol hyung here.”

Seungcheol is miffed, even though teasing (him, specifically) is just Minghao’s specialty. “Why?” he sulks, pulling his jacket back on. “Can’t I seduce anyone?”

Minghao stands up, affronted, and peers down at him with narrowed eyes. “No! Hyung shouldn't seduce anyone!”

Well, shouldn't is better than can’t. He’ll take it. 

Wonwoo and Vernon exchange a look through the computer, like they can telepathically communicate. The quiet kids really, truly freak him out sometimes. Seungcheol loves them, but he’s also a little scared of them.

“No, no, let’s give our team leader a chance,” Wonwoo begins carefully, the edge of his mouth lifting until he looks smug. “I’m sure hyung can do it. Wear a tight shirt, flex his arms some, and maybe wrap a hand around the target’s waist? Plus the deep voice? Blade will be easy.”

He presses his lips together, lemon-shaped eyes crinkling up like he’s about to burst into cackles.

“For sure.” Vernon suddenly looks like he’s muffling his laughter too. He can’t really tell because Vernon refuses to show them anything but his eyes today.

Minghao seems furious, like he doesn’t want Seungcheol to wear a tight shirt, flex his arms, and wrap a hand around the target’s waist. “Idiots,” he hisses, looking ready to kick all of them in the face. His silver ringed fingers are rolled into a fist. 

He’s hot . 

Wow. What a thought to be having in such a dire moment. God, Seungcheol should slap himself sometimes. Being kicked in the face was not attractive. Especially since he was about to not be stuck in the van and actually show his lovely face around.

He swallows down his thoughts with a helping of soda and tugs Minghao back into his seat before he punches a hole through the window. “Come on,” he coaxes, rubbing his shoulders. “Being in the van won’t kill you, especially if the team can stay together. I’m sure Wonu will appreciate your fashion sense. You can seduce him all you want, if it makes you happy. ”

He’d appreciate not being able to see Minghao doing it for once. He needs a distraction before his harmless crush can get out of hand and ruin both of their futures in the agency. Ruin both of their futures, period.

Wonwoo looks horrified though.

A voice cuts in. “That’s not why he’s ups-”

 Minghao slams the laptop closed before Vernon can say anything else. 

Silence. Again. 

Wonwoo’s the one to break it, pulling his computer back open. “Oh, before you closed it, I found a picture of Blade online.” 

“Really?” Both Seungcheol and Minghao lean into Wonwoo’s computer, shoulders brushing against each other as the loading button rolls. 

And wow , the man’s handsome. Sharp features, bleached hair, a black rose curling up his slender throat. He is, just as Vernon said, similar to Minghao. Not as pretty, of course.  But pretty enough for Seungcheol to have no problem flirting a little. He doesn’t mind the terrible name if his target really does look like this. He must have a type.

Minghao’s sharp eyes are darting between him and the computer, growing colder by the minute. Without looking at him, Seungcheol brushes a piece of hair away from over his eyebrows. 

Wonwoo is watching both of them expectantly. “He’s handsome,” he observes when neither of them speak.

Minghao scoffs, messing his hair up again and leaning back into his seat. Maybe if Seungcheol had treated him to caviar, he would be less irritable. 

With his silence, the mood is soured like old pizza dough. 

But Seungcheol isn’t fearless enough to declare that Hao is more handsome , and probably ten times the criminal if he tried, and then face another week of ceaseless bullying.

With the new revelation that maybe he’s being bugged by HQ, he feels even less bold.

“Alright team,” he says instead, downing the last of his Sprite like it’s beer. “We’ll meet on Thursday, then.”

Seungcheol slaps a hefty tip on the table before turning away. He doesn’t need to look back to know that Minghao’s pocketed it, probably with a little self-assured smile. 

When they leave (always in different directions, with ten minute pauses in between), he slips another bill into the tip jar like he always does. 

~

Criminals like chilling out at bars.

It’s a trend Seungcheol’s noticed recently. At least they have good taste, he thinks, noting the velvet seats and shining maple chairs. The bartender is skillful at the other end of the counter.

Seungcheol has to come back if he ever gets free time, and order something more flamboyant than a light beer. 

And bring Minghao along. He’d love all this luxury.

But tonight isn’t quite the time to enjoy craftsmanship. He’s got a team to preserve.

Blade isn’t quite as forthright as their previous target, but Seungcheol knows that he’s been seen by the burning gaze scorching the side of his face. 

Everything is scorching, actually. He’s flushing with anxiety, heart getting ready to explode.

Clearing his throat casually, Seungcheol runs a hand through his hair and leans back, rolling his shoulders. He darts his tongue out to graze his lip and Yes-

Wood scratches against shining tile. The Blade is slipping out of his chair and coolly strolling closer. 

“Ah hyung,” comes Wonwoo’s voice, static through the earbud. “Great job. He’s approaching.”

There’s no turning back or aborting mission now. He never planned to.

The man is sliding in next to him. His pale neck is craned, ever so slightly, so that Seungcheol’s eyes lock onto the black rose tattoo that races up out of his shirt and curls around his ear.

“One beer please,” he asks, and wow , the voice is rough. 

Purr-like rough. It’s thorny like the tattoo, and dark. Pretty. Not as pretty as Minghao’s voice, but pretty.

He might as well be doing the seduction for the both of them.

Seungcheol has to actually refrain from clapping a hand over his mouth. He settles for clearing his throat, taking another swig of his own drink as if he’s not an intelligence agent or anything like that. 

“So, what’s your name?” Blade asks, wrapping his pink lips around the edge of the bottle. Seungcheol watches him take a drink with dimmed eyes. 

The light of the bar is low and electrifying, golden haloes reflecting off clear glass. He already feels a little drowsy, floating amongst it all.

Above it, the Blade’s curtain-like perfume is muffling everything else out of his senses. It’s a bit too much, if he’s being honest.

He prefers Minghao’s. 

There’s silence. 

Seungcheol almost forgot that he’s supposed to be the one doing the work here. 

The Blade is still watching him expectantly. Suspiciously.

“Ha!” Minghao’s voice is ecstatic over the comms. “See, I told you it’s difficult. You should just come back here and not touch or compliment him at all. I’ll argue with the company.”

As if he’d allow Minghao to do that . Since he’s already probably played up the innocence with silence, he might as well stick to it. Seungcheol quickly licks his lips, before darting his eyes away timidly.  “Uh-Coups. I’m Coups.”

The suspicion wafts away with the drifting aroma of cologne. “Cute,” the smuggler chuckles, putting his chin in his hands. 

Yeah, he is cute. More people ought to tell him that.

Seungcheol puts his chin in his hands too, but only because he knows that it’ll show off his arms. “What’s your name?” he asks, voice purposefully soft and unassuming.

There are eyes burning through his arms now. “Blade.”

It’s smooth. Seungcheol has to refrain from melting into laughter again. He plays off his red face as awe, and quickly takes another sip, swallowing down his giggles with the bitter drink. “That’s such a cool name,” he replies, trying his best to gush.

Wonwoo isn’t helping his cause with the fact that he is absolutely losing it on the other side of the comms. 

Minghao is strangely silent though. 

He tries to not think about Minghao.

It’s the ideal place to distract himself anyway. Low lamps dangling above him, swaying gently to the music. He’s intoxicated more by the atmosphere than the drink, disoriented both by the colors dancing around him and the man in front of him. 

As it turns out, despite the bad naming decisions and blatant cologne overuse, Blade is decent conversation. Seungcheol finds out that there actually is a place other than Marti’s open after midnight (some Indian joint he’ll have to research later). A discount code for a nearby gym, scrawled in messy handwriting, is tucked into his pocket.

The man is cautious, he’ll give him that. But the barriers have started collapsing. There’s a rosy flush on his face now, probably because of the multiple bottles lined up on the counter next to him. 

And he’s removed his expensive jacket, revealing an unbuttoned designer brand underneath.

Seungcheol keeps on darting his gaze toward it, watching delicate black ink run down pale skin. The blush on his face is real this time, despite the fact that he’s repulsed by criminals. “How far down does that tattoo go?” he asks innocently.

A smirk. “Want to find out?”

“Alright, I can’t take this anymore-” Minghao’s voice is strangely clear in his earpiece. Maybe he has selective hearing, so his ears are tuned to specialize in hearing Minghao’s voice only. 

The night goes on. Seungcheol tries to ignore the concern that’s begun to wash through his throat.

He hasn’t gotten a chance to mix anything into the man’s drink yet. The sealed bottle is a heavy reminder in his pocket, constantly pressing into his leg. It’s insistent, along with the imprint of the dagger that’s strapped to his thigh. He’s an agent. 

He’s not here for fun.

What if he actually ends up going home with the Blade?

It has to have been a while for Seungcheol to be actually considering romancing a known criminal. Either that, or his moral compass is more twisted than he knows. 

Minghao’s face pops into his mind, and he ushers it away. This was supposed to be a distraction, not another reminder. 

The drink isn’t cool this time, but scorching as it races down his throat and settles in his uneasy stomach.

He needs to be done with this before headquarters forces him to go further. He feels a little disgusting, actually. How does Minghao do this without shuddering?

Abruptly, a chill prickles across his cheekbones. It’s especially noticeable, since the whole evening has felt like he’s been floating in a pool of golden warmth. 

He feels eyes dancing across the back of his throat. Somebody’s watching. Taking another sip, he turns casually to give the rest of the bar a quick once over. 

Ah. 

There’s a new man. He’s slouching at one of the window tables, peering at him. Seungcheol hasn’t seen him before now. 

It would be suspicious, enough to immediately abort mission and leave the interception point. But he’s also wearing a familiar shirt. 

Seungcheol squints, and recognizes the slanted snake eyes immediately. But the person whom they belong to should be in the company van. 

It’s an illusion, then. Probably a wistful dream woven by a wistful mind. 

He’s really seeing Minghao everywhere nowadays. Probably going delirious from all the suppressed nerves or all the suppressed feelings. It’s like all his romance novels go.

Unfortunately, this particular symptom of love is probably going to ruin his fine career as an intelligence agent. 

He won’t be able to react quickly to any threats if every other criminal looks like Minghao. 

Seungcheol tries to blink the mirage away. He must be getting really drunk or really desperate if the dream is this persistent. When that doesn’t work, he reaches for the slice of citrus that’s hooked onto his glass. 

But even after a biting squeeze of lime that curls his lips, Minghao is still there, tucked into the booth. One long, booted leg is crossed casually over the other. And now he’s tilting his head. 

Mocking?

A smile is spreading on his face, even from across the room. 

Mocking. 

He came here to ruin their mission, didn’t he? It’s very petty, it’s very Minghao, and it’s very fine by him. Seungcheol quickly glances back towards Blade, except now he’s ten times more determined. Minghao can watch him succeed up close if he’s really going to be this mean.

Seungcheol smiles at his target, shaking the hair out of his eyes. He’s not going to have any more drinks. 

“You’re an innocent one,” the Blade remarks, tapping his glass on the counter for a refill.

The sound of crystal jolts him. It’s the cue Seungcheol’s been waiting this long for. 

He breathes in all of the courage that’s been buzzing and sparking around him, and then leans in. As close as appropriate, and then closer and closer until his mouth is right next to the shell of his ear. 

He breathes raspily for a moment, letting the moment sink in like he’s seen in movies. 

“Do you really think so?” Seungcheol’s voice is already heady and deep from the alcohol and the mood. Purely by instinct, he strokes back a thin strand of blond hair, allowing his fingers to brush the nape of the neck as if on accident. 

Wonwoo’s words ring in his ears. He wraps the same hand around the Blade’s (wow, surprisingly small) waist. 

And waits. He’s not nearly as confident as he looks, and he prays that the target can’t sense it bursting from his naive eyes and amateur hands. Or from the way his lips are trembling, so close to him. 

Now is a bad time to remember that he’s never actually successfully picked someone up before. 

That he’s never really had the chance to. And even if he did, he wouldn’t try.

It’s oddly poetic that he’s never thought of other men, too scared to introduce them into his dangerous world. That the first one he’s trying to make a move on is already too acquainted with the wrong side of it. 

Suddenly, it feels as if every section of his life has just been dictated and defined by a shady agency.

The way he’s hunched over, the way he’s sitting so he can escape the bar if anything seems amiss.

The way his eyes are catching every potential threat across the bar, when no other man his age would care about any of them.

The way his heart pounds, how his lungs expand and cling onto air, knowing that each beat is a fraction less of his debt. 

He’s owned and highly trained. 

It gives him an icky feeling. 

Or is that the Blade’s unreadable gaze, running all over him? Does Minghao have this broiling unease clamoring inside each time he does this?

How does he do this?

There’s static on the line. 

Wonwoo’s likely razed through five packets of chips now, fingers caked in cheese dust as he watches the drama unfold. Seungcheol wonders if Minghao’s staring at them too, dangling off the edge of a blade in anticipation.

A deep inhale. 

Slowly, a large hand creeps up his leg. 

Wonwoo cheers over the speakers, and then pops open another packet with a crackle. 

But Seungcheol doesn’t dare exhale. The air is still thick, and there’s still something left to happen.

“About time.” The Blade grasps his final drink with the other hand, and gulps it all down in a single sip. Seungcheol watches him beadily until the last drop is gone. 

Of course, the man’s too distracted to notice that his beer tastes a little off. 

He tucks the poison back into his pocket.

“Wait, wha-” The smuggler stands up and sways for a second, gray eyes going out of focus. His gaze thins, and then he’s out, collapsing onto Seungcheol’s shoulder with a huff. 

The weight of his head sinks his body for a moment, and then Seungcheol’s sitting up again.

It’s over. 

Over. He’s done it. And he never wants to do it again.

His hands tremble for a moment, and he quickly removes them, wiping the sweat onto his shirt. Okay, okay.  He’s just seduced his first target. Minghao should be proud. 

Minghao, who unfolds his legs and stalks over, boots clacking on the tile floors. The silver chain wrapped around his throat glints with each sway. 

Seungcheol turns around to watch him doesn’t blink. 

And how could he ever have been enchanted by any other man?

His feelings don’t feel dictated by anything but the heart that’s beating in his chest. The heart, which is stupid, a little delusionary and too easily pleased, but very much his. 

Minghao is there in a second, or maybe ten. Seungcheol’s too entranced to count. He doesn’t lean back when Minghao leans in.

“Is he alright?” the younger asks, voice loud enough to echo towards other groups. 

Beneath the facade, his eyes are brewing with something that doesn’t seem like excitement or pride. 

Seungcheol nods wordlessly. But Minghao doesn’t reach out to help him like he’s supposed to. He’s staring at… something else. 

Seungcheol follows his gaze to where the sleeping man’s hand has slipped up further. It’s pressed tightly on his inner thigh now. 

He turns red. In a mad frenzy, he whisks Blade up into his arms, trying to forget the phantom touch. 

After a pause, Minghao mutters something quickly to the bartender and passes him a note. Ah, he’d been tipped off earlier. 

Well alright. No need to overcomplicate. Seungcheol’s about to lift the target into his arms, since it seems that no one else is looking. 

“What are you doing?” Minghao hisses. “Put him down right now.”

“Nobody’s going to care,” Seungcheol shrugs, ready to lift him up. 

“Do you go around lifting every other person bridal style? Put him down.” Minghao grabs one of the Blade’s elbows. Seungcheol follows, taking the other. 

It’s much more awkward, but they manage to lug the target out of the bar anyway and head towards their designated curb. 

The last of the sun is melting into the horizon, a layer of bright blue sky wafting away. The lazy evening has sunk into the chilly night. A breeze ruffles through his thin white shirt.

He shivers. Audibly.

For a moment, Minghao side eyes him. Then, reaches up to his shoulders and slings something off.  “Wear my coat.” 

Seungcheol drinks in the expensive white fur that’s being held out to him, and chews his lip hesitantly. “Oh, it’s okay Hao-”
“I said, wear it. ”

He realizes he doesn’t have much of a choice in the matter, accepting the jacket. It seems to be drenched in the younger’s light perfume. 

Seungcheol doesn’t mind. The Blade’s was overwhelming. “Thanks,”

A few minutes later, Wonwoo pulls up in the tech van with a smug smile. “Hop in, you little minxes.”

Seungcheol is a little flattered. 

~

The target has been transported into another van, the shady exchange masked by the darkness. They’re now on a victory drive. Or they’re supposed to be, anyway. 

It’s Wonwoo’s turn to be at the wheel, so they’re progressing a little slower than usual.

Seungcheol is sitting awkwardly in one corner, signing the last of the paperwork to turn in to HQ. Minghao is in the opposite, eyes narrowed and sipping delicately on his iced tea. 

The equipment is shut down and locked up, so there isn’t even a mechanical whirring to fill the silence. 

They reach a stopsign. Wonwoo’s gaze darts between them in the rearview mirror, and wordlessly, he pulls on his headphones. The partition between the front and back of the van slides shut with a buzz. 

They’re both stubborn, and yet Seungcheol is too much of a fool to stay silent. He’s team leader, and he has got to secure the mind of his agents.  

Right. That’s why he’s doing this. 

“Okay, Hao,” he begins, uncertain. “You’ve been in a bad mood since last Saturday night. Tell hyung why.”

Minghao continues chewing on the straw, slurping sounds bouncing off the close walls of the van. It’s frustrating. 

Seungcheol’s mind is already unclear and intoxicated, and this night doesn’t need to be ruined by bad ASMR.

 He stands up, stalking over to Minghao’s corner and snatching away the cup. “You have got to tell me what’s wrong,” he cries, aghast. “Or I won’t be able to help.” 

The ice is rattling in the cup. His hands are shaking.

“You won’t be able to help anyway.” The response is cold in a way Seungcheol’s never heard from the other before. He knows Minghao prides himself in his unaffectedness, his superiority over everything. The ways of the agency, the strict orders, the men who direct their every kick and action. 

It gives him a bad taste in his mouth. Is it his fault Minghao’s upset?

“I want to try,” he replies, a little wistful. 

And this is the finger that triggers the gun.

Minghao stands up raggedly, hands grasping the edge of their table to steady himself. He takes a deep breath in.

Seungcheol braces for a furious outburst. How he’s failed them. Or that Minghao doesn’t want to be in the team anymore. Or how he’s sniffed out Seungcheol’s feelings and is disgusted by them.

It’s good Wonwoo’s wearing headphones. Will the agency fire him if he goes deaf?

Minghao opens his mouth wide, eyes burning with a glazed film layered over them. 

“Was his sense of fashion really the best you’ve ever seen?”

What?

Seungcheol frowns, remembering the compliment that slipped out of his mouth in passing. “No. Of course not.” That’s you . 

Minghao frowns. “Ah. I see.”

“Wait,” Seungcheol is still processing it. “Was that really all you were upset about?”

His agent frowns, drawing himself up again as if he’s just remembered a million other reasons to be insulted. “Well, no actually. Did you really have to put an arm around his waist?”

Oh. He’s crazy. 

Seungcheol puts his face in his hands, and exhales as if all the tension is going to just seep out of his body. Is that really why Minghao is upset? Is that really why he’s been worrying the whole week? 

“I had to do whatever it took to make it convincing, Minghao-yah,” he groans. 

There’s a huff. “You didn’t have to go that far. He was already melted in your hands the moment he saw you.” Silence. “ I wouldn’t blame him .”

No. He probably heard that last part wrong.

“Well sorry,” Seungcheol scoffs. “But I’ve never done anything like this before. I didn’t know how to manipulate him. And it’s not like I go around putting a hand on everyone. I’ll have you know that he’s the first man I’ve actually endeavored to be that close to. Besides, why are you so touchy about it? Do you really think I’ll take your job, Hao?” 

A scarier, more realistic thought penetrates his mind. He feels anger bubbling up again over the magistrate that’s trying to tame them.

“Or are you scared we’re going to be separated? Has someone else from the company threatened you before? Because I promise you that I will fight-”

“Wait.” Minghao interrupts, face turning white. “You haven’t ever put a hand around someone’s waist before?” 

Oh great. He’s about to be teased for the rest of his life. Good going, Seungcheol. Now he knows you’re inexperienced too.  

A loud sound shakes the van, and his thoughts.  Seungcheol glances up and finds that there’s a boot shaped dent in the floor. “What’s wrong?” he cries, before startling back at the explosive response. 

“Are you kidding me, hyung?” Minghao is whining, hands on hips. “I have been working day and night to sway you into my arms for the past two years. And now you’re telling me the first person you put your huge, beautiful, lovely hands on is a target? A literal criminal? A dirty smuggler?”

Sway him? 

Seungcheol’s mind is moving as fast as the van. As in, it’s not moving at all, since they’re stuck at a red light. 

“What?” he asks dumbly. 

“Is it because he’s blond? Or the tattoo?” Minghao stops pacing and turns around in horror.

“Oh my goodness. It’s because his hand was on your leg, right? Right?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “You could have just told me! I would have put a hand on your leg a whole two years ago.”

Seungcheol hasn’t heard this many words from Minghao…ever. Definitely not in one go. “Wait, so you weren’t scared that the team would be torn apart by HQ?” he repeats, because who ever said process of elimination didn’t work?

“Oh please HQ is too scared of me,” Minghao waves him off before continuing his tirade, counting points on his fingers. “And you’ve never called me pretty. Or clever. God I want to kill him. Blade. Stupid name. You’ve never told me my name is cool-”

Seungcheol grabs his hand before he can get violent. “ Nothing drew me in, Hao.” he replies, exasperated. “He was a target . A criminal. I hate criminals. It was an assignment, nothing more.”

Minghao looks at him, large eyes searching his. “Oh.” He must find truth in them, because he steps back slightly, and yet Seungcheol’s hands are still gripping his. 

“I’ve always thought your name is cool,” he blurts. 

Seungcheol’s still not quite sure where he’s going with this, but now is a good time as ever to let the intrusive thoughts burst out, he supposes. Especially since his agent’s eyes are wet, and his face is flushed. 

Seungcheol must make him feel better. “And with every good thing that happens to me, the thought of you slips into my mind. Would Minghao like this? Can I bring Minghao here?”

And because it seems like the cat has certainly escaped the bag, for the heck of it, he keeps going. “Whenever I think someone is pretty, I think you’re prettier. If they have nice clothes, I know you’ll have better ones. It’s been like this since the beginning. And you’re so smart, and so hardcore, and you kind of scare me sometimes, but that’s alright-”

“Hyung,” Minghao groans. “I have literally been trying to seduce you for years.”

Seungcheol is breathless, both from the rant and the revelation. “Really?”

A memory tiptoes into his consciousness. 

( Seungcheol is pinned up against the bookshelf. One of Minghao’s hands is pressed around his shoulder, and the other is far above him, trying to grasp something that’s on a higher shelf. 

He's shocked back into reality when Minghao practically climbs into his lap. He can feel sweat trickling down his face.

God, this is torture. He wants to leave before he can never look his partner in the eyes again. He wants to stay because this is probably the greatest moment of his insignificant life. He doesn’t know what he wants. 

Seungcheol’s not exactly sure what role he has to play here actually. Minghao just walked up to his corner of the agency library and leaned over him, long legs trapping him against the wall. He tries not to think about the precariousness of it too much, and suppresses a sharp inhale as Minghao’s legs tighten around his own.

After hours , the book topples out, and Minghao quickly grasps it. Seungcheol assumes he’ll realize how this looks and get off him immediately, but he simply flips through the novel and hums contemplatively, not releasing him.

Finally, his dark gaze flickers down to Seungcheol’s flushed, darting one. He leans in. 

A long, silver chain dangles in front of Seungcheol’s face. Minghao’s hair falls out of the gel and in front of his eyes. They are large and slanted behind his glasses. 

Seungcheol doesn’t know why he’s closing his eyes so tightly, or pressing his lips together and swallowing. All he knows is that suddenly there are words being whispered into his ear so raspily that he feels them vibrating his entire body. 

“Thanks…hyung.” 

And then he climbs off, loping away, leaving Seungcheol’s heart beating with madness. The top button of his shirt is unlooped, and he doesn’t think about books for the rest of the day )

“Oh.”

Minghao gawps at him. “You’re telling me that you didn’t notice all the times I was practically undressing you?”

Seungcheol’s hands fly to his forehead. “I-I don’t know! I thought that was normal!”

Snake eyes narrow. “So you’re telling me that a hundred other people could have been doing the same thing, being all over you, and you wouldn’t notice any of them?” He pulls out a pen from his coat and clicks it with long fingers. “Give me names. They’ll be missing by tomorrow. I can’t have competition.”

“Competition?” Seungcheol laughs, ignoring the blatant plans for murder. “You don’t have competition. And you’re no less oblivious than me anyway. I’ve been practically face planting whenever I see you. You’re the reason half the agency thinks my natural complexion is tomato red! You’re all I ever think of, Hao!”

A quirk of the lips.

Seungcheol’s passion ebbs, replaced with mortification. Ah. He’s said too much again.

Minghao’s smile is spreading, but he doesn’t get to fluster Seungcheol any further when they turn into a shady alley. 

The van rattles as they pull up to a dark house. The partition slides open again.

 “We’re supposed to spend the night here,” Wonwoo declares, waving around their orders. “The Blade has some dangerous friends or something. The big boss doesn’t want to risk a tail, so we’ve got a safe house.”

Seungcheol freezes. “I hadn't heard of this.”

“Well come on, hyung, we don’t want to be intercepted in the street.” Minghao is tugging the sliding doors open and ushering him out. “We can share a room.”

“N-No, that’s okay,” Seungcheol stammers, grasping onto the car handles. “I’ll stay inside the car.”

“Aww, I insist,” Minghao croons, dragging him off and locking the van behind them. 

~

They’re supposed to be cycling through keeping watch. 

Wonwoo collapses into a bed the moment they find the first room. 

Seungcheol doesn’t mind staying up, though. It’ll give him time to finish his romance novel anyway. 

If only he could focus. 

He’s got the book propped up on his legs as he lounges on the sofa, only Minghao is draped over the opposite armchair with a glass of wine and puffy red lips.

Seungcheol’s eyes are drifting towards him, unable to stay on the book when there’s something much more important right in front. 

“You can sleep, you know,” he mentions when the silence gets too loud, finally putting his novel down on his chest. “I’m keeping watch, I’m not going to doze off.” He pauses. “You’ll have some more time before your round anyway. After me, it’s Wonwoo’s turn.”

It isn’t, but he’s willing to lie and take another shift to let Minghao rest a little. 

Minghao’s silk pants rustle as he stands up, and when he walks over to stand next to the sofa, Seungcheol’s wide eyes follow him.

His borrowed night shirt is huge on him, hanging off a slim frame like a curtain. His eyes are large, and his lips are pouty. Fondness curls and melts into Seungcheol’s spine as he looks up at him. This must be the feeling of domesticity, and oh how lovely it is.

There isn’t a weapon digging into his leg, or a radio tucked into his ear. No supervisor breathing down his neck and shoving paperwork into his face. No orders pressing into every open corner of his mind. There aren’t any sirens crying outside, only the distant sound of a passing train. 

The kitchen lights are dimmed until it’s cozy. From the opposite room, someone is snoring. The sofa is sinking drowsily under his weight, and Minghao is standing over him in an oversized cotton shirt. 

His shirt. 

All these feelings are his. Every beat of his heart belongs to him, and him alone. 

Is this what men feel like in books? Seungcheol understands why they’re so happy now.
The world isn’t flying around him, forcing him to sprint and catch up. Everything is delightfully still, and graciously silent. How can anyone take this for granted?

How can anyone take Minghao for granted?

He’s so enveloped in the beauty of it all that he’s startled when Minghao suddenly slings a leg over his hip and sits down on his lap casually, knees pressed into the cushions. 

He’s a warm weight on top of Seungcheol, pinning him against the couch. 

As if he’s on a vacation and not literally sitting on top of him, Minghao draws his wine glass up to his lips and takes a leisurely sip. 

His slender throat stretches a little as he swallows, pale skin rippling.

This is clearly a battle, and Seungcheol isn't losing it by letting himself be flustered again. He can be better than this.

Snake eyes are boring into his. Seungcheol meets them, then with a lot of internal will, moves his gaze away as if he has better things to do, and picks up his much ignored book. 

It’s snatched out of his hand. 

Minghao dangles it above Seungcheol’s face, gulping down the last of his wine before setting the glass aside. 

With a huff, Seungcheol reaches up for it, only his movements are restricted by the man who’s in his lap. Minghao moves it away just in time. 

“Give it back,” Seungcheol whines, trying to grasp the book again, but now it’s next to his shoulder and not his ear, just out of arm length.

Minghao cackles as Seungcheol stills, brows furling. “Go on, hyung, try again,” he taunts, though his eyes seem fond.

Seungcheol’s eyes track the book that’s hovering over his nose. He can hear his breaths tainting the silence. 

All is still.

Suddenly, he lurches upward, and he’s just reached it , his fingers are brushing and grabbing at the cover and he feels like he’s soaring-

Only then he’s being slammed back into the couch by the leg slotted in between his thighs, and the book still isn’t in his hands. 

Minghao inspects the novel with a sneer before tossing it dismissively towards the other side of the room. Seungcheol watches it fly through the air with great sadness, arm reaching out like he’s in an opera. 

Then, fingers are wrapping around his wrist and pulling it back, binding his two hands together in a solid hold.

“No book should be stealing your attention away from me, right?” Minghao says, voice thin and almost cutesy.

Seungcheol isn’t swayed. “But-but-I was just reaching the good part and-”

“ Right? ” This time, Minghao punctuates himself with a roll of the hips.

 Seungcheol chokes on the thick air and wonders how a hardened agent such as himself is so easily subdued by a twig like Minghao. 

Then remembers that they’re both hardened agents. 

Maybe just agents. 

“Okay, okay,” he agrees, pulling his hands out of the other’s grip and instead placing them on his hips. “I’m only looking at you, okay?”

Minghao sniffs contentedly and lowers himself until he’s laying on his chest. 

He doesn’t make a sound.

They listen to each other breathing, and Seungcheol realizes that even this is a gift. 

Breathing, and knowing the other is too. Their heartbeats are precious, and rarer than anyone else’s. 

“How do you do it?” he wonders, not expecting an answer. “Sit in front of them, and let their disgusting eyes wash over you every time? It feels-”

“Icky?” Minghao guesses, amused. “Like being drowned in honey?”

His voice isn’t smooth and flowy like normal. It stumbles a little with emotion, running over itself like the jagged edges of a dagger. Maybe this is his normal, and Seungcheol longs to hear more of it. 

He nods in response, letting Minghao think. 

“I guess it felt like that the first time.” The silence he leaves isn’t heavy, but peaceful. “Then…I got used to it.”

“But you shouldn't have to,” Seungcheol replies, earnest. 

Minghao laughs through his nose, breathy and homely as he traces the scar on Seungcheol’s shoulder. It’s so unlike his mean snickers that Seungcheol almost doesn’t recognize it. “You’re so good. Too good for this agency, and too good for me.” He tugs at Seungcheol’s black fringe. 

“I want to help people, Cheol-ah, it’s my passion. That’s why I joined. I want to be on - site, bringing people down, manipulating the evil which manipulates others. And if I have to do this too, so be it. I’m alright with using myself a little.”

“Do you feel different, afterwards?” Seungcheol asks, because something doesn’t feel the same, and how could he ever have thought that the other was having fun?

Minghao pulls at the skin on his hand. “Different? Maybe I did, once. Now it’s a piece of me, just a particle in every grain of my skin.” He smiles, only a little bitter.

“And even if it wasn’t, even if I could compartmentalize all the different parts of me, I don’t think many people would care for the other side anyway. 

Seungcheol wants to tell Minghao that it’s not ingrained. That he doesn’t have to be mean and smooth and so put together all the time. That he cares about the other side. 

“Aren’t you even a little scared?” Seungcheol asks instead. “That ultimately, all we’ll be defined by is this agency? That no one will ever know about us, or the parts of ourselves that we’ve sacrificed for their well being?”

Minghao sits up, hovering over Seungcheol. He thinks about it. “No,” he replies seriously. “I’m not. I don’t care about how other people define me, because I know that everything I’ve done is for a reason. I wouldn’t be doing any other thing.”

Seungcheol contemplates his response. “Okay,” he agrees, already feeling a little lighter than before. 

Minghao pokes his nose. “And I’ll always have hyung to care about me anyway, won’t I? You’re never leaving me, so I’m okay staying here. I won’t turn into a robot agent until then.”

Seungcheol pulls him back into his chest protectively, like he’s trying to shield him from the rest of the world. He is. “I won’t let you turn into a robot.” he agrees.

“You never had to seduce me anyway. I love every part of you, Hao. Even the mean, teasing bits. I’m all yours, and not even a great god, forget a novel, could take my mind away from you.”

Minghao stays silent, but Seungcheol can feel the smile growing against his skin, face pressing against his shirt. 

“Life is so small anyway, and each inhale we take is priceless,” he continues, breathing in the scent of cotton and downy hair. “Why would you want to live it as a lie, being someone other than yourself?”

The younger presses his lips together, shifting in a way Seungcheol knows that he’s insecure. “Do you regret it, then? You could have had such a good, normal life outside of the agency. Do you regret being forced to join us?”

His eyes dart towards the scar he’d been tracing earlier. “Don’t you want to leave, hyung, once your debt is repaid, before you get more of these?”

He sounds scared.

Seungcheol thinks about it, the life he’d always been longing for in passing. 

A reality of drinking morning coffee on the balcony and waiting for the newspaper. Going to work in a crisp suit and clutching a worn leather briefcase. Saying hello to the neighbors, and loathing laundry, and going to the grocery store to buy detergent on sale.

Listening to the train pass in the evening, and dozing off on the lazy weekends to the sound of chirping birds. 

And it’s all great, except it’s strangely empty. 

It’s not the danger and thrill he misses though. 

“No.” he replies, certain and firm within himself for a fleeting moment in his otherwise fluctuating life. “Because how else would I have met you?”

Minghao sits up with a start, and Seungcheol’s hand falls off his hair. His lids are heavy all of a sudden, mind and heart satisfied now that he’s said what he’s been meaning to say for years. 

Maybe he can sleep…

Suddenly, there’s a kiss being pressed to his lips. 

His drowsy eyes fly open.

“You,” Minghao declares, eyes determined. “Are the fluffiest person on this planet.”

Seungcheol pauses, shocked, and then laughs, and then there’s another kiss, and another, and another.

He resolves to spend every spare breath he has returning the favor.

~

He watches Minghao take a bite with a fond smile. 

Immediately, the other’s face scrunches up with disgust. “Wow, I don’t like this,” Minghao mutters, pushing his plate away and gulping down sips of water. “You might as well have treated me to bad pizza instead.”

Seungcheol gapes at the baguette and creme fraiche, topped with dark bubbles of caviar. “You’re telling me you don’t like caviar?” he asks, incredulous. “But you keep on talking about it like you hadn't tasted anything better!”

Minghao shrugs. “I don’t know. It sounded fancy, so I thought maybe I’d like it, since I like fancy things. But this isn’t it. Tastes like fish.”

“They’re supposed to taste like fish! They’re fish eggs!” Seungcheol sulks, sinking back into his chair. “Well what am I supposed to do with the rest of it? Do you know how much caviar costs? The agency doesn’t pay me enou-”

Minghao leans over the table and imprints his lips lingeringly into the corner of Seungcheol’s mouth. Immediately, whatever argument he’d been building up just disappears. 

Seungcheol rubs at the ghost of the kiss, pouting. “I should have never let you kiss me in the first place,” he mumbles. “You took advantage of me and my deep love for you.”

A giggle. “Well, you’re the one that said to live life however I wanted to.”

“ I didn’t. I picked that line up from one of my self-help romance books-”

The sound of a high-pitched bell draws them both out of their bickering. There’s no churches nearby. He knows his notifications. 

A new assignment . Seungcheol picks up the burner phone, reading the message. 

“Ah. A Code 9.” He looks up haltingly before squeezing Minghao’s hand and snapping the phone in half with the other. 

They stand up in unison, caviar forgotten. “Well let’s not hesitate,” Minghao declares. “The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can go to that terrible pizza joint of yours to get the taste of fish out of my mouth.”

“Unless I order anchovies,” Seungcheol jokes, reveling in the way Minghao’s eyes blow up and the soft punch that’s pressed under his gut.

“Don’t forget, hyung.” comes the warning. “I’m a world-class agent. I could eliminate you in two seconds and no one would even notice.”

“Aww, but you wouldn’t,” Seungcheol announces, pulling Minghao closer by the waist as he unlocks the car. “Because I’ve already planned to retire with you, so we can grow old together and be grumpy for the rest of our days and complain about laundry and all its vices.” He has another thought, and voices it only tentatively. “Besides, you love me too much.”

Minghao licks his lips as he slides in, letting the silence boil. “That…that I do.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widen.

As the car door locks, he imagines a hundred different possibilities where he could have heard the same thing.

Maybe, in one life, they’re going to grab groceries from the market. Or they’re driving back to their quaint house on the lake.

They could be headed to the art museum on a date. Or perhaps they’re going out for ice cream because their aircon has stopped working in the middle of summer. 

There’s a windswept Minghao loping across the beach, and a rosy Minghao sitting in a restaurant.

There’s a dressed-up Minghao waltzing with him, and a bedhead Minghao tucked into his arms.

There’s a Minghao laying next to him on the sofa as they watch a rom-com together and complain about burnt popcorn and blatant plotholes. 

Seungcheol watches the Minghao he has , applying eyeliner with his tongue poking out of his mouth, and decides that he likes this one the most. 

They’re two agents leaping over their heartbeats to dance with each other.

Every mission, every clang of the bell could be the end of their waltz, and yet they don’t concern themselves with the likes of fear. 

This is his reality, and it’s the only one he cares for. 

The engine starts and Minghao clicks in his seatbelt for him. 

When they drive off, the sun is setting behind them, and a new night is living its life, undictated by the sun and all its laws.

Young twenty-somethings are emerging from their dens and flitting around, crossing the streets carelessly, naive lovers linking arms with each other. Seungcheol watches them go, and then flickers his gaze away to focus on the road forward. 

He doesn’t mediate on what could have been.