Archive of Our Own ^beta

act o.  

DONG. DONG. DONG.

Midnight. The time when shadows come to life and the darkest secrets are revealed. Time that is traditionally associated with chaos, death , and witchery. That point of the night, when the creatures of the underworld are more powerful, able to mix between humans and manipulate them into committing their worst sins .

But what the tales and traditions fail to reveal is that the real monsters are often people themselves. 

The Park Manor stood imposing on the top of a hill, its location impossible to guess without knowing its exact coordinates. Set one foot in the wrong path and be assured that you will not come out of it alive. The mansion's towers were sharp, surrounded by vines that twisted along its entire length like claws scratching at the stone walls. 

Within its walls, the air was thick with tension. Everything was still. A strange, almost unnatural stillness. The birds did not sing, the wood did not creak, and it seemed that even the mice were afraid to come out. Eight people moved through the dark corridors, all aware that they could no longer turn back.

๋࣭ ⭑🦋๋࣭ ⭑.𖥔 ݁ .

act i: the murder.

The carpet beneath his feet muffles his footsteps, no matter how hard he strides. He doesn't like it, he needs to be aware of his surroundings, all five senses alert. Take away the sound and he's much more vulnerable. Paranoid, some might say. But Han Jisung has seen too much for his young age, experiences that leave scars and cause him to take extra precautions.

He walks silently down the corridor, keeping a safe distance from the butler who has welcomed him to the mansion. He would say it was a warm one, but it was not. He simply opened the door in front of him and started to walk away without saying a word.

Most of the doors are closed, covered in dust as if no one has opened them for years. The windows, though wide, also look sealed, with old wood and rusted locks.  With every step he takes into the mansion, he wonders how he ended up there. How did he fall into the trap of attending a dinner party in a house so far from the rest of humanity?

The invitation arrived unexpectedly, on a Tuesday morning. From the first moment, it caught his attention, for it is not every day that one finds a letter sealed with golden wax. Jisung knew the host, having worked for him a few months ago to solve a mysterious robbery, so he decided to accept the dinner invitation, curiosity winning out over his brain.

And now, as he wanders deeper and deeper into the heart of the mansion, he wonders if he hasn't made a grave mistake in accepting it.

The curiosity killed the cat and now it might have Han Jisung killed. Great. Just great.

He stops his footsteps and his thoughts when he sees that his guide has come to a halt in front of a door. It is simple, a plain wooden door, with no fancy engravings like he has seen on others.

"The mister is expecting you," the butler says with a small bow, leaving him standing in front of the door.

There is still time for him to leave, he just has to turn and retrace his steps back until the door. They've taken several turns and passed through many corridors, but he's convinced he could remember the way back —it wouldn’t be the first time he has to do something similar. 

But the curiosity won't leave him. It's a nuisance to have that voice in his head that does nothing but support his most reckless ideas. It's always getting him into trouble, never letting him rest. So finally, with a sigh, he opens the door. 

The first thing he sees is a wooden table. The second, seven pairs of eyes staring at him. It's lucky for Jisung that he's been trained to hide his emotions because it helps him keep his composure and not let fear show on his face.

Because in the front row, right next to the fireplace, is Lee Minho. Jisung can feel his heart racing, his pulse increasing by the second at the sight of this person. He doesn't even allow himself the luxury of scanning the other guests, a gesture he always makes. Despite the fear running through his veins, he doesn't freeze. 

With a small smile, he takes a few steps towards Minho and holds out his hand. "Good night, it’s a pleasure," he greets, his smile tight and his gaze sharp and threatening.

He could only pray that Minho would take the hint and play along. 

"The pleasure is mine." 

Minho took his hand, returning the greeting but squeezing it a little too tightly. Still, Jisung doesn't let it show on his face, his smile never falters. After a few seconds —a little too long for a casual greeting— he finally lets go of Minho's hand. 

He allowed himself to scan his face for some sign, something to alert him. But as always, his face was impassive. 

Finally, Jisung moves on to analyze the rest. 

He looks carefully at the other guests, feeling a slight uneasiness growing inside him. There is something in the atmosphere that he doesn't like, a palpable tension that seems to hang in the air.

As his eyes scan the rest of the room, he focuses on the seven other people standing around the table. Each of them radiates a different energy that blends to give a clear message of danger.

His gaze first falls on a man, just behind Minho, with a firm gaze and an impassive expression. Suit, probably worth a few thousand euros. He keeps his eyes on Jisung, his chin raised in silent defiance. Jisung decides not to get into any more trouble, at least not anytime soon, so he lowers his head slightly in a small salute. The man’s lips curve in a thin smile, pleased at his demonstration of docility. 

Next to him, another man with a quiet elegance and an enigmatic smile —younger than the previous one— watches Jisung with curiosity. Despite his calm demeanor, there is something in his gaze that makes him feel uncomfortable. As if he could read his deepest thoughts and have access to all his secrets. 

He was the first to break the silence. "Welcome," he murmurs and holds out his hand for Jisung to shake. He does, noticing his hand is softer than Minho's.  

The rest of the guests remain silent. Their faces are expressionless and their eyes are fixed on Jisung, none of them showing any sign of wanting to move. 

"I think we're all here, there's only Mr Park left."

Jisung looks at the owner of the voice. Glasses, tie, and a briefcase in his hand. Serious face, just like the others. He doesn't know who it is, but there is something very familiar about him. Out of the corner of his eyes, he catches a glimpse of another man, close to the last one who spoke, nodding his head. "We should sit down, there are name tags on the table." 

With these words, Jisung finally notices the table. Sure enough, there are small name tags on the plates. He doesn't have to move to see his, because it's right at the corner of the table, opposite the door. The other guests nod, each looking for the name on the table. 

Jisung doesn't wait long and sits down, folding the paper and putting it in his pocket; either as a souvenir or as evidence. Next to him sits a certain Jeongin, and presiding over the table is Chan. 

Curiosity as to who was who soon arose. Chan was the first to sit down, a satisfied smile on his face when he saw that he was the head of the table. A few seconds later, Jeongin sat down, the corners of his lips turning up in a small smile at Jisung, who returned it. Minho sits next to Chan, far away from him; internally, Jisung smiles at that. One less thing to worry about.

It is part of his habit to observe people, to see what they are wearing and what postures they adopt. For this reason, Jeongin's collar does not go unnoticed by his eyes. 

"Are you a priest?" Jeongin is slightly surprised by the question and raises an eyebrow. Jisung doesn't falter in his expression, he's never held back when speaking and he wasn't about to now. 

He nods, "You have a good eye.”

"It's not hard to spot." 

Jeongin smiles, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. 

‘He's tense,’ he thinks, watching him fiddle with the hem of his shirt. He doesn't blame him, he was too —and he was convinced the others were too— but they hide it better. 

"Jisung," he turns his head when he hears his name, the voice coming from Chan, "where do you work? I have never seen you before." 

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up at this question. Does this mean he knows the others? Once again the feeling of being at a disadvantage. 

Jisung decides to wait a few seconds before answering, not wanting to sound too hasty. "I'm a private detective."

Chan hums crosses his fingers, and rests his chin on them, staring at him. "Nice. Never met one in person before" — he licks his lower lip— "Should I be worried?"

A show of authority, no doubt. Everything about Chan's posture seems to scream intimidation, but Jisung isn’t going to let it get to him.

He gives a small smile, not taking his eyes off the man in front of him. "I'd keep an eye out."

He says it in a casual tone, playing down his words. But he knows from Chan's glare and the sharp look in his eyes that he has caught the undertone of his words. It was not a direct threat, but rather a warning. 

Jisung is no fool, nor is he innocent. He knows only too well the kind of people Mr. Park has surrounded himself with, none of them good. And from the looks of the guests, he knows he has to watch his back. 

There is nothing to occupy their hands while they wait for the host, no food and no drink. So all Jisung could do was look back and forth between the guests and the room.

The room was simple, with a wooden table in the middle surrounded by nine chairs. The silver cutlery was perfectly placed on the table, not an inch out of place. Each plate was accompanied by two glasses, one for wine and one for water. Jisung knows the difference thanks to his mother, who introduced him to high culture as a child. The most striking feature was the huge mirror behind Chan, which reflected the entire room. 

Nothing else of interest.

He looks at the watch on his wrist. Half past twelve. A rather odd hour for a dinner party, especially in a completely empty mansion. He remembered the words in the letter, how Mr Park had told him that it would be an exclusive dinner, that they would be discussing some delicate business, and that he would need his knowledge. And that because of bad tongues and fruitful ears, he had decided to keep his entire staff away from the mansion for the night. At noon, all his staff were to abandon the house. Jisung wondered if the butler that accompanied him left too. 

Someone clears his throat, drawing the attention of the others. "Shouldn't we try to find Mr Park?"

Bold move. He wouldn't have done it. They were in a stranger's house, mere guests. And knowing Park, he wouldn't want eight strangers lurking around his house.

Inadvertently, he glances at Chan to see how he reacts to this comment. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees him raise his eyebrows, curious at the suggestion. "Changbin, do you think this is a good idea?"

Jisung then looks at Changbin. He is wearing a suit similar to Chan's but in a maroon shade. He does not look away from Chan, but leans back in his chair, authority aside.  

"I think so. We've been here a long time and we don't even know why" —so no one knew why they were here, interesting; and a point in Jisung's favor— "we should at least try to find out why". 

No one spoke for a few seconds, all eyes —including his own—waiting for Chan’s reaction. He was the authority in the room, the leader, and everyone seemed to respect him.

He took a breath and nodded slightly, "Ok, let's do this," he got up from the table, dragging his chair along with him. "If we don't find him in half an hour, I'm out of here."

Several people nod, including Jeongin and Changbin. Minho remains serious and so does Jisung.

"Someone should stay here in case he comes."

The person with the glasses and the briefcase speaks again. Jisung notices the name on the plate: Kim Seungmin. It was good to put names to faces, to have some familiarity. 

"Will you stay, Seungmin?"

He knows what Chan is doing. To every person, their name is the sweetest and most important sound. Calling people by their real names creates an illusion of trust and closeness. Our name is our seal of identity, it creates empathy and warmth when someone remembers and uses it.

Seungmin nods without complaining. He remains seated, and the others stand up, including Jisung.

Chan clears his throat, again drawing the attention of the others —though he barely needs to. "We'd better split up," several nods in agreement. “I'll check the basement." 

"I'll check the kitchen." 

"I'll take the study."

Changbin and Minho respectively. Jeongin then takes the garden. Those were the only ones Jisung knew the names of. The others go around saying different places, some of which Jisung didn't even know the house had. 

The eyes stay on Jisung, waiting for his answer: "I'll go to the library.” It's the only place left in the house that he knows exists —he's been there before with Mr. Park. 

They all nod in agreement. 

"Well, see you in half an hour." 

 ๋࣭ ⭑🦋๋࣭ ⭑.𖥔 ݁ .

The library is quite modern compared to the rest of the house. The bookshelves are new, the books are dust-free and the tables, although wooden, look as if they have only been used for a few years. 

It is nice, cozy even. Jisung wanders the aisles, his hands sliding between the shelves, looking at the titles of the books. They were arranged alphabetically by the author's surname. 

Mr. Park was a non-fiction man, as far as he could tell. There were several anthologies, biographies, and history books. A man of culture, or at least that's the image he likes to project. On closer inspection, most of the spines were intact, indicating that no one had opened or read the whole thing. 

There is a window overlooking the garden, or rather a bay window. It is huge, almost reaching into the sky. It is night, but the moon is bright enough for Jisung to see the silhouettes in the bushes and a shadow between them. He distinguished the priest's clothing. Jeongin.

He stares at it for a few seconds. The way he searches the bushes and shrubs, every nook and cranny. He can't help but be curious, he doubts enough that Mr. Park is in the bushes, so Jeongin must be looking for something else. Either that or he's not very bright. Nevertheless, he notes down the information in his head, just in case.  There's a certain tension in the air that doesn't bode well, that keeps all his senses alert. 

He is about to look away from the window and continue his research in the library when something catches his eye. A new person has entered the equation. 

Jisung raises an eyebrow, his body involuntarily moving closer to the window to try and see through the shadows. He can't make out the other person, just his back and his hair. It was black, or maybe it looked black because of the lack of light. He is not sure.  

They don't stay together long, barely having time to exchange a few words before they part. The stranger enters the farmhouse and Jeongin stares at what Jisung thinks is the door. 

A few seconds pass before he raises his eyes and stares at Jisung through the window. 

Oh shit. He decided to just hold his gaze until Jeongin turns around and walks away. 

But then, it happens. The moment Jeongin looks away, a scream shakes the entire mansion. 

A shiver runs through his entire body, ruffling every hair on his skin. His body tenses, every muscle alert, ready to run. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jeongin running towards the mansion. 

It takes a few seconds for his mind to realize that his body is moving, running between the shelves of the library. He didn't know where he was going, just following the sound of the scream, or at least where he thought he was. 

He was coming down the stairs when he heard footsteps behind him, close, very close. He turned his whole body and came face to face with one of the guests. He hadn't spoken to him at dinner, but he remembered him. His face is white, with small freckles on his cheeks. His jaw is set and his eyebrows are furrowed. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the young man gripping the railing tightly, his knuckles white.

"You heard it too?" he is the first to break the silence, seeing that the other is too scared to say anything.

The freckled man nods, his hand releasing the railing, and begins to climb down again. Jisung follows without adding anything. His eyes scan his opponent's clothing. Unlike Chan and Changbin, he wears baggy pants, very baggy, the true silhouette of his body barely visible. The shirt he wears, on the other hand, is tight-fitting, the neckline in a long peak that leaves almost all of his back exposed. He has freckles there too. Jisung can't help but wonder where else he has them. 

"Jisung, right?" he says after a few seconds. Jisung hums. "I'm Felix."

He wasn't surprised that he knew his name, he would remember the name of the only stranger in the house too. "Nice to meet you."

Felix nods but doesn't add anything. They walk down the stairs to the first floor. The house is spacious, the corridors of the floors wide and long, but still not big enough to have eight people, cluttered. 

It takes Jisung a few seconds to process everything, the screams still clouding his mind. But he finally sees what is happening. What Chan is doing. His heart races as he sees him strangling one of the guests. His face is red with anger, his eyebrows are furrowed and his jaw is tight, so tight that for a millisecond Jisung worries about Chan's teeth.

"Oh shit," he hears from beside him. He doesn't have to turn around to see Felix running towards Chan. 

Jisung raises an eyebrow, watching as the freckled man tries to break Chan's grip. The other person, though taller, can only manage small kicks, his hands busy trying to claw at Chan's face —without much success. 

As soon as Felix puts his hands on Chan's shoulders and tries to pull them apart, Changbin finally moves and does the same. 

"Go away, I'm saving all of our asses," Chan mumbles and hits Changbin with his shoulder. 

Changbin doesn't even flinch, grabbing him again and pulling back, "Chan, killing Hyunjin won't do you any good." 

The voice is relaxed at first, but Jisung's ear is trained, so he manages to recognize the slight trembling in his voice as he finishes the sentence. No wonder, the supposed Hyunjin is completely red, his hands trying to pull Chan's hands apart but in vain, strength is almost gone. Small sounds came out of his mouth, more and more muffled. Jisung gave him a maximum of ten seconds left before he fainted.

"Chan, please, we can talk," Felix murmurs, softly, sweetly. Chan glances sideways at the freckled man, his eyebrows and hands relaxing for a second before tensing again. "Chan. Please." 

Again the grip loosened. But this time Changbin noticed and quickly pulled Chan apart. Hyunjin falls to the ground, his hands on his throat as he tries to catch his breath between small coughs. Two seconds later, Jeongin pushes through the crowd and kneels in front of him, stroking his back in small circles, trying to make him relax.

Interesting. Very interesting. 

Jisung doesn't know if Hyunjin was the person in the gardens, he doesn't distinguish the clothes that well. But Jeongin's gesture was peculiar at least.

Jisung moves closer to the group, Chan squeezes between Changbin and Seungmin —who had just come out of the dining room— and Hyunjin on the other side, being looked after by Felix and Jeongin. Minho and he are outside the group, just observers.

Jisung doesn't know what happened, but he's not sure if he wants to know. The fact that Chan - a person who wants to be seen as cool, calculating, and firm - completely lost control tells him that it's something very, very important. Fortunately for him, it was Minho who broke the silence.

"What happened?" he asks, crossing his arms.

Chan snorts and pulls himself out of Changbin's grip. Seeing that he's calmed down, he lets him go.

"Park is dead."

"Holy shi..."

He can't stop the words from coming out of his mouth, no matter how much he stops himself in the middle. The group's eyes fall on him and Chan sighs. "Exactly. Hyunjin found him.” —he averts his gaze to the black-haired man who managed to get to his feet— "And probably killed him too.” 

He gaped, eyes wide open, voice shaky. "Why should I scream instead of running away?"

Good point. But Chan didn't think so and rolled his eyes. "Don't.”

"We should call the police."

The words had barely left Felix's mouth when three different pairs of hands snatched his mobile phone. Jisung knows the people there aren't exactly nice, but he hadn't expected such a reaction. Changbin is the one who takes the phone from him and hands it to Chan.

"We're not going to call the police."

"Then what do you suggest?"

"We have a fucking body in a mansion and the cameras have already seen us enter. It won't go well if we try to escape."

Chan sighed. He was right and everyone knew it. They were in deep shit.

"The only option is for the killer to give himself up," Chan looked at them, one eyebrow arched and his arms crossed. "But I don't know why I don't see that as possible."

And that is where he comes in. He doesn't do it on purpose, it's in his nature. He's already a person who loves attention. He likes to be right and to have everyone marvel at his intelligence. As soon as these words came out of Chan's mouth, he knew it was his turn to make a move.

He said nothing, just started walking towards the studio to see the corpse with his own eyes.

"Where are you going?" came Chan's voice.

Jisung snorts. "To find clues. I'm a damn detective," he snarls.

All eyes are on Jisung and he can't help but feel a tingle in his stomach. God, he missed this feeling of power and attention. "We'll find the killer, he'll confess everything to the police and they won't investigate any further. That is the best outcome."

Chan looks up at the ceiling, his hands fidgeting with his shirt. Finally, he sighs, tries to avoid Jisung's eyes, and looks for support from the other guests, who just look away, unable to contribute anything. 

"Okay," he nods and crosses his arms. "We'll do that." 

He celebrates in his mind, pointing to another victory. He's about to turn and go into the studio when Chan jokes, catching his attention.

"But we will all be looking for clues," he says, pointing in a circle at each of them. "I don't trust you yet."

Jisung nods. That was fair enough. They say nothing more and no one stops him from turning around and entering the room this time.

The studio was dark, so the first thing he did was turn on the switch. He knew what he would find, but the surprise was still etched into his body. In the middle of the desk, lying on a pile of documents, was Mr Park. Completely helpless, with no blood around him or any sign of violence. His legs were scattered across the table as if he were a starfish. If the situation wasn't so grim, Jisung would have laughed.

"Holy shit," Minho mutters to his side.  

Jisung steps aside, his side pressed against a small table, leaving room for the rest of the group to join in. Minho is the first to venture over to the body. He opens his eyes with a pencil, his right hand resting on the jugular vein of his neck.

From a distance and in the darkness, Jisung makes out Minho swallowing saliva. "He's dead," he announces, although he doesn't need to. Everyone could see the body, completely motionless. But still, Minho's words seemed to stir something in the air, death was no longer a hypothesis, but a proven fact. 

Taking advantage of the distraction of the murmurs and gasps of the guests, Jisung began to examine the rest of the room. Unlike the library, the books in this study are noticeably worn; they are dust-free and the spines are wrinkled from use. 

He sees nothing useful in them, not even a drop of blood that would give a clue, they were all academic, none of them fiction - or anything that looked like it would be out of place. 

From what he sees in the rest of the room, there is nothing else useful. Not even a hint of forced struggle or surprise. There is no object out of place or discarded. Seeing this, Jisung dares to conclude that he wasn't killed in this room. Although he didn't want to share his knowledge with anyone. 

No one says anything else, everyone looks at the body or their surroundings, trying to find clues they know they won't find. Chan stands in a corner, watching each of them. How they behave, how they move.

Jisung slips out of the room, though not as inconspicuously as he had intended; Chan sees him and raises an eyebrow slightly, but says nothing. He knows he won't find anything else in this room. The room that really matters is the murder room and the way to kill him. He needs to find that room as soon as possible before the other guests do. And then get his theories out. 

He had already been to the library, so there was no point in going back. The study was on the first floor, the dining room on the second and the library on the third. The only floor he hadn't been to was the fourth; the attic. Where Hyunjin should have been, but still he had found the body. 

There was something strange, a lot of things that didn't quite add up. Why Chan had accused Hyunjin instead of Minho - who had volunteered to search the study. Or why Hyunjin was on this floor instead of the fourth. Details that made the story even more confusing. 

There was only one thing he could do. Investigate. 

All the corridors are lit, warmly lit, with any dark corners. It is not the kind of environment Jisung would imagine when investigating a murder. 

The attic was like the rest of the mansion, beige stone walls, wooden floors in the same color as the walls, warm-colored furniture. All this was meant to make Jisung feel comfortable, to invite him in. But it had the opposite effect on Jisung.

In one corner, in front of the wall, there was a small desk. Jisung walked slowly towards it, his eyes taking in the rest of the room. 

Everything is tidy, the books are neatly stacked on the table, pens are in their holders. He sees nothing out of place. Absolutely nothing. 

He furrowed his eyebrows. Too tidy.

His fingers run over the surface of the table, bringing them up to his nose in a quick movement. He inhales. 

They smell of disinfectant. "Interesting," he murmurs.

He doesn't see it coming. One moment he is walking calmly across the room, the next he feels pressure on his mouth, and his body is turned and slammed against the wall. 

His body reacts on pure instinct, bringing his hands to the collar of his opponent's shirt, trying to pull away. It takes him a few seconds to realize who it is and a few more to calm his body. Minho lowers his hand when he sees that Jisung won't scream, although his face doesn't look happy to see him. 

"Fucking hell, Minho," he whispers, pulling his hands down Jisung's shirt and running them through his hair. 

"What are you doing here, Jisung?" he asks, putting his hands in his pockets.

He was as handsome as ever. Sharp features and a hard look, but one that softened every time he landed on Jisung. He wore a shirt rolled up to show his arms - Jisung's weakness - and dress trousers. More dressed up than Jisung had ever seen him. 

"I work, just like you."

"The difference is I don't pretend to be someone I'm not"-Jisung opens his mouth to interrupt, but after a look from Minho he decides to shut up- "A fucking detective Jisung? What the hell are you playing at?" 

"You won't get it," he mutters. He averts his gaze, unable to hold it any longer. It hurts to look into Minho's eyes. To see that they haven't changed since the last time. 

Minho doesn't push him into a corner, so he just walks around him to get out of there. Fuck the attic. 

But he doesn't get very far. A hand wraps around his shoulder and before Jisung can react, Minho slams him against the wall, a small gasp escaping his lips at the blow. 

"Have you forgotten who you are talking to?" 

No. That was the problem. Because he couldn't bear to see the disappointment in Minho's eyes when he told him everything. "Minh-"

"We went through hell, Jisung. Through fucking hell and you think I won't get you?" the tone of his voice had risen, the vein in Minho's neck becoming more pronounced as the grip on his shoulders began to burn with each passing second. 

"Seriously, just let me..."

"You think I can stand there and let you be accused of murder?" Jisung's eyes widen at the words. 

"Wh...what?" 

Minho sighs, releasing his grip on Jisung's shoulders at Jisung's confusion, moving a few feet away and bringing a hand to his temple, massaging it gently. "When did you become so naive, Sung? Do you really think they aren’t making alliances as we speak?" 

"I-"

"That won't blame a stranger before blaming their partners? Jisung, for God's sake, they all know each other!" Jisung's anger grew by the second. 

How dare he. How dare he treat him like a fragile ceramic sculpture. When he first broke him without remorse or forgiveness. How dare he come back and treat him as if he cared. As if he cared about him. How fucking dare he. 

"Well, maybe I did kill him," Jisung takes a step toward Minho, lifting his head slightly to look at him. "Or maybe you did. As far as I know, it wouldn't be the first time, would it be Minho?"

"Jisung, now it's not the ti..." Minho begins, his voice trailing off as Jisung interrupts.

"It's not the time, yes, I know," he rolls his eyes, a small wry smile escaping his lips. "Then when will it be time?"

"Sung—"

"Tell me. Did you strangle him?” Jisung's voice rises with every step he takes. “Did you tie a rope around his throat until he could no longer breathe? Until his eyes were red and his mouth could only gasp?"

"Shut up..." he whispers, his voice barely audible.

"Did you kill him in this very room? In the middle of it, where he couldn't fight back?" he sneers, staring at the empty space in the middle. "He wouldn't have expected it, I'm sure. The beautiful chef who is so charismatic, funny, and just perfect.”

He spits out the last words angrily and takes another step forward. Their chests pressed together, his gaze never leaving Minho's eyes. "Tell me, Lee Minho. Did you do it?"

“Just…” he is shouting now, they both are, his hands clenching on the sides. “Shut up.”

“You will have to ki—”

๋࣭ ⭑🦋๋࣭ ⭑.𖥔 ݁ .

act II: the lovers. 

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Or maybe Minho doesn’t hear it because he is busy pressing his lips hard against Jisung's, his hands circling his face to draw him even closer. 

It's barely a light brush and they both immediately pull away, almost as if the other were on fire. 

"I was going to say kill me, but this works too."

He rolls his eyes, his corners rising slightly, "Shut up." 

They don't stay apart long. Jisung is the first to close the gap, his hands finally returning to where they belong after so many years apart, wrapping around Minho's neck and closing the gap that separated them. 

Minho's hands go to his waist, making sure that this time he won't disappear. Instead of pushing him back against the wall, he decides to try something else. He takes a few steps back, hands on Jisung's waist, forcing him to keep up until he feels a pressure behind his knees. 

He decides to trust and drops his body to sit on the table. Jisung almost loses his balance and has to remove his hands from Minho's neck to put one on the table to steady himself. Immediately, Minho spreads his legs, welcoming him between them. They are pressed together, breast to breast, his lips on his lips.

"I missed you," Minho murmurs between kisses. 

They are small kisses as if neither can believe it is happening, and they separate immediately to make sure they are not dreaming and that the other is still the same. Gradually the kisses fade, slower and slower. Jisung unravels in Minho's embrace, his face seeking refuge in the older man's neck. 

"M' too. So fucking much."  

He smiles softly and tightens his grip. If it were up to him, he would stay like this for the rest of his life, with Jisung in his arms, without any other worries. But unfortunately, he can’t.

As much as he hates it, he drops his hands to his sides and releases the embrace. Jisung pulls away just enough, his eyebrows furrowed, not understanding why he had done this. It was enchanting, his big brown eyes looking at him so softly, with an innocence they both knew was long lost. 

"We should concentrate," he mumbles, putting his hands back on his hips and pulling Jisung away from his body. He doesn't protest, giving him enough room to get off the table. 

Jisung picks up two small notebooks he finds on the table and offers him one. He raises an eyebrow but accepts. "For the clues," he explains with a slight smile on his lips. 

Minho chuckles and takes the notebook and a pencil from the table. He offers another to Jisung, who takes it. "You're really into the role, huh?"

He hears him sigh and watches him nod out of the corner of his eye. "These last few years... they've been complicated." A knot forms in Minho's stomach. While a few minutes ago he had insisted that he tell him what was wrong, it had been a moment when he had been clouded with anger and uncertainty. Seeing the grimace of pain and sadness on Jisung's face made him feel guilty. 

He clears his throat slightly and returns to the subject of the investigation. "We should try to find out why he invited us." 

Jisung hums, "Yes, I think so too. What do you know about the others?"

Right. This is the first time Jisung has been invited to a group dinner. It wasn't for Minho, he had gained the trust of both Park and the other guests over the past year. "There is no clean wheat. Everyone has some kind of black business."

"And that's why everyone can have a motive," Jisung interrupts him, drawing a small smile from him. It was exactly what he wanted to say. He had missed this relationship, but he didn't know how much. 

"Exactly."

He puts his notebook on the table, sits down, and writes down the names of all the guests. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jisung doing the same.

"So," he pauses a little, waiting for Jisung to finish writing. When he sees him raise his head, he continues. "Let's start with Chan."

He hears Jisung snort and roll his eyes. "The leader," he mutters mockingly. 

"Yes, the leader," he doesn't deny it. "As far as I know, he's 35 years old. Everyone worships him, and if they don't, they fear him. I'd say he's the most powerful, you have to be careful. He works for the FBI, so he's got a lot of contacts.”

Jisung raises an eyebrow, his eyes wide. "Really?"

Minho gives a small smile and hums, "Quite popular and loved there too," he wasn't hiding anything. The first night they had dinner together, in the same villa, Chan had let it slip. He made sure that everyone in the room knew about his power, always. 

"Then why is he here?"

"Arms dealing, mostly. I think he also embellishes money," he watches as the others nod and write down these facts. "You want to get on his good side, Sung. If he doesn't trust you, the others won't either."

He is deadly serious. One accusation from Chan and Jisung would go to jail. 

"Hmh," he finishes writing everything down. "What about him and the prince?"

Minho can’t help but chuckle, Jisung raises his eyebrows. "Prince?"

"Yes, the fancy blonde. He looks like he just stepped out of a royal photo shoot."

Oh. "Felix?" he nods. "I don't know much about him, except that he and Chan have a strange relationship." 

"They're fucking?" 

Minho wrinkles his nose at the words. "Probably," Jisung is about to add something, to make a bad joke, but a look from Minho stops him. "Chan and Chagbin are very good friends. We should avoid creating a conflict between them."

"Noted. And Changbin?" he asks, leaning forward slightly.

"He's 33 years old, was in the Special Corps, but is retired."

"Pretty young, isn't he?" comments Jisung, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

"They say he saw things no one should have seen," he explains, his eyes softening for a second. He hadn't talked to him much, but what he had done seemed like a good, sensitive person who didn't belong in this world. "He was in a mental hospital.”

Jisung's eyes widen, and his expression softens. "Oh. Why is he here now? 

"He works with Chan, he's some kind of hitman," he answers, his eyes following Jisung's strokes. When he sees that he's finished, he continues.

"Next, Seungmin. 27 years old, he was a highly respected psychiatrist with numerous published cases. Is what people call a genius," he recites as if it were burned into his memory, and for one thing, it was. From the first time he had been a guest in this house, he had researched all the participants, saving every bit of information. Just in case.

Once again his words make Jisung curious and he looks up from his notebook with a raised eyebrow, "Was that it?

Minho nods, leaning back on his desk, his eyes fixed on Jisung. "He had an affair with a patient and was fired. Nobody hired him after that."

"Oh wow." 

"He's good at strategy and he's very smart," he adds, clarifying at Jisung's questioning look. "I don't know exactly what he does, but he's not easy to fool."

"Got it. What about the priest? Why is he here?"

"He deals in money and drugs."

Jisung whistles, which makes him laugh. "Those who are supposed to be the most innocent are the most sinful, it's always like that." 

Minho looks at his sheet. There is only one name left. "Hyunjin. I think he's 26 years old. A great thief, he's a master of seduction."

"Did you fucked  him or…?" Minho rolls his eyes at the comment and mumbles a small "no".

He watches as Jisung finishes writing down all the data, underlining the most important words. He closes the notebook and so does he. 

"That's it?" 

He nods and gets up from the table. Jisung follows him, stowing the small notebook and the pen in his back trousers. It was time to make the plan.

"We should split up. You stay on the upper floors, I'll take the lower ones," Jisung nods, "If we see anything suspicious, we'll call each other, okay? And we run from there, okay?"

"Got it Minho," he whines, rolling his eyes and leaning his body against the door with a little pout on his lips. 

His precious lips that Minho just wants to hold to his lips and nibble on. And so he does, leaning down to plant a chaste kiss on them. Jisung quickly brings his hands to Minho's neck, but before he can tighten his grip, Minho takes a step back and pulls away completely. He knows that once he gives in to temptation, he won’t slow down. And it was in moments like these that they had to keep their cool. 

He gently strokes Jisung's hair, his expression softening as he watches him close his eyes and follow the caresses. Sweet. "We'll have time for that later, okay?"

"Promise?" 

He swallows. It breaks his heart to see him like this, to hear Jisung's voice break, to hold back the urge to cry. He'd always learned to be strong, to hide his feelings deep inside his heart. But Minho knows him. He knows what every expression on his face means, how when he raises his eyebrows, he is about to cry, and how when he wrinkles his nose, he thinks the other person is talking nonsense. And Minho knows that in these moments Jisung is content with his whole being and will not lock himself in this room until it is all over. 

"I promise," he whispers against his lips and seals the promise with a kiss. 

Jisung's hands try to grab his shirt, but Minho is quicker and pushes them away with a gentle gesture. He sighs, a small smile on his face. "Let's go," he mumbles and opens the door before he can regret it. 

They don't say goodbye when they part; it isn’t a goodbye, it’s a see you later, so they don't see the need. They have just come down from the attic, so Minho decides to stay on this floor. Jisung, however, goes downstairs, but not before blowing him a little kiss, which brings a small smile to his face. 

When he sees Jisung's hair disappear, his expression turns colder. It's time to concentrate, distractions aside. 

The third floor has three rooms: the library, a bathroom, and the main room. Two of them, the library and the bathroom, are right in front of the stairs. The third is a bit more hidden. Minho has to go around a corner to find the door, which is unnoticed at first. It was no big deal, light wood - almost the same color as the wall - with a small knob. If he hadn't been looking for clues, Minho is convinced he wouldn't have found it.

Although the room is tempting, he decides to check the bathroom first. Jisung has been in the library before, so he rules it out. And the bathroom is a place that many people don't think about, but which can give many, many clues. Besides, it's smaller than the bedroom, so it would take him much less time to investigate it. 

It is a simple bathroom, white tiles, a shower, a toilet, and a sink. At first glance, nothing seems out of place, but Minho's eyes are trained to see what others cannot. Like the trail of blood on the sink.

It's almost imperceptible, just a stubborn pink stain on the edge of the sink. Someone had washed the blood in the sink, but hadn't been agile enough to clean it properly. Stupid.

He bends down to look at the underside of the sink, to see if he can find any other clues, but there's nothing. The drawers are untouched too, not a stain, not an object to catch his eye. Following the pattern, the shower was also spotless, and completely white. 

He closes the curtain tightly and curses, knowing that his luck has run out. Not so stupid then, he's cleaned the rest of the scene perfectly. 

But at least he has a start. A clue. 

The killer, whoever he is, had committed the crime in this apartment, or at least somewhere nearby. Without wasting any time, he leaves the bathroom, but not before taking a picture of the sink. He has to find the scene of the crime, whatever it takes.

His mind is so focused on piecing together the few clues he has that he doesn't notice the shadow in front of him - just as he turns the corner to enter the main room - until he collides with the stranger's back. 

"Shit," he has just enough reflexes to grab hold of the wall and avoid falling to the floor. 

The stranger turns around and mumbles a thousand excuses under his breath. Hyunjin. 

His eyebrows relax slightly when he sees that it is him he bumped into and not someone else. He's afraid of running into Chan again, Minho suspects. 

Now that he sees him up close, he notices that his eye makeup is a little smudged - especially at the bottom - his lips are swollen and his nose is red. 

He has been crying.

Minho decides to use what little empathy he has. "Are you ok?" 

"Oh, yeah. I was just" - he pauses, looking around the room - "trying to find some clues," his voice is soft, and quiet, as if he is afraid of Minho's reaction. 

For a second he almost feels bad. Almost.

"Why were you at the study?" he asks, Hyunjin's eyes widening at the question. "You came earlier than me, why?" 

And how?

The corridors were impossible to miss and everyone had left at the same time. But before Minho reached the study, Hyunjin was already there, screaming. It made no sense at all. 

"I was faster, there's this corridor, then the door was ajar and I just... I just went in. It smelled so bad" - his voice was getting faster and faster - "I knew something was wrong, but I went in and I saw him. And I screamed, but I didn't kill him, I didn't. I swear..." 

"Hyunjin," Minho has to cut him off when he hears his voice getting thinner and thinner, his breathing irregular. "Breathing."

"I didn't do it," Hyunjin's voice breaks, his eyes crystallizing again. "Do you think I could have even overpowered him? Look at me!"

Minho blinks slowly at these words. His eyes roam over Hyunjin. Hyunjin certainly isn’t strong, he’s slim, thin, elegant, as if he is made of porcelain. But Minho knows that he isn't. He lets out a small laugh, causing Hyunjin to furrow his brow in confusion. For a moment, he had forgotten who he was talking to, the crocodile tears almost working on him.

"That trick won't work on me," he mumbles and takes a step closer to Hyunjin. Hyunjin snorts and takes another step back. "You could have easily poisoned him. There were no visible injuries." 

The tears have stopped. And now that Minho can see him up close, Hyunjin's expression of sadness and fear seems fake. He lets out a small laugh, the corner of his lips lifting slightly. 

There he is. The real Hyunjin. "You're a little piece of shit, aren't you?" he can't help himself. 

Hyunjin huffs and rolls his eyes. "Please, as if you weren't going to eat it up," he leans back against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest. "But it doesn't change anything. I still didn't kill him." 

Minho raises an eyebrow, "Let me doubt that." 

"I swear, I just walked in and saw his body right in front of me before I realized I was screaming." 

He analyzes him for a few seconds, looking at every feature of his face for something that would give him away. But he finds nothing. As far as he knows, Hyunjin is telling the truth. He lets out a small sigh.

"And why were you there?" asks Minho.

Hyunjin's lips curve into a feline smile, "That's between me and God." 

Minho doesn't stop him when he starts walking. He has nothing more to say and he doesn't want to waste time. He has to concentrate on looking for other clues.

๋࣭ ⭑🦋๋࣭ ⭑.𖥔 ݁ .

act III: the protector.

The walls feel narrower and narrower with every step he takes. He doesn't look back, not wanting to know if Minho is following him. His serious and impassive face is not a reflection of his inner self. His heart won't stop beating, his brain won't shut up, screaming with every step that he's going to get caught, that it's going to be the end of him.

He doesn't look at the room he's going into, he just walks in and locks the door once he's inside. He lets out a sigh, closes his eyes, and leans his back against the door, trying to calm his breathing.

"Are you okay?" 

Fuck. His eyes flutter open at the words. Quickly, his eyes scan the room until he finds the person the voice belonged to. 

And there, in the middle of the room, is Seo Changbin. He is holding a calendar in his right hand, his eyebrows are arched and his left hand is in his trouser pocket. Hyunjin swallows saliva, his pulse quickening again. 

Trouble, again . He's out of luck, he knew he shouldn't have accepted the invitation. 

He takes a deep breath before speaking, trying to control the tremor in his voice. He can't show weakness, not at these moments. "I'm fine." 

Changbin nods slowly and sets the vase down on the table. Like a predator stalking its prey, he begins to pace the length of the room, his eyes never leaving Hyunjin’s. A shiver runs down his spine. 

It's as if they're waiting for something, both too tense to speak. 

Victimization hadn't worked with Minho, though that was his fault. He'd forgotten how cold he was. A mistake he doesn’t want to make again.  He hasn’t talked much with Changbin, but he knows he is protective. He has that vibe, that essence about him. 

So with a small sigh, Hyunjin slides over the door, sits down on the floor, and brings his hands to his face to hide it. "I'm not." 

"Oh," Hyunjin doesn't take his eyes off his hands, but he hears footsteps coming towards him. "Did Chan hurt you?" 

It is a soft, hesitant tone. He holds back the urge to smile, only nodding slightly between his hands. He hears Changbin's trousers rustle next to him. He looks up slightly to meet the sharp eyes sitting in front of him. 

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his mouth twisting into a small grimace. It’s adorable, the way he is hurt by his friend's actions. "He can be quite aggressive sometimes." 

Hyunjin nods, slowly lowering his hands. "You're not going to hit me?" he mumbles, his eyes still not focused on Changbin's, slightly clouded.

Blessed acting lessons.

He listens as the other swallows, watching out of the corner of his eye as he quickly denies it. "I would never do that." 

"Good. That's nice of you..." he sketches a faint smile, his gaze still wavering slightly, not looking into his eyes for more than a few seconds.

Changbin's expression softens and when he notices Changbin's hand on his back, Hyunjin knows he's done the right thing. He holds Seo Changbin in the palm of his hand. His body melts at the caress and he lets out a small sigh. 

"And he won't either. I don't think you killed him."

Bingo. He notices a tear trickle down his cheek at the perfect moment. "I didn't... I was just passing through, and it was so bad..." he sniffs. "I had to take a look!"

"You did well," Changbin's hand slides down his back in circular motions. "We'll find out who did it, don't worry." 

He doesn't care if they find the killer or blame an innocent, as long as it isn't him. He wipes his cheek with his hand, though there were hardly any tears. "It must be someone strong." 

Changbin nods, his hand not touching his back.

"It would have been easy, with your arms," he begins, his eyes roaming over the other's body. He was strong, much stronger than Chan, there was no doubt about that, "You could have killed him with just one hit of that candelabra." 

Hyunjin moves from sitting to kneeling. He slides his hand down Changbin's arm, his body falling slightly forward, their torsos almost pressed together. Hyunjin takes height from him but still feels small in comparison to him. 

"I didn't..." Changbin stutters, his eyes widening, lifting slightly his face to meet him. 

Hyunjin smiles softly, murmuring a small "I know you would never do that," and moves a little closer to Changbin, their torsos completely together, their mouths barely inches apart.  "I'm just saying it has to be someone strong. I could never overpower him, you know?"

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense," he breathes, his eyes focused on Hyunjin's lips. 

A clapping brought them apart, Changbin quickly turning his head to see who had made the sound. 

"Wrap up the shit show." 

Hyunjin rolls his eyes at the sound of the voice, leans his back against the door again, and pulls away from Changbin. "Seungmin, hey." 

Changbin further separates himself from Hyunjin and quickly gets up to walk in the direction of the newcomer. "Seungm-" 

"Don't worry babe, I know how much of a slut Hyunjin can be." 

"Watch your mouth Seungmin. God doesn't like those words." 

Hyunjin draws a small smile at the sound of this voice, Jeongin appears behind Seungmin. "You're not the most innocent in here, Jeongin," he mutters, getting up from the floor and shaking out his trousers. 

"How did you get in anyway?" mumbles a confused Changbin, looking at the door that was just behind Hyunjin. 

This is the little detail he didn't tell Minho. The reason why he arrived at the studio before Minho. The hidden passages of the villa. 

Seungmin is the first to speak and gives Changbin a small kiss on the cheek before he says, "Can't tell you now babe". 

He sees him open his mouth to protest, but after a hard look from Seungmin, he closes it. He finds it unbelievable how he lets him eat out of his hand. 

He slowly walks over to Jeongin, reaches out to put his arm around the priest's shoulders, and pulls him close. After a glance at the other couple —still in their world— Hyunjin ducks his head until his lips brush Jeongin's ear. The corners of his lips turn slightly when he notices Jeongin's lips tense. "Don't be jealous," he whispers.

"I'm not," he sees his jaw tighten despite the denial.

He presses a finger to it, drawing a snap from the priest, who turns his face away as far as the arm on his shoulder will allow, "I find it hot how you want to kill everyone who comes near me." 

"I..." he doesn't finish the sentence, Seungmin and Changbin's voices are muffled in the background.

"Is he bothering you?" asks Seungmin with a raised eyebrow.

In response, Jeongin jerks his arm off his shoulders, Hyunjin drops it and rolls his eyes. "He's playing hard to get." 

Jeongin snorts, drawing a small laugh from Seungmin. Hyunjin turns to the psychologist. "How did you know we were here?" 

"I knew Changbin was here, you were just a coincidence," he answers with a simple shrug.

Hyunjin looks at Jeongin out of the corner of his eye and sees that his expression doesn't change. After a few seconds, he finally nods. "And why is that?"

This question elicits a small, mischievous smile from Seungmin. "Jeongin and I have found something interesting."

These words cause a small reaction in the priest, who looks him in the eyes for a small second, a characteristic glint in his gaze.

"Do I have to get down on my knees and beg?"

"I'm sure it won't be the first time," Jeongin growls, his lips set in a straight line. But Hyunjin knows that look. He knows that the young priest is tearing at his robes in his mind, imagining him on his knees, begging. 

"Nor yours," he replies, a small smile on his lips. Seeing Jeongin's face, he knows he has to add something. At least if he doesn’t want to be left without a friend. "Pray Jeongin, stop being dirty-minded. God doesn't like that, does he?" 

Seungmin rolls his eyes.

Hyunjin suspects that Seungmin knows his little secret, the man was always too intelligent for his own good. Still, he hasn’t ever said anything, but that doesn’t mean that he would not do it as the night comes.

He has to keep his guard up, for both of their sakes.

๋࣭ ⭑🦋๋࣭ ⭑.𖥔 ݁ .

act IV: the secret.

The priest is fucking Hyunjin. He is not dumb, he caught on the first time they interacted. The way Jeongin’s eyes lingered a bit too much on Hyunjin’s lips, his hands almost caressing the other man’s when they sat down.

It was something unconscious, inevitable the human body seeks comfort. They were small gestures, microscopic, but Seungmin’s eyes were trained to look for them.

“So,” Hyunjin says again, eyebrows raised. “Care to tell us what you guys found? As far as I’m concerned we are all in the same boat. And we are drowning.”

Seungmin looks at him, taking in every single detail. How his thumb is red from picking it, the bottom of his lip slightly swollen. He is nervous, but Seungmin doesn’t think he is the killer. As much as he could do it, he doesn’t have a motive.

“Felix is not who he says he is,” he finally says. 

Changbin’s eyes go wide, looking shocked at Seungmin. The corners of Seungmin’s mouth curve up a tiny bit, he knows that Changbin has a special soft spot with Felix, always trying to protect him.

“What?”

“We found this on his jacket.”

He took out his ID and Changbin quickly grabbed it. There was no confusion. Lee Felix, the British aristocrat was actually born in the USA.

“Lee…Yongbok?”

And his real name was Lee Yongbok.

“What does this mean?” Hyunjin asked, taking the ID in his hands.

Changbin was just lost for words, looking at the void, his jaw tensed. Seungmin patted his arm lightly, waiting for Hyunjin to finish inspecting the ID. 

“Means that he is a liar,” Jeongin chimed in. Hyunjin raised his head to look at him. “And that he has a motive.” 

The room goes silent, everyone looking at each other, trying to guess what they are thinking. To see what their next move is going to be. Changbin is still tense —his arms crossed over his chest— and Seungmin knows his head is just spinning, mad about Felix’s lies, and disappointed at the same time.

“We should take it to Chan,” Changbin says, uncrossing his arms.

Seungmin can see his face, and how hurt the revelation makes him, his eyebrows furrowed and jaw tense. 

“Are you sure?” he asks. “Chan loves Felix, is it the best decision?”

Changbin nods, “We need to.”

“Okay.” 

He trusts him. And despite the grim looks on Jeongin and Hyunjin's faces, they both agree. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hyunjin intertwining his little finger with the priest's. And for a moment, his lip curls into a small smile. They’re cute. A little.

They decide to split up to find Chan faster, he and Changbin will start on the lower floors, the other two on the upper. Whoever finds him first will call the others. Before they split up, Seungmin makes sure they all have each other's numbers. He doesn't want to take any risks. 

They are about to leave the room, each with a clear idea of where to go when Seungmin has a new idea. 

“Give me your phone,” he demands, stretching one hand towards Hyunjin. 

He arches an eyebrow, letting out a small chuckle, incredulous, “What?” 

“I want you to send me your location,” he adds, a smirk on his face. “Just to be safe. Jeongin, you too.” 

Hyunjin rolls his eyes but still complies. He takes out his phone, and in front of his eyes gives him access to his location. Just in case, Seungmin takes his phone too to check if it is working properly. Jeongin follows Hyunjin’s action, and in return, Seungmin and Changbin do it too. 

“Thank you,” he says, locking his phone. 

The couple nods, though Seungmin can see traces of discomfort on their faces. 

“Let’s go,”  he says one last time.  They all nods, and finally, without looking back, he and Changbin start walking towards the stairs, while the others go to the attic, through the secret corridor. 

The existence of the secret corridors is not so hidden, at least not to a privileged few. Mr. Park had secretly confided the existence of the corridors to Seungmin one autumn afternoon when he called him for a small consultation. That consultation ended up being psychological torture for one of Mr. Park's rivals, but it mattered little to Seungmin. After all, he owed Mr. Park most of his source of income. His whole life.

As they walk down the stairs he feels Changbin's hand on his waist, the warmth spreading throughout his body. He can't stop a small smile from forming on his lips, his body moving closer to Changbin's until Changbin's arm completely wraps around his waist. 

“Are you nervous?” Changbin asks, worry tinted in his voice.

“No. I know Felix is guilty.” 

And he is. He is fully convinced that Felix is the suspect, all the clues point to him, the fake ID, the way he tried to go for Chan, to seduce him, and to gain his confidence. He is the killer.

He hears Changbin sigh, the hand on his waist squeezing a little bit. 

“I trust you,” he says, before planting a small kiss on his temple. 

He can’t help but lift his mouth a little at this gesture. 

Chan is on the bottom floor, sitting on a bench which is a relief. Seungmin preferred to be the one telling him about their discovery, he could control the situation better this way. What he doesn’t like that much is the blond man who is sitting on his lap, his face submerged in his neck. Felix.

Well, this is going to be awkward. 

“Just in case, stay behind me,” Changbin whispers right in his ear, only for him. Seungmin gives a small nod. They still haven’t seen them, both too busy sucking each other's faces.

He does as asked, putting his body just behind him, head peaking from the shoulder. He sends a quick message to Jeongin, “First floor. 3rd room left.” 

Changbin clears his throat, loud enough for the couple to hear and separate. Felix's lips are red and swollen, and his neck is covered with small bruises. Chan is not much better, his plump lips even more red, no trace of the perfectly coiffed hair of earlier in the evening. The first buttons of his shirt are undone, the tie long lost.

“Thought we were going to find some clues,” Changbin says, arching an eyebrow. 

Despite the dim light, Seungmin can see how Felix rolls his eyes. 

“We already covered our area.” 

“I am guessing you didn’t find anything then.” 

“Not a thing.” 

Chan's eyes rest on him, curious. Changbin notices and puts his hand on his thigh. This gesture draws a small grin from Chan. 

“Seungmin,” he says. “Have you found anything?” 

He does not consider himself to be a very fearful person, quite the opposite. Seungmin has endured a lot in his short life, from insults to beatings to mockery. But Chan is on another level. Bang Chan can end your life as you know it with a snap of his fingers. Seungmin knows it. Changbin knows it. And Felix, with his sly smile, knows it too. 

“We found something,” Changbin says. 

“And?” 

He is losing his patience. Seungmin notices how the grip on Felix's thigh deepens, digging into the flesh. Felix doesn’t seem to care, the smile still on his face.

I fucking hope you stop smiling soon. 

“Hyunjin is not the killer,” Changbin starts.

His voice is steady, but Seungmin knows he is nervous. He can feel his whole body tense, the hand on his thigh clinging to his skin. He decides to put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently to encourage him. 

“But we found…” he stops to take out the ID. Seungmin notices his hand shaking and is convinced that Chan has noticed it too. “Well, better if you see it.”

Changbin hands the ID to Chan and quickly moves back to his original position in front of Seungmin. He is oblivious, but Seungmin notices him holding his breath as Chan looks at the ID, with Felix watching out of the corner of his eye. 

It is gratifying. He can't help but feel a warmth running through his body as he watches the smile slowly fade from Felix's face as he registers the piece of plastic Chan is holding in his hands. 

“Hey,  that’s—.” 

Yeah, that’s your fucking ID. 

“That looks like it’s your ID,” Chan says, turning his head to look at the freckled boy. “ Lee Yongbok.”

Felix opens his mouth, but quickly closes it again. His eyes dart from one side of the room to the other, his already pale skin completely drained of color. 

“That’s not— Chan, it’s obviously fake,” he chuckles. 

He tries to get off Chan's lap, but Chan's grip doesn't weaken. 

“Why would they have a fake ID of you, Felix?” 

“It's obvious. They are trying to frame me for the murder!” 

Chan hums.

“That makes sense,” he says, handing back the ID.

Felix's face relaxes for a second, but when he tries to remove his leg again, he lets out a small moan of pain. Chan's grip was tighter, Felix's skin completely red all around. Felix brings a hand to Chan's, trying in vain to get it off. 

“Chan, it hurts, it—” another whimper.

“Although that doesn’t quite explain why the head of the Lee family didn’t know a Lee Felix when I called to ask him about you.”

“You— you what?” 

Neither Seungmin nor Changbin move. Their whole bodies are frozen, relegated to being spectators of the scene unfolding in front of them. Chan's smile never falters, but it's not a comforting one. 

He hums, “Yeah, I called. Months ago.” 

Months…ago?

“You knew about this?” Changbin interrupts.

“I know everything, Changbin.” 

He looks at them— no, he is looking behind them. 

“Come out. I know you are listening.”

Seungmin turns his head. And there, behind him, the door opens. He blinks in confusion as Minho and Jisung enter, followed by Jeongin and Hyunjin. 

“We found them on the top floors,” Jeongin explains, walking until he was next to Seungmin. “We thought it was best if we were all in here.”

“Indeed, Jeongin.” 

Chan is smiling now. A big one, his dimples perfectly carved in his cheeks. 

“So we found it?” Jisung says, looking at Felix. “The culprit is Felix.”

“I am not— I did not kill Mister Park.” 

Seungmin snorts. “You are the only one with the motive in here. He found who you were and you killed him. Simple.” 

“The thing is,” Chan starts speaking, finally releasing the grip on Felix's thigh. The man scrabbled to one corner of the bench, massaging the area. It was fully red. “Felix has been with me all week. He couldn’t possibly be the killer.” 

๋࣭ ⭑🦋๋࣭ ⭑.𖥔 ݁ .

act V: the confession.

No one speaks. Or breathes. All the eyes of the room are fixed on Chan. The center of the room, just how he likes it.

“No one else has a motive, you said, Seungmin?” 

He looks at Seungmin, who just nods. 

“See, but I can point anyone in this room. And find a motive.”

Seungmin lets out a small chuckle, but the way his hands are trembling doesn’t go unnoticed by him. 

“You can’t.” 

“Can’t I?” he arches an eyebrow, a playful smile on his face. “Kim Seungmin. You were a very prestigious psychologist. Until you met Changbin and fucked him in the consult.”

“Cha—” 

“I am not finished,” with a glare, Changbin shuts up, his jaw tense. “ You fucked him. And you were caught by the security cameras of Park company. Because of Mister Park, you were fired and your reputation was tainted. I can find a big motive there.” 

All the eyes are now on Seungmin, who clutches Changbin’s arms. He is looking at Chan now, eyes wide. Just like a prey who just found out he was about to be eaten.

“And Mister Park gave me a job after. I do not win anything by killing him,” despite his uneven breathing, his voice never wavers. He maintains eye contact, chin up, proud. 

He knew Seungmin was not the killer. But he likes to play with his food a little bit, it makes everything more fun. 

“Very well. Jisung,” all the heads turn to see the newcomer. He notices how his throat bobs, a small smirk on his lips. “Private detective? Seriously? You could at least have a better cover history.” 

The man doesn’t say anything, not that he has much time before Chan turns his head to the next one. 

“But who has the most motive,” he opens his jacket, taking out a letter. “Is in here.” 

He lets it on the table, eight pairs of eyes quickly gathering around it to examine the paper. It was the invitation they all received, the seal broken.

Chan opened the study door once again. There was something that had been bugging him since the beginning. 

“Again?” Felix asked, entering the room behind him. He nodded, opening the big desk drawers. 

“I think the key is in here, but I’m not sure where,” he muttered, shifting papers and books, trying to find something. Anything. “I know it’s not Hyunjin, but he knows something.”

“Are you sure? He looked quite shocked.” 

“He looked afraid,” he stated. “But not for himself.” 

No, he was not afraid of him. But if not for him, for who?  He closed the drawers. Nothing there. 

He was getting more and more frustrated. There was something. Something, but what? 

Felix was against the wall, licking a lollipop while examining all of his movements. Above him, there was a Christian cross, next to a picture of Mister Park. 

“Felix,” the freckled man hummed in acknowledgment. “When we came here. How many cars were there?” 

“Outside?” he nodded. “Only one, Mister Park’s I guess. It was a BMW.”

He closed his eyes. A BMW. A small chuckle escaped his lips, opening the drawer he just closed. 

Incredible. Fucking incredible. 

“The thing is,” he says, taking out the car keys he saw minutes ago, dandling them in the air. “Mister Park drives a Bugatti.” 

Felix's eyebrows rose, “No fucking way.” 

“Someone came here sooner than us.” 

The name on the letter is clearly Hwang Hyunjin.

“This doesn’t mean anything! Everyone received this same envelope,” Hyunjin says, taking a few steps back. Ready to run if he needs to. 

“That is true. We all did,” he takes out his own letter and puts it next to the other one. “But we were all cited here at twelve. Not at nine.”

“I… I didn’t—”

“Relax Hyunjin,” he says with a small smile. “I know you are not the killer.” 

The faces of the seven people are expectant, wanting to know his next move. It makes him excited about it.

“I thought about it,” he starts walking in front of everyone else, focusing his gaze on one at a time. “What could be the motive? Mister Park had the upper hand in many of us, but we wouldn’t benefit from his death. He funded our business after all.” 

He looks at Minho and he tenses his jaw. Chan smirked when he saw his hand intertwined with Jisung’s.

“But love,” he continues. “Love is a good motive. It blinds you and makes you do things you never thought possible to do. It makes you give to your deepest sins.” 

He stops in front of Jeongin. 

“Isn’t that right, dear priest?”

“What are you insinuating?” His face is like stone, not a single expression in sight. 

“That you couldn’t bear having your boyfriend fucking Mister Park every week. So you killed him,” he smiles, watching as Jeongin’s mouth drops open. 

“That’s not… this is…” 

๋࣭ ⭑🦋๋࣭ ⭑.𖥔 ݁ .

act VI: the killer.

“This is such bullshit!”

Jeongin screams, throwing his card on the floor. In bright red letters is written the word MURDERER.

Jisung is fully laughing now, his hands on his stomach, while Felix rests his head on his lap, wiping the few tears from his eyes. Minho and Changbin are next to them, faces red containing their laughter at the youngest’s reaction.

“Come on! You just guessed it, it’s not fair.” 

“Don’t be such a sore loser,” Chan coos, stretching an arm to ruffle Jeongin’s hair, who just crossed his arms.

Hyunjin laughs next to him. “Damn, you would kill someone for me babe?”

“Shut up,” he groans, covering his face with his hands. He is blushing so hard for such a stupid board game. 

Changbin clears his throat, leaving his cards on top of the table. 

“So… another round?”