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Jongin has always prided himself on having a strong moral code. It’s a good trait to have in his line of work, especially when it comes to deciding if he should take on a job or otherwise. Things are usually never just black or white, that much he knows, and oftentimes he finds himself weighing the consequences of protecting someone coloured grey. 

On this balmy Thursday night, Jongin leans back in his seat and looks away from the screen of his laptop, eyes skating aimlessly across the city’s skyline. In the last couple of hours, he has gone through no less than a dozen job offers, accepting two and rejecting the rest. Those had been relatively quick decisions, but Jongin now faces one offer that requires a little more thinking. 

Lee — full names are nothing but a liability for both parties — is an arms dealer. He sells to the highest bidder, be it armies, drug cartels, or street gangs, and gives absolutely zero fucks as to what his weapons are used for. He has the blood of thousands on his hands, but the catch? A good portion of his earnings goes to legitimate charities and organizations, ones that bear no connections whatsoever to Lee or any of his associates.

Jongin cannot help but scoff at the irony of it all, yet the fact remains that many people do benefit from this blood money. If he chooses to accept the job and be the next one in line of Lee’s many hired hitmen, which side of the spectrum would he be working for? 

Sighing, he reaches for his glass of wine and drains it. 

If he declines this job, it is almost guaranteed that Lee will perish before his next birthday. Over the last couple of years, Lee has been building connections at a steady pace, and he has gradually established a monopoly over certain key markets. It isn’t surprising that his competitors would want him gone. Death threats and assassination attempts have risen at an alarming rate in recent months, which has prompted Lee to contact him. 

The pad of Jongin’s index finger skates across the trackpad. On the screen, the cursor hovers over the Reject button, then slides over to Accept. With his free hand, Jongin pours himself another glass of wine. 

There’s a tension headache starting to build, and Jongin knows from experience that it gets exponentially worse whenever he’s staring at a computer screen. 

In one long breath, Jongin clicks on Accept, closes the lid of his laptop, and tips wine down his throat. 

The drive to Lee’s estate takes nearly two hours and Jongin spends that time whistling along to overhyped pop songs on Spotify. At a traffic light, he watches through the tinted glass of his window as a couple of passing college frat boys stare at his car, snorting when one nearly bumps into a dog walker and her five dogs. 

Is it egotistical of Jongin to say that he’s used to people staring at him and his possessions in such a way? He no longer sets his own rates – his reputation precedes him, and clients tend to drop exorbitantly large sums of money in a life or death situation. There is always more to life than flashy cars and sparkling penthouses overlooking the heart of the city, of course, but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy what money can buy him while he’s still alive. 

Besides, this is really all he has. 

It’s nearly noon when Jongin pulls up onto a long driveway, slowing to a stop in front of several bodyguards. Dozens of trees act as a barrier around the property, and by the time Jongin removes his sunglasses and rolls down the driver’s side window, he has already mentally catalogued several potential sniping spots. 

None of the five bodyguards present say a word, but Jongin doesn’t expect them to. He takes the time to look around more closely, noting how well the lawns are maintained and how the shrubberies are trimmed to perfection. There’s a pond around the side of the mansion, and Jongin thinks he sees a dog relaxing by the pond’s edge. To the other side of the mansion is a pool, and the handful of young ladies frolicking about in the water is such a clichéd image that Jongin can’t help but roll his eyes. 

The doors to the mansion open and out walks a middle-aged woman. With raven hair slicked back into a tight ponytail and a svelte figure clad in a tailored pantsuit, she paints a striking image. 

Her footwear is practical, Jongin notes, simple flats instead of stilettos that would no doubt lead to a broken ankle should she ever need to run for her life. 

She stops a couple of feet away from Jongin’s open window. “Kim Jongin?”

Jongin inclines his head. 

“My name is Shao. Mr. Lee is waiting for you in his study, if you’ll follow me? One of my men here will take your car to –”

“No one else touches my car,” Jongin interrupts. “I believe that’s a clause in my contract.”

To Shao’s credit, she doesn’t seem ruffled by the sudden change in plans. With a few taps to the tablet in her hands, she nods. “Yes, of course, apologies for my overlook. If you drive along this path, you will see a garage with space for your vehicle. I will wait by the garage door.”

With minimal pressure on the pedal, Jongin cruises down the path and slides his car between two luxury sports cars. He kills the engine and steps out, looking up to see the lady already standing by the open garage door. A manicured hand gestures towards the inside of the mansion before she turns heel and begins to walk, and Jongin follows her lead. 

He’s stopped in the foyer by four bodyguards, and Jongin holds up his arms to let them give him a thorough pat-down. All the weapons they find are reported to Shao, who notes them down on her tablet.

The house is tastefully furnished, something that Jongin cannot help but appreciate. There are several expensive art pieces scattered around as well as state-of-the-art technology, but nothing is garish nor outlandish. A few members of the staff bow as they pass before quickly returning to their jobs, and Jongin gets the feeling that this place runs very efficiently, even the smallest of gears kept oiled and well-maintained. 

They head up to the third floor. The door to one of the bedrooms is left ajar, and Jongin’s ears pick up on two female voices before his guide reaches out to snap the door shut. Silence returns immediately – all the rooms must be soundproofed. 

At the end of the hallway is yet another closed door, except this door is markedly different compared to the other ones in the house. Reinforced steel, fingerprint scanner, and a keypad lock that looks extremely expensive. 

Shao walks up to the door and Jongin counts a total of nine beeps – one for the scan and eight for the passcode. The lock clicks, and with a slight hiss of air, the door swings open. Shao’s footsteps are purposeful as she strides in, fully trusting that Jongin will follow suit. 

It’s a spacious room, with a clear divide between work and rest. One wall is dedicated to nothing but books and files, and the desk placed in front of the bookshelf boasts three monitors and a paperweight likely made of solid gold. 

A middle-aged man sits behind the said desk, jet black hair pulled back into a slick bun. He’s got a strong brow to match a strong jaw, lips thinned as he peers down his nose at the keyboard. This is Lee, that much Jongin knows. 

On the other side of the room is a bed, the duvet so fluffy it reminds Jongin of melting marshmallows. Big enough to comfortably accommodate four grown adults, the bed faces a flat-screen television built into the opposite wall. There’s a mini bar off to the side, and another door that probably leads to the en suite. 

Jongin is just about to direct his attention back to Lee when he realises there’s someone swaddled in those sheets. He spots a few messy tufts of silvery hair and a long, creamy leg thrown over one of the many pillows. The body shifts then, and as the duvet slips down a few inches, Jongin spots the dip of a waist. The person’s face is turned away from him.

“Sir, this is Kim Jongin.”

The typing stops and Jongin glances back at Lee just in time to see the man take off his glasses. 

“Yes, thank you. You may leave.”

Shao takes her leave with a bow, and Jongin watches the door seal shut behind her. 

“Mr. Kim.” Lee stands and extends a hand. The gold signet ring on his middle finger glints in the early afternoon light. “Thank you for accepting the job.”

Jongin accepts the man’s proffered hand and gives it a firm shake. “I presume there are files for me?” 

“Straight to business,” Lee quips, smiling. He gestures to one of the two chairs on the other side of the desk. “I like it. Yes, I have prepared dossiers for the three targets. Please, take a seat.”

Jongin settles down, ears picking up on soft rustling sounds behind. The snoozing individual is moving, likely trying to get comfortable, and Jongin hears a tiny mumble of incoherent words before movement settles. He turns to look over his shoulder, both wary and curious.

The person is a male, judging by the flat plane of his chest. Both arms are wrapped around a pillow and the sheets are bunched around his waist – Jongin spots fading bruises scattered all over his body, and fresher ones closer to the curve of his buttocks. The man’s face is still hidden, tucked away from the light. 

“Is this meeting not confidential?”

Lee, from where he’s standing by a locked file cabinet, follows Jongin’s line of sight. 

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about him.”

Jongin lifts a brow, but doesn’t press for details. 

Night has long fallen.

Instead of getting ready for bed, however, Jongin is busy scanning every inch of this bedroom for hidden cameras and audio recording bugs. After his meeting with Lee, Shao had given him a full tour of the estate, starting from the shooting range in the basement to a state of the art gym that takes up most of the space in the left wing. He’d even been introduced to Lee’s personal tech team, situated in one of the two guest houses out back. 

The entire tour took far longer than Jongin had planned for – there were far too many blind spots and vulnerable entry points that he’d had to take note of, and by the time Shao brought him to his room, it was long past dinnertime. 

When he’s finally satisfied that his room hasn’t been bugged, Jongin sets his duffle on the bed and pulls out a change of clothes. He should eat, but all he wants to do is enjoy a hot shower and grab a few solid hours of sleep before an early start the next day. 

The shower spray is delightfully strong, enough to hammer out the tightness in his traps and soothe the near-constant aches he has in his lower back. Jongin’s skin is sensitive from the heat when he finally steps out of the shower, a towel slung around his waist as he brushes his teeth. 

Once his mouth is minty fresh, Jongin returns to the bedroom and checks to make sure all entrances are secured. His favourite handgun lies innocuously on his pillow, loaded and ready to be fired. The water on his body has mostly evaporated since, so Jongin simply drags the towel haphazardly through his hair before tossing it into the laundry basket. Underwear, then sweatpants, then Jongin’s climbing into bed. 

The handgun returns to its place underneath Jongin’s pillow. He falls asleep within minutes. 

If he leaves soon, he’ll be able to get everything he needs by midday. 

Outside, the sun has barely risen, and the house is silent as he leaves his room and attempts to make his way down to the kitchen from memory. He passes a few cleaning staff along the way, but apart from quiet good mornings, they do not attempt to make any sort of conversation with him. Which is great, honestly, because Jongin has never been much of a conversationalist anyways. 

Eventually, after a couple of wrong turns, Jongin successfully locates the kitchen. Thanks to his line of work, Jongin tends to favour convenience over quality. He fixes himself two shots of espresso and a bagel, then wolfs it down as he watches the gardeners outside tend to the many rose bushes. 

He’s washing his plate when he hears footsteps shuffling in.

Jongin turns to see a tall, bleary-eyed male, dressed in silk pyjama pants and not much else. It doesn’t take long for Jongin to realise who he is – the silvery hair is a dead giveaway. 

“Oh.” 

The man’s voice is soft, if a little gravelly from sleep. There are faint pillow marks imprinted into his skin, and they oddly do not detract from how uniquely attractive he is. Jongin’s gaze lingers on the gentle swell of his bottom lip and the arch of his brows, and he looks away before the other has a chance to notice. 

“I didn’t think there’d be someone else here.”

Jongin’s response is a quick, noncommittal grunt. He puts his used dishes away, but just as he’s about to leave the kitchen, a question stops him in his tracks.

“You’re the new hire, yeah? Another contract killer?”

There’s no point in lying, not when the straps of his shoulder holster are starkly evident against the starched fabric of his shirt. Sure enough, he sees the man’s eyes flit over the handgun tucked close to his ribs as he moves towards one of the many cabinets.

“Yeah.”

He receives a hum in reply, and there’s something in the tone of his voice that piques Jongin’s curiosity. Maybe it’s the early hours, or perhaps it’s the new environment, but his self-restraint seems to be weak this morning. 

Before Jongin can fully register what’s happening, he hears himself saying, “Sounds like you have something you want to say.”

The cabinet doors snap shut and Jongin spots a box of teabags and a jar of honey in the other’s hand. What follows after is so quick that Jongin assumes the other does this often – the electric tea kettle is filled with water and set to boil, a large mug and a teaspoon are retrieved from their respective places, and a heaping spoonful of honey is scooped into the empty mug. Once that’s done, a teabag is dropped inside and the string is wound tight around the mug’s handle.

There’s a loud clatter when the spoon hits the bottom of the empty sink, and it pulls Jongin’s eyes up to the other’s face. 

“I’ve seen many people like you in these halls. Obviously, since you are here, the ones before you have all failed. What I should do is wish you luck and success, but –” He pauses, bottom lip dragging through his teeth. “But, I’m not sure if I want you to succeed.”

Not that Jongin receives many well wishes when it comes to the outcome of his jobs in the first place, but this is definitely new. He wonders what the story is. 

“You want me to fail?”

The guy shrugs, turning back to the kettle as it beeps. 

Steam unfurls over the lip of the kettle, and both men stay silent as the mug fills with water. Soon after, Jongin picks up on the scent of ginger tea. 

“Let’s just say I wouldn’t mind it if you failed.”

Jongin raises an eyebrow. “Failure in my line of work can mean death. It’s not very nice of you to wish death upon someone, especially when I don’t even know your name.”

There’s a long, awkward silence before the guy clears his throat. “I’m Sehun. And I didn’t mean die, I mean, I just meant –”

Amused, Jongin grabs his jacket from the back of a chair and slings it over his shoulder. “I get what you meant, Sehun, don’t worry about it.” At the doorway, he pauses and looks back at where Sehun is cradling his steaming mug of tea in both hands, looking slightly more alert. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The last thing he hears as he heads off in search of the garage is Sehun’s incredulous laugh. 

Having met through a mutual acquaintance even before Jongin decided to make a career out of being a hitman, Hyunjoo is the only person Jongin trusts for weapons. She has an extensive selection of untraceable firearms and various melee weapons, her prices are reasonable, and she never asks questions. One time, Jongin had bought five sniper rifles at once, and she simply accepted his money without a word. It also helps that she’s best friends with Hyuna, who Jongin goes to for weapon dismantling at the end of every job. 

Needless to say, Jongin really appreciates the efficiency of this particular professional relationship. He’s nicknamed them HyunSquared, and they seem to have adopted it as their brand, if the half-finished sign in the warehouse is any indication. 

On this trip, he walks out of their underground shop with a bag full of weapons. He prefers weapons that allow him to kill from afar – the more distance between him and his target, the less likely authorities will be able to connect the dots. There’s a sniper rifle, outfitted with a silencer and a top-of-the-market scope, and a couple of semi-automatics that Jongin has come to favour over the years. He doesn’t buy handguns, not when he only uses the one kept close to his body. A gift, from a long-gone friend, the only one he had ever made in this field. 

He’d also purchased several blades of different sizes, all able to be hidden on his body should he need to resort to close-contact killing. The rest of the bag is filled with ammunition – it’s a big job, and he doesn’t want to keep making trips down just to purchase ammo. Of course, he could choose to dip into Lee’s vast stores, but he has always preferred using his own equipment. 

Once the weapons have been safely stored inside the trunk of his car, Jongin makes his way over to the other end of the city. In one of the many cramped apartment buildings there lives Jihoon, a young tech genius who keeps to himself and spends most of his time fiddling with code. 

They’d met a few years ago when Jongin had accepted a job to eliminate the men Jihoon had been working for. The latter, barely of legal age then, was blackmailed to hack into various financial institutions and siphon funds into offshore bank accounts. He worked with a large group of other vulnerable teens, all running on caffeine, lack of sleep, and fear. 

With the money used to fund illegal activities such as drug and human trafficking, deciding to take the job wasn’t much of a struggle, and the fact that it was a retired federal agent who approached him really sealed the deal. After making sure that none of the blackmailed teens would be prosecuted for their actions, Jongin agreed to take out the organization’s local branch for a minimal fee.

He remembers infiltrating the building late one night, slipping in from a broken window on the first floor.

The first person he killed with a bullet to the back of the head, and the next with a bullet through the temple. He had just pulled the trigger for the third time when he heard a thud behind him – he turned around, gun raised, only to see a fourth body by his feet. 

“He was gonna stab you.”

A few steps away stood Jihoon, knife in hand and looking like he’s about to shatter from exhaustion.

Jongin, against his own protocol, lowered his weapon and hauled Jihoon into an empty room.

“Stay here.”

When he returned after clearing out the building, Jihoon was still there, seated by a dusty table and staring at the bloodstained knife in his hands. Jongin has never been very good at comforting those in need, not presently and definitely not back then. All he did was grip Jihoon by the shoulder and tell him that he was free to go.

“You saved my life, kid. Thanks.” 

He took the knife, but before he could leave, Jihoon spoke.

“I can try and retrieve some of the money.”

“What?”

“Yeah. I have access to their accounts. I wanna try and return the money I stole.”

Jongin blinked down at him. “The money they stole.”

A thin shoulder lifted. “Same difference.”

He’d brought Jihoon to one of his many safe houses in the city that night, the latter armed with two laptops that he booted up as soon as he sat down. Jongin stayed for hours, watching as the teen hunched over the machines, the small space filled with nothing but the sounds of his fingers flying over the keyboards. 

When daylight finally broke, Jihoon sat back and rubbed at his bloodshot eyes. 

“I did what I could. They spent some, but –”

“Hey. It’s good enough.”

They’d stared at each other for a long time before Jongin offered, “How would you like to work for me?”

Jihoon agreed without hesitation, and he’s been assisting Jongin ever since. 

By the time Jongin slows his car to a stop, the temperature has skyrocketed. Heat bounces off the asphalt and seeps into the fabric of his clothing, and it is with clear relief that Jongin steps into the building’s air-conditioned lobby.  

He heads up to the ninth floor. The hallway is plainly decorated, just a muted carpet over the tiled floor and several mass-produced paintings hanging on the walls. He knocks on the door of the last apartment and turns the handle without waiting for a response. 

Jihoon is at his desk, as he always is whenever Jongin visits. Apart from desperately needing a haircut, he looks exactly the same as he did the last time Jongin saw him.

“Hi,” the young man says, eyes leaving one of his many screens for a moment. “Hot outside, huh?”

Snorting, Jongin opens the refrigerator and pulls out a can of diet soda. “Have you gone outside lately?”

“Nope,” Jihoon says, popping the p. “Why would I?” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder and adds, “Anyway, there’s your stuff. Everything’s set up as per your usual requirements.”

There’s a laptop and a phone placed on the otherwise empty dining table, both equipment pieced together by Jihoon’s own hands. Jongin drains his drink, tossing the can into the bin as he walks over to pick up the tech. 

“Thanks,” Jongin says, digging into his back pocket for the envelope of cash he’d stashed there. He sets it onto Jihoon’s desk, by the edge of his keyboard. “Here, let me know if you need more.”

Jihoon lifts a hand in farewell and Jongin takes his leave. He has everything he needs for now – time to head back and start planning out the first kill. 

Long, elaborate plans have never been Jongin’s forte. 

Or rather, they have never been Jongin’s preferred method of operation. The only time he would put days and weeks into planning out a hit is if it involved a large number of variables, and he tends to stay away from such jobs. 

When he first started out in the field, he had contingency plans that covered all potential fuckups he could have thought of. But in the time it took for him to be satisfied with his plans, his targets had ample opportunities to figure out who the hell he was and who hired him. As a result, many plans fell through, and in order to complete his job, Jongin was forced to improvise. 

He’s since learned from his rookie mistakes: be quick and keep it simple. Let the targets prepare for the elaborate schemes, because that way, they will never see what’s right in front of them. 

And so, for the first kill, he decides to carry it out right at Lee’s home base. 

The house is bustling with activity when Jongin returns from his morning run, all staff busy preparing for the dinner party that Jongin himself had requested. The first target on Lee’s list is a special one – a dear friend, according to him, and as unfortunate as it is to have to kill someone he cares about, it must be done. So, under the guise of friendship, Jongin tells Lee to invite his friend over for dinner. 

It’s nice and chilly in the house, and the film of sweat on his skin soon cools. He’ll need a cold shower regardless, but this reprieve from the heat is more than welcome. Jongin makes his way up to his room, keeping out of the way as he goes, but what he sees through one of the large windows in the hallway has him pausing. 

This side of the house faces the pool. Lee is seated on one of the many plush deckchairs, dressed in a thin cotton tee and board shorts, but all Jongin notices is a scantily clad Sehun perched on his lap. The line of his body is taut, hands clasped tightly over the space between his thighs, and even from this distance Jongin can tell that the younger man is uncomfortable.

The last thing Jongin sees is Lee’s hand coming to rest on the dip of Sehun’s waist, thick fingers spreading out across smooth skin. Turning away from the window, Jongin takes the last few steps towards his room and shuts the door behind him. He beelines for the bathroom, wrestling his compression shirt off his body as he goes, and it isn’t long after that he’s standing underneath a strong spray of icy water. 

For a moment, surrounded by the rush of water and the hollow echoes of his own heartbeat, Jongin finds himself wondering what the circumstances were that brought Sehun and Lee together. But he soon shakes those thoughts away, because in just a few hours he’ll be taking someone’s life and he should definitely be focusing on that instead. 

Once squeaky clean, Jongin slips into a clean pair of boxers and takes a seat at his desk. He’ll review the estate’s floor plan a few more times, just to have something mundane to focus on. There’s time to spare, after all, and he can never be too prepared. 

He only moves from his seat when his stomach demands to be fed. His left knee protests when he stands, but Jongin ignores the chronic discomfort as he dresses. Once his harness is on and his gun is strapped in, he leaves the room and heads down to the kitchen. 

There are two chefs on one side of the kitchen, both too engrossed in their work to notice Jongin’s entrance. But Sehun, who is standing by the tea kettle, does. 

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Sehun quips over the rim of his mug. He’s got a thin robe on, the silk cinched around his waist, and if Jongin stares hard enough, he can envision the sight of Lee’s hands in place of the sash instead. 

He looks up at Sehun’s face. “I guess one of us has to sacrifice coming to the kitchen during mealtimes.”

Sehun coughs a laugh into his tea, then looks over Jongin’s shoulder at the chefs. 

“Hey, ‘Luc? Make some lunch for this guy real quick?”

“Certainly, Mister Oh.”

That settled, Sehun moves from the counter over to the island in the middle of the room, He hops up onto one of the many barstools, and the movement has the panels of his robe falling apart over a bare thigh. Jongin keeps his gaze trained on the man’s face. 

“How do I address you, anyway? It’s been almost a couple of weeks since you’ve been here and you never told me.”

“Jongin,” he answers, reaching for a bottle of distilled water. “Last name Kim. And you never asked.”

The bottom of Sehun’s mug clicks against the smooth marble of the counter surface as he sets it down, extending his now empty hand in Jongin’s direction.

“Pleasure, Kim Jongin,” Sehun says, and Jongin cannot find a good enough reason to stop himself from grasping that slender hand with his own. Sehun’s hand is warm from the tea, skin soft and grip firm. 

Jongin lets go under the pretense of uncapping his water, acutely aware of the latter’s eyes on him when he drains half the bottle in one gulp. 

“Tonight’s the night, huh?”

Jongin hums. “Don’t worry, you won’t see anything, if all goes to plan.”

“Doesn’t matter either way,” Sehun shrugs, fiddling with the string of his teabag. “I’ve seen enough things in the time I’ve been here to not really care anymore.”

“Why are you here?”

The question comes out before Jongin could filter it into something less blunt, but Sehun doesn’t seem too ruffled by it. 

“A few years ago, Lee saved my life,” Sehun says, staring into the depths of his tea. “I owed him. Still do, as he claims. I don’t have the means to leave even if he lets me, so…” 

“You’re here against your will?”

Sehun’s elegant features twist into an expression of such clear displeasure that Jongin immediately feels chastised. 

“No,” Sehun sighs, the sound bitter to Jongin’s ears. “I came here of my own free will. But as to what I’m doing while here, well, that’s another thing entirely.”

He stands and walks over to the sink, where he dumps out the remnants of his tea and washes the mug clean. Jongin observes quietly, unsure of what to say. Sehun doesn’t seem interested in continuing the conversation anyway, so Jongin decides to let it be. 

“Good luck tonight.” Sehun pauses just a few feet away from him, a lock of hair falling into his eyes as he tilts his head in consideration. “I actually mean it, by the way. Don’t die.”

With a flutter of his robe, Sehun breezes past and disappears around the corner.

In the resulting silence, Jongin is left with a plethora of questions and zero answers. He claims Sehun’s recently vacated seat, thumbnail digging into the grooves of the bottle of water, and tries not to think about how he might have made the wrong choice in accepting this job. 

“Sir? May I check if you have any food allergies?”

Jongin’s grip tightens around the plastic, crushing it. 

“Sorry, but I won’t be eating.”

He gets up and leaves. 

There’s a jut of tree bark digging into the small of his back, but that’s a small discomfort that no longer bothers him. Jongin has been camped up on this tree for hours, having left the mansion mere moments after his target arrived. 

Tagging the correct vehicle took surprisingly little effort, thanks to one of Jihoon’s handy gadgets that he’d invented a couple of years back. Armed with intricate knowledge of Lee’s estate, sneaking off the grounds had been equally easy despite the sheer number of bodyguards scattered around. 

He’s a few miles away, tucked up an old oak tree situated on the side of a quiet road. Not many cars travel here, not when the only destination is Lee. The tracking device is perched on Jongin’s thigh, a little red dot blinking away steadily, faster than the beat of his heart. 

Jongin is reassembling the scope of his rifle for the twenty-fourth time when the dot moves a millimetre to the right. His target is on the move. Slipping earbuds in, Jongin starts up one of his many playlists and adjusts his position, stomach down on the sturdy bough between his legs, the butt of his rifle pressed up against the juncture of his shoulder. 

He breathes, slow and deep, and tracks the gradual approach of that little red dot. 

It’s a convoy of six cars, all expensive and polished, moonlight gleaming off their finishes. Jongin only cares about the third car in the line, and he only cares about one person in that particular car. 

This shot would be tough for most, especially when the convoy takes full advantage of the empty road to speed. But Jongin’s reputation as a deadly shot is not unfounded, so he barely feels an uptick in nerves when he rests his index finger on the trigger. 

Before long, he sees two strong beams of light from the first car of the convoy. The car rounds the wide bend ahead and is almost immediately followed by the second. Then the third. Through his scope, Jongin sees his target slumped in the backseat, mouth ajar as he sleeps off the expensive liquor he’d been ingesting through the night. 

Jongin inhales, moves his rifle fractionally to the left, and exhales just as he pulls the trigger. 

The bullet, a custom by Hyunjoo’s own hands, pierces through the upper corner of the windscreen and cuts past the driver to land in the heart of his target. The pane of glass does not shatter, and Jongin trusts that the bodyguards in the car will be too focused on keeping an eye on the outside surroundings to notice the small, cracked hole in the corner. With any luck, they won’t even realise that their boss is dead until they reach home, wherever that is. 

Job done, Jongin waits until the cars have driven out of view before he straps the rifle to his back and climbs down the tree. He checks his watch – just a few minutes past two in the morning. Nothing like a quiet stroll at this time of night, he supposes. 

An hour later, the mansion bleeds out of the darkness of night and comes into view. Jongin doesn’t miss the way the armed guards at the main gate stare at the rifle on his back when he passes, but no one asks the one question that Jongin knows they want to. 

A glance up at the main house tells him that everyone has retired for the night, the maids efficient enough to clean up after the party in the time it took for Jongin to return. Footsteps light, he walks into the main hall and down the right hallway, but he doesn’t make it up to the second floor. 

There in the kitchen, bathed in candlelight, is Sehun. He doesn’t have a mug of tea this time, the hot beverage replaced with something else that would warm the belly just as well.

“You’re up late,” Jongin says, voice gravelly with the lack of use.  

The shadows under Sehun’s eyes are evident even in the weak, flickering light. Sehun raises a neat eyebrow, gaze darting over to the rifle before falling back down to his glass of scotch on the rocks. 

“As are you.”

Judging from the multiple water rings on the table’s surface, this isn’t Sehun’s first drink.

“I had a job to do.”

The corner of Sehun’s mouth dips. He drains the rest of his drink.

“Hm, as did I.” Then, after a breath, “I see you made it back unscathed.”

Body moving on instinct, Jongin reaches out to pluck the empty glass from Sehun’s lax grip. 

“I did.” He twists around to set the glass in the sink. “Did you?”

Sehun laughs, the sound hollow and mirthless, loud in the silence of the night. He slides off the barstool, footing surprisingly steady despite how much he’s had to drink, and steps close enough to Jongin for him to smell the liquor on his breath. 

“Good fucking question,” he mutters, then strides out of the kitchen and out of sight. 

If left to his own devices, Jongin would eliminate the two remaining targets in a day. But because he has to keep Lee’s best interest in mind, spacing out his kills is undoubtedly the best choice. 

The successful kill has Lee singing his praises, which Jongin supposes isn’t a bad thing. It also, however, has Lee wanting Jongin close by at all times, apparently thinking of it as some sort of promotion. Jongin, not one to engage in pointless arguments, doesn’t put up any resistance when Lee invites him to various places. Which is how he finds himself, for the lack of a better word, babysitting the arms dealer as he waits for a good time to strike again. 

After an appropriate amount of time spent mourning(?) the death of his friend(?), Lee has returned to work with renewed vigour, encouraged by new business ventures opened by the exit of another key player in the field. The fact that little to no suspicion has been placed on Lee further helps solidify his appeal in the eyes of new potential clients.

Today, Lee is meeting with a South American supplier. Jongin, awake since dawn, is already waiting by the car by the time Lee strolls out of the front doors. To his right is Shao, looking as prim and proper as always in yet another tailored pantsuit, a briefcase in one hand as she walks towards a second car. She must have a whole wardrobe of pantsuits, because Jongin has never seen her in the same outfit twice. 

Sehun stands on Lee’s other side, dressed in black slacks and a lace shirt neatly tucked into the waistband. His hair, now long enough to be pulled back into a low bun, seems to shine in the sunlight. He looks ethereal, the white lace soft against his skin, but Jongin thinks that the stoic expression on the man’s face dampens the effect. 

Before he can dwell too much on it, however, Lee greets him and Jongin inclines his head in response. 

“Let’s go make some money,” Lee declares, meaty hands clapping together. 

Jongin waits until Lee is seated inside the car before he moves, walking around the front towards the passenger seat. Just before he opens the car door, he glances up and meets Sehun’s eyes over the roof.

A beat passes, then Sehun’s lips quirk. The man ducks inside the car, and Jongin takes a breath before he follows suit. 

It’s a long drive, because criminal masterminds love to travel far away from their home bases whenever they have to conduct business. Jongin settles in for two hours of gazing out the window at the passing cityscape, sunglasses keeping the glare of the sunlight out of his eyes. 

As the minutes tick by and Jongin gradually relaxes into his seat, sounds from the backseat catch his attention. He doesn’t turn around, but from the reflection in the rearview mirror, he’s able to see Lee’s hand sliding over the curve of Sehun’s thigh and into the space between his legs. 

He cannot see Sehun’s face, but he can see the fist that balls up by his hip and the way his throat works as he swallows. Lee’s hand curls firmly around the inside of Sehun’s thigh and tugs, and all Sehun can do is obey, moving closer until they are knee to hip. 

There are unintelligible murmurs that Jongin simultaneously wants to block out and strain to hear. The tone of Lee’s voice is cajoling, and it’s clear that Sehun is fighting against whatever Lee wants. Jongin keeps his eyes trained outside, brain quickly catching up and placing puzzle pieces together. 

You’re here against your will?

He remembers asking that question, remembers Sehun’s response, and remembers wondering what exactly Sehun meant. 

Now he’s beginning to understand. 

Behind, the murmuring continues, until it comes to an abrupt stop when Sehun utters a quiet but firm, “No.”

The silence that follows is ear-splittingly loud, and it shatters when Lee moves. Jongin reacts immediately, twisting around in his seat to see Lee gripping Sehun’s jaw in one hand, eyes slitted as he presses the younger male into the upholstery. His knuckles are pale from the force.

Lee leans in, anger turning his face ruddy as he says, “You do not –”

“Settle this later,” Jongin interrupts sharply. “Harm him somewhere visible and your image will suffer.”

It takes a while for Lee to process Jongin’s words, but when it clicks, Jongin is relieved to see Lee’s hold loosening before completely falling away. Sehun’s skin is already beginning to colour, blotchy patches of red blooming along his jaw. 

Lee turns away without a word and Sehun gingerly moves back to his seat. The rest of the drive goes by far too slowly, each passing second so suffocating that Jongin wishes he could claw his way out of his own skin. 

As soon as Lee disappears into the building with Shao following close behind, the driver digs out a flattened pack of cigarettes from his pocket. Jongin watches as he walks out of sight, probably intending to smoke the entire pack before buying a new one.

He’d been invited up to the meeting, but he’s not interested in any part of Lee’s business dealings nor does he want to leave Sehun alone after what had just occurred, so declining the offer was a no-brainer. 

They’re parked in a private section of the hotel’s parking lot, so there isn’t a single soul around apart from Sehun, who’s still inside the car. Jongin can’t see Sehun through the tinted windows and he doesn’t think the man would appreciate it if he yanked the door open, so he rests his weight against the side of the car and waits.

Eventually, he hears the click of the car door. Jongin counts thirteen steps before Sehun appears by his side, arms crossing over his chest as he mirrors Jongin’s position. 

“You have questions,” Sehun states, fingering the lace on his sleeve. 

“So to speak.” 

Sehun hums, and Jongin suddenly wonders why he cares. He tries to do what’s right, yes, but he doesn’t care, not usually. Caring equals having weak spots, and weak spots are dangerous by definition. But there’s just something about the person next to him that has Jongin wanting to understand whatever goes on in that mind of his. 

“Does he do that often?”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to be more specific,” Sehun says dryly. 

“The violence.”

He hears the rush of air that leaves Sehun’s lungs. 

“Often enough. He usually stays away from my face, for the very reason you mentioned earlier. And not that I’m defending him or anything, but it’s never bad enough to warrant medical aid. I’ve learned to handle it myself.”

Jongin glances over and sees that the marks on Sehun’s face have faded. Sehun meets his gaze evenly. “There’s at least one more question in that head of yours.”

“He forces you to sleep with him.”

“Is that a question or a statement?” 

When Jongin doesn’t respond, Sehun laughs mirthlessly. 

“God, lighten up a bit, will you? Things could be worse.” Sehun reaches up to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. “But yeah, he does. According to him, I’m his ‘personal, glorified whore’. A pretty face for him to fuck whenever he wants and show off whenever the moment arises.”

A personal, glorified whore.

Over the years, Jongin has seen and heard many depraved things. This is not, and will not, be the last time he hears something like this. In fact, he’s heard worse, and he has long since developed a flawless poker face that he dons whenever needed. But the fact that Sehun is so nonchalant about it all troubles him, and Jongin cannot help the furrow of his brow when he turns to ask, “You can’t leave?”

“And where will I go? Realistically speaking, this is the best place for me to be. I’m protected, I’m clothed and fed, and I have a place to sleep.” Sehun shrugs, hands slipping into the pockets of his slacks. “He’ll get tired of me one day, that much I know. But even if that happens, he’ll never just let me go. I’ve been around long enough that I know too much – if he cannot control me, then I pose a threat to him.”

He takes a few steps forwards, like a beacon of light in the dim, empty space. 

“He saved my life and now it’s his.” Sehun looks over his shoulder at him, mouth set in a thin line. “This will never change unless he’s gone.”

Let’s just say I wouldn’t mind it if you failed.

It all makes sense now. 

A car door opens and Jongin watches out of the corner of his eye as Sehun reenters the vehicle. The door shuts with a firm click. 

After consulting Shao and instructing Jihoon to check on the given information, Jongin leaves Lee’s mansion on a Thursday night with nothing but his trusty handgun and a silencer in his jacket pocket. 

The second target on his list is a creature of habit. Running every morning, a visit to the cigar bar every Saturday evening, dinners at his favourite restaurant at least thrice a week. Jongin fully intends to capitalise on this flaw, which is why he’s currently on the way to one of the most expensive clubs in the city. 

He parks a few blocks away, taking a couple of minutes to triple check his weapon and slide on a pair of leather gloves. Right before he steps out of the car, he counts out a thousand dollars in cash and folds the bills in half. The money goes into his back pocket. 

It’s a brisk walk to the club, but instead of making his way up to the main entrance, Jongin circles around the building and finds the employee’s entrance instead. There’s only one bouncer there, seated on the steps in a dim alleyway. 

They have never met before, but Jongin knows his name, age, and family background. He knows that this man has a sick child, that the child’s mother had up and left months ago, that this job is the only reason he can afford medication. 

The bouncer gets to his feet as Jongin approaches, chest puffed out as his guard immediately goes up. 

“Entrance to the club is on the main street.”

“I’m aware,” Jongin says, pulling out the cash. He holds out the money, sees the man’s eyes grow wide. “But this entrance seems less hectic.”

A thousand dollars will cover his son’s meds for the next two or three months. But he hesitates, regardless. A decent man, Jongin thinks. 

“Just want to go in, that’s all.”

Tentatively, the bouncer reaches out for the cash, as if scared that Jongin would snatch it away and call it a prank. But when it becomes evident that Jongin has no intentions of doing so, the man pockets the money and steps aside. 

“Cheers,” Jongin says, and opens the door. 

As soon as he’s inside, Jongin beelines for the VIP area on the second floor. 

The VIP area is always reserved for those with high statuses and power, and most are regulars in the club. Jongin isn’t surprised when two men stop him just before he can pass the threshold, but like with most things in life, money gets you what you want. He slips cash into their hands as well, and he’s soon shown to an empty table tucked away from the crowd. 

Instead of a dance floor, the VIP area has individual stages for the club’s dancers. It’s less hectic up here, with more space to move and breathe. Jongin sits back and surveys his immediate surroundings, taking in the lingerie-clad dancers grinding on poles and the lingerie-clad servers walking around. 

One of the dancers spots him and immediately attempts to flirt, but Jongin pays her no mind. While he is on the hunt tonight, it’s not for carnal pleasure. 

He’s nursing a glass of the house special when a small group enters. Three men and two women – Jongin watches over the rim of his glass as they settle into one of the empty booths. The women are employees of the club, that much is clear. The men, however, are not, and the one seated right in the middle catches Jongin’s eye.

The lights are dim, but Jongin is positive that’s the man he wants. 

He stays where he is, for now, not wanting to attract any unwanted attention should he act too hastily. With time to waste now that he knows where his target is, Jongin lets himself savour the slow burn of the alcohol in his system. He gets a second drink, absently unbuttoning another button on his shirt to let off some of the heat clinging to his skin. 

His gaze wanders, and it lands on a tall dancer currently hanging off her pole, glittery skin adorned with white lace. 

Perhaps it’s unsurprising that he thinks of Sehun.

Jongin looks down at his drink, then back up at the man across the room. His target has an arm around each woman, legs spread like he owns the place. When he shifts in his seat, Jongin feels the outline of his gun pressing against his ribs and finds himself wondering what would happen if he didn’t kill this man. 

If this man walked out of this club alive, would he turn the tables and kill Lee a month, six months, two years down the road? 

Exhaling, Jongin sets his drink aside and pulls out his phone. 

He’s a professional, and he has a job to do.

Pulling up the messaging app Jihoon had developed and installed into all of his devices, Jongin types out a brief text.

On the dot.

Once it sends, Jongin makes quick work of assembling his silencer in the dark. He checks the time – he has forty-three seconds before he has to pull the trigger. 

He spends the last thirty seconds tipping the rest of his drink down his throat. 

Five. Four. Three. Two.

One. 

The lights go out and the music cuts off. Amidst all the confusion, Jongin lifts his weapon and fires a single round. He slips out of the VIP area and through the crowd, and he’s out the front doors before Jihoon reboots the system. 

He’s back in his car and already miles away when screams fill the club. 

It’s storming out. Despite the time of day, shadows flood through the house, casting a dreary web over the people inside. Jongin enjoys a rainy day just as much as everyone else, but being on a job definitely dampens the appeal. 

He finds himself in the gym, feet hitting the belt of the treadmill at a steady pace as he stares out the window. Water streaks down the glass at an alarming rate, turning everything outside into blurry tracks that Jongin cannot quite focus on. 

After what feels like hours, Jongin slows the treadmill to a stop. Sweat has transformed his shirt into a second skin and his hair probably looks disgusting, but that incessant itch of restlessness has finally dulled to a point where Jongin can ignore it. He wrangles his shirt off, wondering if he has enough energy for some weight training. 

When he turns around, however, all thoughts of lifting weights promptly float right out of his mind. 

Sehun’s there, leaning against the squat rack in a tee and sweats, trademark mug clutched in his hands. He’s barefoot, Jongin notices. 

“Why on earth would you be working out in this weather?”

Jongin wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his equally sweaty hand. He achieves nothing.

“What?” 

“This weather. It’s perfect for anything but exercise,” Sehun says, sipping at his tea. Jongin can smell the faintest hint of ginger all the way across the room. 

“Oh,” Jongin says dumbly. “Yes, I suppose so.” Then, ”Why are you here?”

“I wanted to take a walk outside, but since –” Sehun gestures out the window by means of explanation.

In need of something to keep his hands occupied, Jongin walks over to the water dispenser and pours himself a cup of ice-cold water. 

“What do you do during your, uh, free time?”

“Nothing much,” Sehun answers. “Dance, sometimes, alone in my room. Netflix. Daydream of better days.” He speaks the last few words with heavy sarcasm, and it isn’t too hard for Jongin to read between the lines. 

Sehun takes a breath, opens his mouth, then closes it. He takes another sip of his tea, and when he does speak, Jongin knows it’s not what he originally wanted to say.

“So, any movie recommendations for me?”

“I’m afraid I don’t watch many movies.”

Sehun laughs. “You’re too busy for that, I suppose.” He retrieves a rolled towel from a nearby cabinet, and Jongin does not move away when Sehun approaches him. The towel is pressed against his sternum, but Jongin makes no move to take it, nor does Sehun ask him to.

They are standing barely two feet apart. Outside, the storm rages on.

“In the past,” Jongin begins, unsure of where exactly he’s going with this, “I have taken two jobs at once.”

Sehun’s head angles to the side. “For a special reason, I’m assuming. Doing so otherwise seems foolish.”

“Special reasons,” Jongin agrees. The towel moves, up towards his clavicles where sweat pools in the hollows. Sehun’s hand is steady as he towels Jongin dry. “I could kill him for you, if you so wanted.”

He keeps his voice low, even though he knows there aren’t any audio bugs in the gym – the hum of the machines and the general hubbub of activity in here causes too much interference for them to be effective. 

What Jongin does, however, is move slightly to the left in order to block their faces from the cameras.

Sehun’s eyes are fixed on the towel as it drags along the slope of Jongin’s shoulder. 

“For me?”

“Hm.”

Sehun finally lets go of the towel, leaving it draped over Jongin’s shoulder. He steps back and lifts his mug to his lips. 

“Why?”

That’s a question Jongin wishes he had the answer to. As it stands, he simply shrugs and waits for Sehun’s answer to his proposition.

“I appreciate the offer.” Sehun extends a hand, and Jongin’s skin erupts in goosebumps when a fingertip, warm from the tea, traces along the path of a vein. From the top of his shoulder down to the crook of his elbow, the touch is electric. 

Then Sehun’s hand drops and he says, “My spidey senses are telling me that I’m needed upstairs. See you around, Jongin.”

He’s gone in a breeze of fragrance, a blend of ginger and sugar. 

Well, Jongin thinks, that wasn’t a ‘no’. 

Anger isn’t something that Jongin experiences frequently nowadays. A few years ago, he’d picked up meditation as a means to enhance focus and combat stress, because being on edge and easily distractible is a sure-fire way to die on the job. As a result, chasing away negative emotions has long since become second nature. 

So when he walks into Lee’s room a few days later and processes what exactly it is that he’s seeing, Jongin does not expect the rage that floods through him.

Sehun is bent over that expansive desk, arms bound behind his back with a strip of leather. He’s as naked as the day he was born, save for the blotches of red Jongin can just barely glimpse along the curve of his ass. With his face turned away from the door, Jongin cannot see just how much Sehun hates this. 

Standing behind him is Lee, pants around his knees and shirt rucked up to his nipples. He has a hand pressing down on the small of Sehun’s back, the other held up to his lips as he takes a drag of his cigarette. The movement of his hips is unmistakable. 

Jongin mentally counts to ten before opening his mouth. 

“What do you need?”

Lee looks over, as if surprised by Jongin’s presence despite being the one who called him over. 

“Ah, Mr. Kim! Yes, the intel you requested.” Lee points to a folder on the desk, placed mere inches away from one of Sehun’s closed fists. 

Jongin makes no move to grab the file. 

“Is Shao unavailable? Surely she could have passed the file to me on your behalf.”

“I suppose so,” Lee answers, smoke unfurling into the air. His fingertips dig into the supple flesh of Sehun’s cheek – sure to leave bruises behind. “Didn’t think to ask.”

That’s a fucking blatant lie.

Without a word, Jongin moves forward to take the file, although his fingers itch to close around Lee’s throat instead. He does not look at Sehun, not wanting to subject the man to more shame and humiliation that he is already forced to endure. He leaves, and by the time he’s inside his room, the papers are a crumpled mess in his fist. 

He’d burn the papers right now if he could, but he needs them to finish his job. 

So he parks himself by the table and opens the file, straightening out the creases as best as he can. It’s straightforward intel, with a layout of the shipping port and a list of numbers that correspond to shipping containers, dates, and times. 

Attempting to kill his target onsite would be a rookie mistake – the man will undoubtedly travel with a large team of bodyguards, and the port boasts its own security team as well. So the smart thing to do would be to operate as far away from the port as possible. 

Pen in hand, Jongin pulls up a map of the area and gets to work. When he’s finally he’s satisfied with his plan, the map and papers are filled with his scrawls. He sends off a quick message to Jihoon, letting him know exactly what help he requires to successfully execute this hit. 

His stomach rumbles, kindly informing him that he’s been cooped up in his room for a little too long. Jongin shuffles the papers together and slips them back into their file,  then gets to his feet with a sigh. There’s just something about this particular job that wears him out, which really takes him by surprise. He’s done year-long stints that feel nothing as exhausting as this one.  

Neck stiff and back sore, Jongin all but drags his feet downstairs. The kitchen is empty save for a young chef who is just about to leave – Jongin hasn’t seen this boy before. The boy takes one look at his weapon and visibly blanches. Yep, definitely new. 

“W-would you like me to –”

“It’s alright,” Jongin interrupts, and waits for him to scurry away. He slaps together a quick sandwich then digs out an ice-cold bottle of beer from one of the many refrigerators. After a moment’s thought, he slides open the glass doors that lead to the back garden and steps out. 

The sky is clear, an infinite expanse of black ink speckled with stars. There’s a light breeze rustling the leaves of nearby trees, and Jongin feels the dampness of the grass underneath the bare soles of his feet as he crosses the well-kept lawn. 

He’s not alone out here, but the sheer size of the property gives a good illusion of privacy; all the guards patrolling the perimeter are well out of his line of vision. Jongin claims the first table he sees, settling into a cushioned wicker chair and using another as a footrest. One slam on the edge of the table has the beer cap popping off, and Jongin indulges in a big gulp of beer before he turns his attention to his food. 

Eating is always a necessity, never a luxury. He can barely remember the last time he truly enjoyed a meal, because his mind is never quiet enough for that. Right now, he could be appreciating the beauty of the faint constellations in the sky, but all he can think about is the last hit two days from now. 

He’s swallowing a mouthful of his food when he hears the click of the sliding door behind him. On instinct, his hand goes to the gun by his ribs, fingers closing loosely around the grip. 

“It’s just me.”

Jongin lets go and looks over his shoulder to see Sehun approaching, silhouette soft around the edges in the dim light from the house. He keeps his eyes on the other as he approaches, and even in the shadows, he can see the bruises painted all over his skin. 

Sehun settles into one of the vacant seats. His movements are slow, and Jongin knows it’s because it hurts to move. Suddenly, the sandwich in his hand doesn’t seem all that appealing. 

They sit in silence, Jongin’s sandwich lying forgotten on its plate, half-empty bottle of beer sweating droplets that roll off the table’s surface. 

Then Sehun speaks. 

“You know he intended for you to see all of that.”

“Yes.”

Sehun’s eyes are bright in the moonlight when he turns to look at him. He glances down at Jongin’s abandoned food, then reaches across the table to take it. Jongin lets him. 

“And I know you know why.”

“Yes.”

A soft sound hits Jongin’s ears, and it takes him too long to realise that it’s Sehun laughing. 

“Why are you laughing?”

“Lee doesn’t get jealous very easily,” Sehun says, stealing Jongin’s beer as well. He tilts his head back to drink and Jongin sees mottled bruises around his neck. “I’m just…entirely unsurprised at the fact that you brought that angry jealousy out of the deep, dark depths.”

“Unsurprised?”

Sehun chews, then swallows his mouthful of food. “Yeah, there’s no one quite like you.” He pauses, like something has just dawned on him. “You do realise that?”

“...No,” Jongin says, wishing he had his beer. “I’m not quite sure what you mean.”

“Hm.” Sehun thumbs at a smear of mayonnaise at the corner of his mouth. “Look in a mirror sometime.”

Oh. 

Jongin flushes to the tips of his ears, thankful for the cover of night. 

After, when the plate is empty and Sehun has the neck of the beer bottle pinched between his index and middle fingers, Jongin clears his throat. 

“My offer still stands.”

Without missing a beat, Sehun answers the same way he did previously. “Why?”

Jongin isn’t quite sure what the answer is, much less how to formulate one. So he settles for staring up at the sky instead, hyper-focused on a tiny speck of white almost hidden behind the line of trees. 

But when he looks over to see the other man already looking back at him, he finds the words. 

“There’s no one quite like you.”

Sehun’s mouth curves. 

This is unexpected, to say the very least. 

Lee, flanked by Shao and a few of his bodyguards, stands just a few meters away, watching as Jongin switches out the plates on his car. It’s mildly unnerving, readying to take someone’s life and having an audience while doing so. 

Sehun’s absence does not go unnoticed and Jongin knows Lee has everything something to do with it. 

As soon as he places his rifle into the backseat, he gets behind the wheel and drives off, barely taking the time and effort to nod in Lee’s direction before he’s out of sight. In the rearview mirror, the mansion gradually shrinks into nothingness.

It’s a long drive across the city to the shipping ports. Jongin spends the time attempting to clear his mind, but when he finds his thoughts straying to the safety of a certain someone, he resigns himself to that fate that he’s failed spectacularly. 

No matter, he’s done jobs like this in far worse conditions. 

By the time he kills the engine, the sun has long set and the city’s nightlife is bustling. Across the bay, Jongin can just make out the shape of dozens upon dozens of shipping containers, stacked up high. 

He’s parked in an empty corner of the lot, far enough from foot traffic that the odds of anyone noticing him are incredibly slim. From here, he has the perfect viewpoint to the spot where his target will be in an hour’s time. Jongin takes a cursory glance around before booting up the laptop he’d left on the passenger’s seat. 

Jihoon is already online. A few clicks and Jongin’s screen is filled with the CCTV footage from the port – he tabs through the different camera feeds, watching as a team works to clear out space for tonight’s shipment. Jihoon, ever helpful, isolates four different angles that will provide Jongin with the intel he needs and keeps them locked on Jongin’s screen. 

Leaving the laptop on the seat, Jongin moves over to the backseat and extracts his rifle from its case. This particular vehicle is Jongin’s favourite out of all the cars he’s ever driven, and it is crucial to the success of this job. The backseat is specially designed for snipers – there are strategically placed armrests, the seats are settled lower into the chassis, and the backrests can be pushed down completely for extra space. But the best part? The detachable frame that Jongin can snap in place to keep his rifle steady. 

There’s a smaller window installed into the main one, tucked into the corner of the window frame. This way, Jongin doesn’t have to wind down the entire pane to take a shot, and the chances of anyone noticing the muzzle of his rifle when it’s hidden in a corner is slim. 

Jongin sets up the rifle frame, periodically testing out its position to make sure it lines up just how he wants it. Once everything is in place, he slumps in his seat and keeps his eyes on the laptop’s screen. He fights the urge to sigh – god, how is it that one person can complicate a job so much? 

He fidgets with the buttons on the sides of his phone. It’s not as if he doesn’t know what the obvious solution is, but despite how soaked in blood his ledger is, he has never killed someone out of his own volition. Taking a life has always been part of the job and has never been something personal. This, however, would be more than personal.

Jongin stares down at his hands. As much as his instincts are telling him to do it, Jongin cannot help but wonder if it would be a mistake. After all, there’s no way to tell if Sehun is worth all of this. 

Mildly irritated at himself for lacking the self-restraint to stay away from turning this personal, Jongin shoves his phone back into his pocket and pointedly fixes his attention onto the CCTV footage. There’s still time before his target arrives and Jongin plans to use all that time doing his job. 

Later, as he drives past the port with his rifle safely stowed away, the footage on his laptop shows a couple dozen men shouting for help. A body lies by the doors to one of the many shipping containers, a bullet-sized hole between his eyes and blood sprayed across the metal. 

By the time he makes it back to Lee’s estate, he has made up his mind. 

The halls are quiet. Jongin doesn’t encounter anyone in his journey up to his room, and the usual sliver of light that spills out from the space beneath Lee’s door isn’t there either. 

Jongin unlocks the door to his room, but before he takes a single step inside, he pauses. There’s a slip of paper on the floor, a gleam of white against the dark wood. He picks it up and unfolds it to see:

meet me at the pool

Jongin sets his rifle and equipment down by the door and closes it. The pool is on the other side of the mansion, and Jongin spends the entire journey thinking about the cold tiles pressed against the soles of his feet. 

Soft light streams through the double glass doors that lead to the pool, refracting off the surface of the water and glimmering against the marble décor. The air is humid, smelling faintly of chlorine, and the sounds of Sehun cutting through the water echoes in the otherwise empty space. 

Above, the glass ceiling graces Jongin with a beautiful view of the night sky. 

Jongin takes a seat on one of the many lounge chairs and tracks Sehun’s lean frame as it moves from one end of the pool to the other. After a few laps, Sehun finally slows to a stop, gripping the edge of the pool to catch his breath before he hoists himself out of the water. 

Water sluices off his body, caressing every jut of bone and line of muscle as he moves, skin aglow. Jongin stays glued to his seat, watching as Sehun walks in his direction before reaching past him for a towel slung over the back of a chair. 

He dries off quickly, dragging the towel over his body and through his hair before claiming the empty seat next to Jongin.

“It’s late,” Jongin finally says, wrenching his gaze away from a fat droplet of water tracking its way down Sehun’s chest. “You usually swim this late?”

“Some nights, I can’t sleep. So I come here instead,” Sehun answers, slinging the towel around his shoulders. He leans back, legs stretching out in front of him, swim trunks clinging to sharp hips. 

Jongin looks up and spies no less than four strategically placed security cameras. Lee, assuming he is asleep, will no doubt learn of this meeting as soon as he wakes up tomorrow. If he is awake now, well – there’s a reason Jongin chose to keep his handgun with him. 

“Did you want something?”

“I want many things, Jongin.” Sehun flicks a drop of water off his cheek. “Wanting something doesn’t mean you’ll get it.”

He’s not wrong. Jongin falls silent, eyes fixed on the gentle ripples of the pool water. He’s tired, in dire need of a hot shower and a few hours of sleep, but rest is the farthest thing he’s thinking of. 

“So you’re done, huh?”

“Done?”

“With work. Here.”

Oh. Right, he’s fulfilled his contract with Lee. 

“Yeah.”

“Leaving in the morning?”

“I suppose.”

The lounge chair creaks when Sehun swings his legs off and gets to his feet, and Jongin barely has time to react before Sehun is stepping between his knees, water dripping off the ends of his hair. He’s close enough for Jongin to catch a whiff of the chlorine clinging to his skin. 

“So I won’t see you again, probably.”

His voice is softer, like he’d chosen to let his walls down just a little in this brief moment. If Jongin dares think it, he’d say Sehun sounds…scared. Vulnerable, maybe. 

Jongin doesn’t answer. But he does, however, reach out to close a hand around Sehun’s bare wrist, feeling the flutter of his pulse against his fingertips. He hears Sehun’s breath hitch, and he looks up to see parted lips and dilated pupils.

When Sehun’s free hand flattens out against his chest, Jongin doesn’t move away. He lets Sehun push him back until he’s lying down, lets Sehun throw a leg over his hip and lean in. When their lips meet, Jongin wonders if he’s accepting the kiss or if he’s taking it. Either way, he wants it. 

Sehun kisses him slow and deep, the coolness of his skin a stark contrast to the heat of his mouth. Apart from the grip he has around Sehun’s wrist, Jongin doesn’t dare touch him – a fact that Sehun notices.

“You can touch me,” he says, the words gentle against his lips. “He’s not here.”

“He will find out. And he will hurt you.”

“Yeah, he will. But you asked if I wanted something.” Sehun pulls back, weight settling across Jongin’s thighs, and plucks at the buttons of Jongin’s shirt. “Do you know how often I get what I want?”

“Not often.”

Sehun snorts. “Yeah, not often.” He undoes the last button, fingertips trailing from the hollow of Jongin’s throat down to his navel, snagging on the edges of his belt. “Will you give me what I want?”

After a beat, Jongin sits up, gripping Sehun by the waist to ease him off his lap. He tries not to think about how comfortably his hand fits into the curve, about the taut line of muscle cutting diagonally into the waistband of his trunks. 

“Yes. But not now.”

Sehun’s brows furrow. “What? Then when?”

It’s cute how he sounds so petulant. 

“Later,” Jongin says. “I promise.”

“...You’re leaving.”

Jongin keeps silent, choosing instead to lean in and press a kiss to the corner of Sehun’s mouth. Then he stands, pausing to look down at where Sehun is sprawled across the chair. 

“I promise,” he repeats, then walks away. 

After a night where Jongin spent most of his time lying in bed fully awake, he rolls out of bed at 8 A.M. on the dot and packs up his few belongings. He makes the bed and wipes down all surfaces, and just before he leaves the room, he checks that his handgun is loaded and in pristine condition. Satisfied, he brings his things down to the car. 

Once everything has been loaded into the trunk, Jongin drives out the garage and up towards the main house. He has one last thing to do before he leaves. 

Shao is standing there when he walks up to the doors, tablet propped up on the inside of her forearm.

“Can I have a word with Lee? Just a couple of minutes of his time.”

“Is this regarding payment? The funds have already been transferred to you, you should be able to see them by –”

“No, it’s not about money.”

It’s clear that she wants more details, but Jongin simply stands there and looks at her expectantly. Ultimately, she nods in acquiescence and turns to head back into the house, and Jongin follows suit. 

At the door to Lee’s room, Jongin waits patiently as Shao announces their presence. There’s a lull in time after her voice fades out into nothingness, and Jongin knows Lee wants nothing more than to send him away. But out of respect, perhaps, Lee lets them in. 

Jongin steps into the room to see Lee sitting up in bed. There’s a tray of food over his lap, half-eaten, but Jongin barely pays the lavish spread any attention. Next to Lee is Sehun, the latter quietly spreading butter over a thick slice of toast, head hanging low. But even despite the poor angle, Jongin can still glimpse a reddish splotch of colour on his cheek – it’s a fresh bruise, and the fact festers in Jongin’s gut.

“Ah, Mr. Kim. You’ve done a fine job.” Lee takes the toast from Sehun’s hands and sinks his teeth into it. “As expected from someone of your calibre.”

When Jongin doesn't acknowledge the praise, Lee visibly bristles. When he next speaks, he no longer sounds remotely respectful.

“Did you need something?” 

Jongin’s lips curl. “You know, I spent a lot of time thinking about how I want to do this.” He walks over to the windows, eyes on the carefully maintained garden but not really seeing its beauty. “It’d be so easy to dig into your treasure trove of sins and choose one for blackmail or to threaten the life of someone you hold dear. But neither of those options particularly appealed to me.”

Food long forgotten, Lee sits up straighter, attention completely on the hitman – a killer – in his room. 

“What are you saying?”

The smile on Jongin’s face dissolves. “Don’t play dumb with me, Lee.”

He sees the man turning towards Shao’s direction, but before she can act on his silent orders, Jongin has his gun trained on her. His grip does not waver.

“Please put that down,” he says evenly. “I do not wish to hurt you.”

Loyalty to men like Lee only runs so deep. Without hesitation, Shao sets the tablet down and kicks it a fair distance away. 

Keeping his gun pointed at her, Jongin turns his attention back to Lee. “I know what kind of person you are. You are exactly like all the other people I’ve worked for – naïve in thinking that having money and firepower means you are untouchable. I’ve been in this line of work long enough to learn that turning a blind eye to the shit you people do may help me sleep better at night, especially when I don’t witness them.”

When he looks over at Sehun, he sees utter astonishment in those eyes. Fuck, what is it about him? 

“If you’d kept your problems with him private, I would not be here. You should –”

“You’re not here because you give a shit about what I do to him,” Lee interrupts, zero sense of self-preservation whatsoever. “You’re here because you want him for yourself.” 

In the resounding silence, Lee reaches over and grabs a handful of Sehun’s hair, yanking on it until his neck is bent backwards at a painful angle. “You want him for the same reasons I do, for the same reasons I keep him around. He’s pretty to look at and he’s a good fuck, although he can be very – ” His other hand comes to grasp Sehun’s jaw, “– disobedient sometimes. You know, if you –”

Shao’s scream rings sharp through the room. Good thing it’s soundproofed. 

Blood is splattered all over one side of Sehun’s face, crimson droplets settled in his hair like rose petals on snow. Jongin lowers his weapon, impassive as he studies Lee’s face, slack in death. 

He turns to Shao. The woman shrinks back in fear, knees weak as she presses up against the wall behind her. 

“You speak a word of what happens in this room, I will hunt you down, then everybody in your family. Nod if you understand.”

Shao nods so quickly she resembles a bobblehead. 

As soon as Jongin jerks his chin towards the door, Shao bolts. Her departure leaves the room in a state of stagnation, only broken when Sehun slowly climbs out of bed. He’s dressed only in his underwear, more bruises visible around his hips and down his thighs. Jongin holsters his weapon just to prevent himself from shooting a dead man. 

Wordlessly, Jongin takes Sehun’s hand and tugs. Just once, gently, and he leads Sehun out of the room. They don’t stop walking until they’re at Sehun’s door – with trembling fingers, Sehun unlocks it and lets Jongin shepherd him inside. 

Jongin cannot help but look around when he enters. It’s sparsely decorated, with only a couple of stuffed toys and potted plants bringing some form of character to the space. It doesn’t come as a surprise when Jongin notes that there isn’t a single framed photograph anywhere. 

The sound of Sehun’s heel hitting the bed frame is what refocuses him, and after making sure the other is safely seated, Jongin pulls open all the drawers in search of a towel. Ignoring all the lingerie neatly organised by colour, he digs through shirts and pants until he finds a washcloth.

Dampened with warm water, Jongin brings the washcloth to where Sehun is seated at the foot of the bed, blood drying on his skin. He cleans him with careful swipes, each pass of the cloth removing blood off his hair and skin until he no longer looks tainted. 

“You’re free,” Jongin murmurs, setting the towel aside. He’ll take it with him to burn once it has dried. “By the end of the week, you can have a new identity, with enough money in an account to last you for years. Just tell me where you want to go, and I’ll –”

“You’re not taking me with you?”

Sehun’s voice is quiet, but unwavering. 

Jongin’s train of thought flips completely off its rails. 

“You thought I would be taking you with me?”

At those words, Sehun clams up, expression hardening. He twists out from between Jongin’s arms and flings open his closet doors with way too much force, sending one bouncing off the wall. He’s in the middle of stuffing a bag with clothes when Jongin sighs and grasps his wrists, effectively stopping him from moving. 

“You misunderstand me. I assumed you would want to leave all this behind, including me. A fresh start, you know? Go find family, or perhaps go to a place where no one knows you, where you can decide your own fate.”

Sehun stares at him. “Right. Let me ask you this – do you want to take me with you?”

“This isn’t about what I want,” Jongin begins, only to cut himself off and exhale. Under Sehun’s scrutiny, he utters a single, “Yes.”

“Then take me with you. Please. I…no longer have a family to return to anyway.”

“There are risks, being with me. My job is inherently dangerous, and I have made many enemies over the years. You must know that.”

Sehun shrugs. “Can’t be worse than being here.”

When Jongin opens his mouth in another half-hearted attempt to dissuade Sehun from coming with him, the man shuts him up with a kiss, mouth slotting over his own so perfectly it sends him reeling. 

“Shut up and help me pack,” Sehun mumbles, punctuating his sentence with a nip to Jongin’s bottom lip. “I wanna get out of here.”

And so Jongin ends up helping Sehun fold the few pieces of clothing he’d chosen to bring along, one eye on the other as he re-checks the entirety of the room for anything he might have overlooked. When Sehun gets to the dresser, he pauses. 

“Should I bring these?”

Jongin looks up from folding a shirt to see a lace thong dangling off Sehun’s forefinger. 

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, are these not your cup of tea? Okay, that’s –”

“They’re –” Jongin coughs, cheeks warming. “They’re very much my cup of tea, but I’d rather you leave them here. You wore these for him. I can buy you new ones.”

Sehun blinks, then bursts out laughing. 

As soon as Lee’s estate is no longer visible in the rearview mirror, Sehun falls asleep, clutching a stuffed white tiger to his chest as he snoozes. Jongin turns the radio down, reaching over to smooth a few locks of hair out of Sehun’s face. He lingers on the bruise for a couple of seconds before he lets his hand drop.

It’s a cloudy day, and by the time Jongin pulls up to his building, sunlight is nothing but a blur of muted colour behind the clouds. Might rain tonight, Jongin thinks. 

Getting Sehun settled doesn't take too long. Jongin shows him to the spare room and points out where all the important things are located. 

“I'll get you a spare keycard tomorrow,” Jongin says, a hand on the door handle. “I have to run a couple of errands, but please make yourself at home. I'll be back soon.”

Sehun nods, eyes flitting around the room. If Jongin lingers a little too long before he leaves the apartment, Sehun doesn't comment on it. 

The first thing Jongin does is head back to HyunSquared. There, he drops off all the weapons he'd bought for Lee’s job with Hyuna and purchases a couple of easy-to-use handguns from Hyunjoo. He nods in approval at the sign, now with neon lights installed. 

“Looks good,” he says, purchases stored in a nondescript bag. “Do I get a cut of HyunSquared earnings? I did come up with the name, after all.” 

Hyunjoo smacks him upside the head and gives him a free lollipop instead. 

From here, Jongin drives to Jihoon’s. 

He buys the youngster lunch, complete with a large cup of boba, and leaves him with a bunch of instructions. Money he earned from Lee’s job will be donated to various charities, and news of Lee’s death will be released to the press, suggesting that the arms dealer was indeed the person behind the deaths of his competitors, and was consequently dealt with by another. Jihoon will also ensure that all visual evidence of Jongin’s presence in the compound is removed. Whatever happens after that, happens. 

On his way out, Jongin places a call to a man only known as John Doe. He requests a whole new life for Sehun – an ordinary one, but one infinitely better than what he’s had to go through. Once he receives assurances that Sehun’s new identification documents will be available in a week’s time, Jongin hangs up and makes his way to the nearest supermarket.

It’s dinnertime when he gets home. 

He opens the door to see Sehun sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by his old vinyl record collection that he’d dug up from the drawers. Hair fluffy after a shower and wearing nothing but an old tee and sweats, Jongin thinks he has never looked more beautiful than he does now, bruised face be damned.

“Hungry?”

“I could eat,” Sehun says, looking across the room at him. 

Jongin holds his gaze for a moment before nodding and heading into the kitchen. As the rice cooks and the soup boils, Jongin finishes chopping up a bunch of vegetables and glances over at the remaining bag of groceries perched on his countertop.

Mind made up, he fills his electric kettle and sets it to boil. Then he grabs a mug, the box of tea from the shopping bag, and fishes out a sachet of ginger tea. 

As soon as the aroma of brewing tea reaches Sehun, he materialises by Jongin’s elbow.

“You bought tea.” For me goes unsaid, but Jongin can read between the lines. 

“Mm. The store didn’t have the brand you like, but this one seemed like a safe alternative.”

He pushes the steaming mug over to Sehun and turns his attention back to the stove, where chopped onions are currently sizzling in a pan. Too focused on not burning the onions, Jongin startles when he feels a gentle press of warmth against his cheek.

“Thank you,” Sehun says, breath curling around the shell of his ear. “I think I like this brand better.”

Jongin swallows around the unnameable lump in his throat and dumps the rest of the vegetables into the pan. 

They eat quietly, accompanied by one of Jongin’s many soft rock records in the background. 

“This is delicious,” Sehuun comments, and the sound of his voice has Jongin nearly choking on a mouthful of rice. “Very homely.”

“I’m not the best cook.” Jongin busies himself with watching the bits of egg and tofu in his soup whirl around as he stirs. “But I –”

“It’s nice,” Sehun repeats. He nudges Jongin’s shin with his foot under the table. “You should give yourself more credit.”

At the end of the meal, every single dish has been wiped clean. Sehun refuses to let Jongin do the dishes and nearly growls at him when Jongin tries to help, insisting that this is the least he could do after all that Jongin has done for him. So while Sehun scrubs away, Jongin finds himself surveying the organised mess of records on the floor, all categorised into genres and by alphabetical order. 

Sehun joins him after, fingertips shrivelled from the water – Jongin can feel the tiny bumps and ridges against his skin from where Sehun has wrapped a hand around his wrist. They settle down onto the couch, eyes trained on the television screen where a movie is playing, although neither of them are able to pay any attention to the film whatsoever. 

The mug of tea clutched in Sehun’s free hand has been refilled, lazy tendrils of steam unfurling around the rim as he sips at it. For the entire duration of the movie, they sit shoulder-to-shoulder, hip-to-hip, Jongin’s wrist safe in Sehun’s hold. The scent of sweetened ginger fills the air and its spice seems to linger against his skin. 

When the credits (finally) roll, Jongin feels so incredibly wound up that he could run a whole marathon and still have enough energy to go again. His muscles ache from how rigidly he’s been holding himself, not wanting to make Sehun uncomfortable but unwilling to part with the warmth of another body all the same. 

He sits through a whole minute of credits before he has to move. 

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he ends up saying. “You should rest. It’s been…a trying day.”

He slips his hand out of Sehun’s grasp, the skin of his palm lighting up when Sehun’s fingertips brush against them. 

One long, hot shower later and Jongin plants himself face-down into his pillows. 

He groans, letting the silk sheets and feathers soak up the sound. The past twenty-four hours have been a rollercoaster of base desires and impulsivity, and now that he has time to reflect on his decisions, Jongin knows there will inevitably be consequences. He has gone this far without companionship for a reason, and Sehun’s presence in his life will make things that much harder. 

His eyes slide over to the compartment in his closet where he’d stashed the new handguns. Tomorrow, he’ll have to teach Sehun how to handle one, get him used to the weight and feel of a gun in his hands. 

But for now, he should probably try to catch a few hours of sleep. Jongin rolls over onto his side and reaches past the bedside table for the control panel – just as he’s about to turn off the lights, however, Sehun knocks on the door. 

Jongin freezes, arm outstretched and duvet bunched around his shins. 

He is not mentally prepared for this, and yet the thought of turning Sehun away curdles in the pit of his stomach. So he gets out of bed and crosses the room in a few steps, one twist of his wrist pulling the door open. 

Sehun’s there, standing in a sliver of moonlight that cuts across the hallway from a window at the far end. His hair soaks up the light and infuses it through the surface of his skin, turning it dewy soft. The man has chosen to forgo a shirt, and Jongin cannot help but notice how his nipples pebble in the cool air.  

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“Not exactly.” With two fingers pressed to Jongin’s sternum, he gently pushes Jongin back into his room. The door shuts behind him, and when Sehun steps close, Jongin has no choice but to look him in the eyes. 

The corner of Sehun’s mouth quirks. “You know, the truth of the matter is, we don’t know each other.” He gestures between the two of them. “Definitely not well enough for any of this.”

Such close proximity means that Jongin's nose is filled with the mild scent of the other’s body soap. He clears his throat and wonders if he could escape to the other side of the room without looking like an idiot. 

“This?”

“You killed a man for me. You're giving me a new life.”

“I kill for a living.”

Sehun's brows rise. “But killing Lee wasn't a job.” As if Jongin's heart wasn't already beating at a thousand miles an hour, Sehun steps even closer. “You did it for me.”

Denying it would be senseless, because Sehun is right. He did do it for him, and they truly barely know each other. 

So Jongin nods and utters a simple, “Yes.”

Sehun inhales, lips parting like he wants to say something. Except what comes out is a tiny, wondrous sound that Jongin barely has time to process before warm lips are on his. It’s a haphazard scramble to the bed from that point onwards, hands tugging at clothing and nails etching lines into skin. 

Getting to touch all that bare skin without worrying about the consequences feels like a dream come true. Jongin flips them over with a hand under Sehun’s knee, hands skating down Sehun’s sides until they disappear down the back of his sweats. 

“You’re not wearing any underwear,” he mumbles into the crook of Sehun’s neck. Gently, he squeezes both handfuls of supple flesh and relishes in the sound he pulls out of Sehun. “You do that a lot?”

Sehun very helpfully lifts his hips up, allowing Jongin to tug those sweats down past his hips. His cock rests heavy on the seam of his thigh, tip pearlescent with slick. Jongin wants – so badly – to taste.

“Only when I have a reason to do so.”

“Hm, so I just have to give you a reason?”

Sehun laughs, the sound thin and breathy, and kicks off his sweats the rest of the way with a few thrashes of his legs. “Yeah, basically.”

Slinking down the length of the bed, Jongin glances up at where Sehun is looking down at him, cheeks tinged pink and mouth cherry red. 

“I can do that,” he says, and promptly takes Sehun down his throat. 

Sehun moans oh-so-prettily, thighs shivering as he fights the urge to thrust up into Jongin’s mouth. Jongin pins both of Sehun’s legs down to the bed, hands clamped around the curve of his thighs to hold him open and at his mercy.  

Jongin thinks he could stay here forever, knelt between Sehun’s legs with his cock in his mouth. But he can always do that another day, when he isn’t so overwhelmed with the desire to erase Lee’s presence from the body currently trembling at his touch. 

With one last drag of his tongue across Sehun’s dripping slit, Jongin pulls off to mouth a line down his flushed length and to suck at the tight heft of his balls. Then he pulls back, moving to push Sehun’s knees up towards his chest.

“Okay?”

“More than okay.” Sehun’s voice floats down to where he is, already heavy with want. “Please.”

Jongin sucks in a grounding breath before he looks down at where his thumbs are spreading both cheeks apart, revealing a tiny, winking hole that has his cock aching with need. 

He wets a fingertip and brushes it against Sehun’s hole, watching as the skin glistens slightly in the light when it clenches at his touch. Unable to help himself, he rubs at the rim one more time, just a little harder, and revels in Sehun’s moan. 

“Can I –”

“Anything,” Sehun rasps, the backs of his thighs all marked up from how hard he’s been gripping at his own legs. “Something, anything, Jongin – oh!”

Jongin laps at Sehun’s hole like he’s a parched man desperate for a drink, getting him wet and pliant under the ministrations of his tongue. He tastes just like the scent of his soap, fresh and clean and a little citrusy, and Jongin thinks he’s found his new favourite flavour. 

When he seals his lips around Sehun’s rim and sucks, Sehun lets out a moan loud enough to rattle his bones. Jongin does it again, eager to hear that sound at least once more, and is happily rewarded with more. 

By the time Sehun is loose enough for him to wriggle the tip of his tongue past the clutch of his rim, Jongin is impossibly hard in his own pants, dizzy with arousal and with the way his senses are flooded with nothing but this one man. 

God, he can't – he needs to be inside him now. 

He gives Sehun's hole one reverent kiss before he moves back up the bed, blood singing with pride when he sees just how fucked out Sehun already looks. Tapping on the swell of his bottom lip with his index and middle fingers, he whispers, “Suck.”

Sehun does, wetting both digits thoroughly, and as Jongin moves them down between Sehun's legs, he takes one stiff nipple between his teeth. 

One finger slides in easily, and Jongin keeps the thrusts slow and steady as he toys with the bud in his mouth. A little tug with his teeth has Sehun arching off the bed, hole clenching around Jongin's finger in an attempt to get him deeper. 

“Could you come just from me eating you out and playing with your nipples?”

Sehun breathes out, shaky, and grinds down on the finger inside him. 

“I-I don't know. I've never tried.”

“I'd like to try. I think you could.”

“Maybe tomorrow,” Sehun says, and moans when Jongin moves over onto the neglected nipple. “You have to fuck me tonight, I swear, I –” His words break off into a whine when Jongin eases a second finger in and crooks them just right. 

“Deal,” Jongin says, and spreads his fingers apart. 

When the slide of spit is no longer enough, he extracts his fingers and goes for the lube in his bedside drawer, stepping out of his sweats as he moves around the bed. 

Sehun wastes no time in sitting upright and reaching for the hard curve of his erection, nearly causing Jongin to drop the bottle of lube. 

Those captivating eyes, pupils dark and dilated with pleasure, look up at him for a split moment before fluttering shut. 

Sehun blows him like his life depends on it, cheeks hollowed and tongue working at the slit. He swallows Jongin down to the root easily, throat massaging the entire length of him, and it takes all of Jongin's willpower (and pride) to not orgasm in sixty seconds. 

Thankfully, the sound of the bottle cap opening catches Sehun's attention. He eases off of Jongin's cock with a wet, obscene sound, and shuffles backwards on the bed until his head hits the pillows. His legs fall apart, entire body displayed like a masterpiece that belongs in an art gallery. 

Nipples puffy, cock leaking, hole shiny and needing to be filled. 

Jongin joins Sehun on the bed and slicks up three fingers, hovering over him as he pushes them into the hot clutch of his body. He fingers Sehun open until he's loose enough, at which point he rolls on a condom, adds extra lube, and enters him in one smooth thrust. 

“Fuck,” Sehun gasps, and Jongin echoes the sentiment with his face pressed to the damp curve of Sehun's neck. “Move, fuck me, fuck me until I –” 

Jongin rises up on his knees, and with his hands clamped around the flare of Sehun's hips, fucks into him hard and deep, turning all coherent words from the man into unintelligible sounds. 

He has just one goal in life now – he wants to make Sehun come so hard he either forgets his name or cries. Bonus points if both happen. Sehun tries his best to meet his thrusts, but all he can really do is lie there and take it, moans and whimpers tumbling out of his mouth like a waterfall. 

Jongin leans down to kiss him, wanting those sounds inside him, kept in the fibres of his muscles forever. Sehun kisses back eagerly, albeit a little messily, clutching onto Jongin's shoulders as he licks into his mouth. 

When Jongin breaks away just to suck bruises into the skin right over where Sehun's pulse hammers away, Sehun comes with a watery moan of Jongin's name, body shuddering with his release. Come strips thickly across his torso, and when Jongin lifts his head to hopefully try and imprint the image of Sehun's face in his mind, he's gratified to see wetness beading at the corners of his eyes.

Already so close to his own climax, it takes just a few more thrusts for Jongin to orgasm, cock pulsing in tandem with the way Sehun's walls squeeze around him. 

As soon as he pulls out, his arms give out and he ends up encircled in Sehun's arms, cheek pillowed on his chest and breath coming out in short puffs over a peaked nipple. Mind hazy, Jongin thumbs at it, pleased at the jolt that goes through Sehun's body at the touch. He faintly registers the tackiness of drying come pressed between their bodies, but he doesn't care whatsoever. 

“Stop that, I'm too tired to go again.”

Sehun's voice rumbles through his chest, the resulting sound low and deep. Jongin likes it. To his delight, Sehun continues talking. 

“I'm gonna go get tested tomorrow. Been a few weeks since the last time, so.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, wanna feel your come in me.”

At that, Jongin's spent cock twitches weakly. Sehun feels it from where it rests against his hip, and he laughs, a burst of cheerfulness that lodges itself firmly in the chambers of Jongin's heart. 

Cheeks warm, Jongin rolls off and makes for the shower. The condom comes off, and as he's debating over the merits of another full shower as opposed to a simple rinse, Sehun comes up behind him and makes the decision for him. 

Sehun turns the shower on and Jongin allows himself to be pulled in under the warm spray of water. There he stands, water running down the plane of his back, as Sehun squeezes out a dollop of soap into the cradle of his palm. Sehun soaps him up from his neck down to his ankles, thumbs running down the line of his abs, palm curling shower-warm around his length. He’s sensitive, but Sehun touches him so gently that he can barely feel it. Blessedly, Sehun moves on once he deems him clean – Jongin is pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to handle another round so soon. 

He returns the favour, paying extra attention to the furl of muscle between Sehun’s cheeks. He’s probably sore, and Jongin washes him clean with light strokes of soapy fingers. Sehun’s resulting hum echoes in the confined space of the shower, his stance relaxed as he watches Jongin work through his lashes, tiny droplets of water rolling off every time he blinks. 

Jongin shuts off the water when he’s done, but before he can reach for a clean towel, Sehun steps in front of him and kisses him. Once, close-mouthed, but sweet all the same. 

“Have I thanked you yet?”

“You don’t have to.”

When he sees Sehun getting ready to argue, Jongin covers his mouth with a hand and grabs a towel with the other. Fixing Sehun with a pointed look, he bundles him up in the towel and nudges him out of the shower. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” he repeats. “I did it for you just as much as I did it for myself.” 

He makes quick work of drying himself off and looks up to see Sehun studying him, dripping water all over the marble floor.

“For yourself?”

Sighing, Jongin tosses his towel into the laundry basket and pulls on a fresh pair of underwear. He takes Sehun’s towel and pats him dry, then tosses him a pair of his own sweatpants. Sehun dresses obediently. 

“Being selfish is not something I’m used to.” 

“I don’t think you’re –”

“What I did changed your life forever. I knew it would, but I didn’t care. I wanted you out of that house and I wanted Lee out of your life. I made the decision on my own; even if you had disagreed, I would have done it anyway. Is that not selfish?”

Sehun’s brows pinch together, almost stubbornly. Despite the weight of the conversation, Jongin smiles. 

“And like you said, we don’t know each other well. What right did I have to make such a decision?”

A shrug, and then Sehun speaks so matter-of-factly that it leaves no room for argument. 

“The second I saw you, I knew I could trust you. And so, by default, I would trust any and all of your decisions.” 

He walks out of the en suite and Jongin watches him go, pulse a staccato beat in his throat when he sees Sehun climb into his bed and settle comfortably into the pillows. Like he belongs there. 

Sehun pulls the duvet up over his shoulders and blinks sleepily at him. “You’re different from all the others. I know that sounds naïve and clichéd and probably really stupid, but I’m not going to lie to myself. You look at me like you see me, like you know I’m defined by more than my tragic past or my body. I guess that’s what I want to thank you for.”

By the time Jongin can even think of formulating a response, Sehun is already sound asleep. 

It’s nearly noon when the bedroom door opens to reveal Sehun, hair mussed and skin sleep-soft. He squints into the sunlight and Jongin points to where breakfast (brunch?) is waiting, kept warm on the stove. 

“Slept well?”

“Mm,” Sehun hums, absently scratching at his jaw. Jongin flushes at the sight of all the love bites he’d left scattered down Sehun’s neck. “Best I’ve slept in a while.”

“Good. After you’ve eaten, we’re going to a gun range.”

If Sehun’s surprised by the day’s plans, he doesn’t let on. 

Jongin has driven to the gun range hundreds of times, but today’s drive is unlike any of the others. Having Sehun in the car with him is an experience, complete with high tempo songs filling the space and carefree humming that only the other can pull off. At one point, Sehun reaches across the centre console for his hand, and Jongin nearly swerves into the next lane at the touch. 

But he lets Sehun have his hand, lets him thread their fingers together, lets him brush the pad of his thumb across the ridge of his knuckles. 

When they arrive at the range and Jongin kills the engine, he pulls out both handguns from where he'd stashed them in the dashboard and presents them to Sehun. 

“Pick one.”

Sehun, expression unreadable, chooses the one in Jongin's right hand. 

“Okay. Come on.”

It isn't until they've selected a lane and the gun is in Sehun's grip that Jongin finally understands why Sehun isn't perturbed by this trip whatsoever. 

The man disassembles and reassembles the firearm in less than half a minute, and Jongin is still stunned by that fact alone when Sehun lifts the weapon and empties the clip into the paper target. 

He hits the button and Jongin stares at the slowly approaching target. All of Sehun's shots are either headshots or centre mass shots – he looks over at the man, questions already forming on his tongue. 

Sehun expects as much, so he answers before Jongin even has the chance to ask. 

“Tragic past,” he says, quoting his own words from the night before. He slips off his ear protection, leaving it hanging around his neck. “Needed to know how to protect myself.”

“So why didn't you…”

“Kill Lee?” Sehun ejects the empty clip and picks up a loaded one. It loads in with a click. “What would that get me? I may be a good shot, but that's against inanimate targets that do not have a whole network of powerful people at their beck and call.”

Sehun lifts the weapon and glances at him out of the corner of his eye. 

“Things happen for a reason, Jongin. There's no point thinking about the ‘why’s and the ‘what if's. Now come on, grab a gun, put on some earmuffs, and let's see who can get ten headshots the fastest.”

Jongin wins by a narrow margin, and perhaps it's due to the sudden flare of adrenaline in his blood or the insanely hot image of Sehun handling a gun, he crowds the other against the lane partition and kisses him stupid. 

“Keep it on you at all times,” he says, hot against Sehun's mouth. “Being in my life means a constant target on your head, and –”

“I know. When I asked to come with you, I was perfectly aware of what that meant. I still am. And I still want to be here.” Sehun leans in to nip at Jongin's bottom lip. “We’ll just take it one day at a time.”

Jongin looks at him, at the shine to his lips that he'd caused. 

What are we? 

The question nearly makes itself known, but Jongin swallows it back down at the last second. He doesn't actually need an answer, not now, not in the future. 

He reloads his gun and steps into the lane to Sehun’s right. Loads the chamber, releases the safety. 

One day at a time. 

(An epilogue, of sorts)

Three months later. 

Jongin, eyes still glued to the screen, reaches out to the right for his memo pad. Except when his hand closes around air, he remembers that it’s no longer to the right. Just like how his seat no longer faces the door and how the view out of his study window is no longer a typical metropolitan landscape. 

It’s a new apartment, and Jongin is unused to all the changes. He doesn’t mind the learning curve though, not when –

A knock sounds, and the door opens to reveal Sehun. There’s a small stack of papers resting in the crook of his arm, a mug of tea in the same hand, and a Glock holstered by his hip. Jongin lets his eyes roam up from the man’s bare feet (cushioned by the fuzzy rug beneath), up those long, jean-clad legs, and stopping at where he’s adjusting the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. 

A few weeks ago, Sehun had dyed his hair to an inky black. Although Jongin misses the silver, he has to admit this colour adds a little spice. 

“Got a couple of job offers here and a whole bunch of correspondence that you’d asked Jihoon for? He sent them over just now and I printed them out for you. There’s also – what? Do I have something on my face?”

Jongin slips out from behind his desk and pads over to where Sehun stands. He leans in and kisses him on the cheek, then nods solemnly. 

“Now there’s something on your face.”

With a grand roll of his eyes, Sehun dumps the papers into Jongin’s arms and turns on his heel. He’s doing a great job of pretending he isn’t blushing, but Jongin knows better.

“Not the time, Kim.”

Jongin lunges out and manages to hook a finger through one of Sehun’s belt loops. One tug has the man tripping backwards into Jongin’s chest, effectively crumpling the papers in the process. Jongin doesn’t care whatsoever. 

Sehun sighs. “You know, ever since you let me work for you, your productivity has gone down the drain. I think we –”

“With me.”

“What?”

“You’re working with me, not for me.”

Sehun stares at him, then purses his lips. Okay, he’s definitely blushing now. “You’re infuriating.”

One hand takes the papers from him, setting them down onto one of the many shelves in the room along with his tea. The other hand pushes him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the loveseat, and Jongin goes down happily.

“You’re so unproductive, Jongin,” Sehun continues, straddling Jongin’s lap and sliding both hands up underneath his tee. “This isn’t how you run a business.”

“Can’t help it.” Jongin pats Sehun’s butt fondly. “These jeans look so good on you.”

Groaning, Sehun kisses the grin right off of Jongin’s face and unbuttons said jeans with a flick of his fingers.

See, Jongin doesn’t mind the learning curve, not when it has given him all of this.