11; exo ft. dbsk; scilicet | one: will you listen?
scilicet | one: will you listen? | R for violence, death
eventual suho/chen, mild implied other pairings (xiumin/chen, yunho/changmin)
6.2k words
request - joondae.
People like them are different from the rest of the world, and it’s what makes them different that makes this job perfect for them.
scilicet
{one: will you listen?}
His co-workers know him as Suho. It’s a cool name. Joonmyun likes to think that he guards the general populace, and his work alias is pretty helpful with that.
Just kidding.
The man with the biological flashlight in his palms finally goes down, the bolts of water speared through his left chest evaporating into mist. Bending and manipulating light looks like such a fascinating power, and Joonmyun had caught this man in the middle of a conversation, all bright smiles and lively gestures - he seemed like a good, cheerful person.
But this man, like all the others before him, had to go. Abilities are never a safe thing to have and there are never exceptions.
(Even so, Joonmyun wishes and wonders if maybe, just maybe, they could have become friends.)
The clean-up team comes to take the dead man’s body away and one of its members, a Cho Kyuhyun who Joonmyun has worked with for as long as he remembers, claps a hand on Joonmyun’s shoulder with a small smile. “Not much mess to clean, today - you did great.” Men in uniform flood the forest like a rushing tide. “Did the guy go berserk?”
The last remnants of the man’s power bleed out with his blood, setting it aglow.
Kyuhyun casually stabs a syringe into Joonmyun’s arm and the younger man doesn’t even blink, ignoring the familiar burn of the suppressors flowing right into his blood. The little niggling thoughts of power power power fade away from his mind like ink in water and Kyuhyun slips the needle out with a relieved smile.
It takes Joonmyun a while to will away the tightening of his throat, and it’s only after he swallows the little left of Suho away that he finally finds words. They’re quiet and tired and resigned, just like him. “He didn’t even know how to use his power, yet.”
The body bag is wheeled into the van carefully, warily, and Joonmyun’s eyes zoom in to the drops of luminous red on the soil. Somehow, their light is a pure, powdery white.
Another man like him, dead.
Joonmyun is the last of his kind in the city once again.
But this is just another night of his job and there is no reason to feel any different about today - Joonmyun doesn't like it, as always. Him as Suho is him as a killer, whether he's guarding the rest of the country or not, and now that he’s started, it will never change.
Xiumin returns to duty the next day, just as the leaves are done changing colors and beginning to fall.
Joonmyun is happy to have a partner again. Using the arms the institute gives him is difficult and he always ends up resorting to sharp, bladed water, even when he’s told to avoid doing so. But Xiumin has a quick, sharp eye that’s good for sports and made for guns, so when he checks out from the hospital, Joonmyun can’t help a sigh of relief.
There’s a bit of catching up to do but immediately, they have a mission - somewhere on a sparsely-populated street east north-east, lined by low-level apartments and small bookstores, is an odd, intangible wrinkle that almost separates the place from the world. The IV drip in Joonmyun’s arm is pulled off, Joonmyun pulls Suho back on, and then they go.
But even when they've already arrived, there are still traces of the suppressors in Joonmyun’s system, rendering Suho unable to stay for very long. They decide to huddle in a small café to allow time for it to completely melt away. All Xiumin has with him today is a Glock 27 in a messenger bag, a Ruger LC9 in his hoodie’s front pocket, and an assembled, modified XK-11 in a telescope case, which has the institute’s emblem finely engraved on its handle. It’s useful for scaring policemen away.
But none of them would probably think to come nearer, because Xiumin is only sipping on some coffee and Joonmyun is only cradling a water bottle, eyes glassy and half-closed.
“How was it, going solo?” Xiumin asks, slipping back onto his seat after ordering a bagel.
Joonmyun remembers the odd, angular feel of the semi-auto pistol in his hands, the same one now in Xiumin’s bag, and tries to bury himself deeper into his scarf. Cold, static grips and firearm recoil, no matter how suppressed, are never for him. “I still don’t get how you manage to use those things.”
The other man chuckles and he’s back to being Minseok, but talk of work is such a Xiumin thing to do and Joonmyun finds himself squinting - who is this? “This is why you should listen to me,” he says with a grin. This is Minseok. But then his eyes shape into a slight, contemplative narrow and, opening and closing his trigger hand, he continues. “It took me four years to get to this level, you know.” So this is Xiumin. “Practice more?” Another smile, another sip, and Joonmyun squints again before turning away. Pinning people down is much too complicated for his drug-addled brain.
“I’ve been working this job since I was sixteen and practicing since I was born.” Joonmyun covers his yawn with a hand and stretches his shoulders and neck in his seat - it’s almost ten. They’re the last customers in the café and the barista looks more young and tired than Joonmyun is. “I just happen to not be practicing in your field of expertise,” his muscles and tendons start to wake up, and he smiles, “so sorry about that.”
“Right, right.” The bagel is finally brought to their table in a paper bag and Xiumin stands, pulling it out and taking a bite. He stretches it in Joonmyun’s direction, and when Joonmyun shakes his head, he shrugs and swallows. “Well, time to go.”
The barista’s sleepy gaze follows them as they leave, and it’s outside where Joonmyun is finally ready - all the vapor in the atmosphere, the dew on the leaves and grass, the lake around one-hundred and fifty meters away. The water in his bottle. He feels it all, the threads of power flowing back into his fingers and the itch in his mind returning - you are powerful, you have power, more than any of them - but he’s learned to think little of it.
They’re hidden in shadows when the barista finally locks the café and leaves, beginning his walk home. His usual route is blocked off by the sudden ‘renovations’ sponsored by the institute, so he makes a detour through the park, which is probably devoid of any other people at this hour. It’s a quaint, tree-walled place with a lake right in its center, but all the leaves are green and the air is a bit too warm and the grass is too alive - it’s all wrong. It's still living in spring.
It’s in the wrong season.
The barista’s name is Huang Zitao and when Xiumin shoots him once, the bullet freezes mid-air.
A bird in mid-flight pauses right in the air next to Joonmyun’s nose and two of them try to jump from behind the trees, but Xiumin is completely frozen and Joonmyun is already gone - only Suho comes out, twisting open his water bottle just as Zitao lunges forward. A wet, glimmering shield forms in the air just in time, but it ripples too hard from the impact of Zitao’s fist and Suho ducks, gathers the water back into his palms, and presses it into Zitao’s chest just as Zitao stumbles forward.
Zitao is trained, however, the way he ambles out of the way and follows it with a kick all so practiced, and the hair on Suho’s head stirs when Zitao’s calf brushes just barely past. Suho finds himself being pushed back, only dodging, blocking, never striking, and eventually, his soles meet the foot of a tree -
But Zitao’s back is facing a lake and Suho pulls.
Two spears of water, and then the invisible wrinkle straightens.
Zitao falls to the ground, face down. But even though he’s trembling and paling too much and too fast, he rolls over to stare up at Suho, chest fluttering in quick, furious breaths and face set in a vengeful look that Suho always sees on his targets. It’s Zitao’s disappointed eyes and tears that burn.
“Y-you’re.. just like me.” He grits his teeth, and the leaves on the trees surrounding them start to catch up to time, turning dry and orange. He’s losing his grip on his power and it starts to bleed out around him like sand spilling from a broken hourglass. “W-why are you helping them?”
“Because - ” Suho swallows because he feels like he’s about to lie, but he knows he’s not. “They… they gave me a home.”
“Your definition of h-home is all wrong.” Zitao swallows, and a string of red trickles from the corner of his mouth, grainy and ticking away his breaths. “T-they’re just using you.” He closes his eyes, unclenches his fists, and his face melts right back into its proper time, too - Zitao is eighteen and is as vulnerable as the rest of them. “I-I just… for the last time,” a weak, tired arm comes up to cover his eyes, “I wish I could see - ”
Quick footsteps stop right nearby, and there’s a click of a gun and bang - part of Zitao's chest becomes a splatter on the grass.
A resonance with Zitao’s words begins in Suho’s mind. They’re just using you. But you are strong and powerful, much more than any of them, so don’t let them control you. They can’t use you. You must -
Something burns.
Suho’s shoulder jerks from the pain but Xiumin’s holding it down with a hand, the other busy with a syringe. “Don’t move - the needle might break off in your arm.” His searching gaze is directed at Suho’s face but it’s too late for that, because the suppressors are already there. The power is all gone.
But hours and even days later, Suho never quite leaves Joonmyun alone. They’re just using you. They’re just using you.
The IV drip is an everyday thing, but Joonmyun’s arm is more numb than usual. Stronger dose, maybe. Kyuhyun’s been glancing at him pretty often, too, and Xiumin - more of Minseok, though - has been hanging around longer than he usually does after a mission. The ways and reasons the two of them worry are different, and Joonmyun likes Minseok’s brand of it more.
The only time Minseok leaves the lab is to go to the administrative offices on the lower floors, and when he comes back, he’s holding an official-looking document complete with a signature from their boss and a numbered list of provisions, each along the lines of ‘Suho must do this’ or ‘Suho must not do this’. The important part, though, is the first paragraph, which states in rigid, formal words that they’ve agreed to Xiumin’s request.
“Request for what?” Joonmyun asks, and he can’t help the panicked tinge to his voice when Xiumin - Minseok - who? - pulls him to his feet and removes the drip from his arm. But then the other man grins and guides Joonmyun out of the building with a gentle hand, and Joonmyun tries to relax. This is Minseok. No one is using anyone, here.
Joonmyun’s already buckled into the sport sedan's front passenger seat when Minseok finally spills, turning the ignition. “It’s not a vacation, but they’ve agreed to let you stay over at my place for a while.” He pulls out of the basement parking lot with the letter and its list of rules forgotten in his bag. “The lab’s kind of stuffy, right?”
With a small laugh through his nose, Joonmyun nods.
Minseok continues. “Well, there’s a semi-public park next to my apartment - maybe we can play soccer again, if we’re not too busy.”
From the corner of his eye, Joonmyun can see one of Minseok’s fingers bouncing on the steering wheel in excitement and grins. “No thanks, you’re probably gonna destroy me with the ball before I can even try to kick it.”
“Practice more?”
“Is that your catchphrase?”
Minseok smiles as he makes a left. “No, it’s ‘you should listen to me’ and all its variants.”
Joonmyun buries his face in his hands and heaves out a sigh. Minseok only grins.
The apartment is as clean as Joonmyun expects it to be, considering how everything Minseok touches magically becomes neat and arranged the next second. But it’s the homely kind of tidy, with a lot of the furniture in clean, modern lines and yet littered with the little things that show, like the cleats on the shoe rack near the front door or the taekwondo and kendo medals displayed on one of the bookshelves. Finding that he's not a stranger to the stories behind these things puts a satisfied smile on Joonmyun's face.
They chat as they usually do, but it's different, here - there’s no constant beeping from a radar looking for targets, but instead television and broadcasts of the Olympics and plans to go places around the neighbourhood. It’s not new, but it’s been a while, and Suho is slowly forgotten.
Joonmyun has a few questions about some things he already knows, and a lot about the things that he doesn’t, yet. Like the pictures Minseok has, for example, all colourful in their own ways. The friend posing with Minseok at Tiananmen Square, based on the older man's stories, is probably Jongdae, and the one with the cheeks that rival Minseok's can only be Henry.
“Did I get that right?” Joonmyun asks, still bent near the desk to look at the frames.
Minseok nods, focused on his task of pulling a Beretta M9 apart.
“So where do you guys usually hang out, when you're on vacation?”
About to reply, Minseok looks up, but Joonmyun plops onto the couch and adds, “I know we’re not on one, but still.”
From his spot on the floor, Minseok squints at the pictures. “Did you see my picture with Jongdae and Jino - the roller coaster in the background?” Joonmyun nods, and Minseok continues. “It's just a twenty minute drive away. I can introduce you to some of my friends, and we can probably go there sometime.”
When Joonmyun replies, there’s a cheery, upward lilt to his tone - “We can?” - that makes Joonmyun’s ears turn red from embarrassment and Minseok grin.
“Why not? Maybe even watch a concert someday, or a live soccer match. I met some of my friends through things like those.” He briefly looks up at Joonmyun’s face before his gaze returns to his hands, steadily piecing the gun back together. “Maybe you’ll get some friends that way, too?”
Friends?
Ones without abilities?
Minseok looks up again, fingers slowing down.
“I don’t…” Joonmyun swallows. “..think that’s a good idea.”
“Abilities aren’t as bad as the institute makes them out to be, you know.” Still cross-legged on the floor, Minseok grabs some flyers from the top of his desk and starts leafing through them - pizza, Korean food, chicken, all with delivery numbers. “And I don’t have an ability, but we’re on pretty good terms, right?” He stops in his flyer browsing and gives Joonmyun a reassuring smile.
Joonmyun gives his own shaky one back, trying to keep it bright, but his words slowly pull it apart. “But you... for one, you practically have an ability! You work in the institute, and your skill with guns - excuse me.” Minseok’s eyes are wide and trained on the flyer for Chinese food and Joonmyun almost rolls his eyes, the beginnings of a proper grin on his lips. “You have that ability too, of course.”
“See, that’s another thing!” Minseok leaves the flyers on the floor and returns the Beretta to its proper place, under the desk and in a case like all his other firearms. “If my marksmanship and my stomach capacity are abilities, then I’m sure everyone has one. Like Jongdae, he’s really good at singing - ”
“I’m not in grade school,” Suho says, looking down at his palms. “You know that’s different.”
Minseok freezes where he's standing in front of the phone, fingers unmoving on top of the handset. He closes his eyes. “Sorry.”
And after an exhale, Joonmyun smiles. “It’s fine. You’ll have to pay for my Chao Fan to make up for it, though.”
Minseok barks a short laugh, but asks anyway, “What flavor?”
“Dunno, beef?” Joonmyun leans backward onto the couch's backrest and grins when he hears Minseok sigh dramatically, the other man mumbling, “Why the expensive one?”
There’s a moment of silence, with Minseok just waiting for the restaurant to pick up and Joonmyun staring up at the ceiling, lightly shaking the water in a nearby vase.
And then Minseok says, “But really, though, we’re all people in the end. I’m sure you’ll find someone.”
“Well, like you said, there’s you, so.” This time, it’s Minseok whose ears turn red and it’s Joonmyun who smiles. “Maybe.”
It’s ten into the night and driving and treating someone to food aren’t exactly easy things, so Minseok’s already asleep.
Joonmyun is not.
He’s lying on the mattress laid out on the floor, comforter up pulled to his nose. Like a grade schooler, sure. At least he knows that he can’t be normal.
(But he can try coming pretty close.)
The next mission concerns a man named Dong Youngbae, who brings with him a growing six inches of snow when there aren’t supposed to be any. September hasn’t ended yet but many people are already getting colds. It’s not lethal, though, so that’s not much of a concern.
Freezing people into ice blocks and smashing them to pieces is what Suho rises against, however. Even though ice versus water is a bit of a one-sided battle, people like him are why Suho is around and Dong Youngbae dies because Suho makes sure of it - it’s not too hard, because the man kills himself. Frozen needles bite much deeper and faster than rain.
Kyuhyun wrinkles his nose when he sees the mess on the pavement. At least shoveling away incriminating snow is easier than replacing entire square meters of grass. “What happened to your cleanliness record?”
“In a hurry,” Joonmyun explains, trying not to shift from foot to foot. Minseok is probably buying tickets right now. Kyuhyun’s injecting an amount of suppressors into his arm, as is usual, and the moment it’s done, Joonmyun grabs the older man’s arm and pulls him toward the van, not even trying to hide his grin. “Let’s go!”
Kyuhyun cocks an eyebrow and smiles, crouching onto one of the van’s benches. The moment Joonmyun sits on the seat opposite and starts wriggling his fingers on his knees, the older man chuckles and says, “What’s up with you, today? Xiumin treating you to food again?”
“No, he’s gonna meet up with his friends at an amusement park.” Joonmyun wrings his fingers and smiles. “And he’s bringing me along.”
“Oh.” Kyuhyun straightens, and the van hums to life. “The one next to the river?”
“Um, I think? I don’t really know the neighborhood yet.” Joonmyun chuckles sheepishly and looks out the window - the snow’s rapidly melting, like Youngbae’s slushed-ice blood, and Joonmyun blinks the vision away. Work is already over. “But it’s not even a whole day vacation - I’m sure our boss wouldn’t mind. Do you want to come, too?”
“No thanks,” comes a quick reply. Kyuhyun looks outside as well. The snow has already stopped falling. After several, quiet minutes, he calls for the driver to pull over and puts on a small smile. “Anyway, I’ll… I can do the reporting. You can go ahead if you want to.” He jerks a thumb to the van’s door, pushing it open with a booted foot.
Joonmyun looks outside, sees the park right next to Minseok’s apartment, and can’t help the wondrous look he’s probably sending Kyuhyun right now.
With an amused half-smile, Kyuhyun replies, “Are you and Xiumin meeting here?”
“Somewhere close enough.” Joonmyun figures he’s probably hopping as he exits the car, but he can’t help that, either. “Thanks for dropping me off, here.”
When Kyuhyun raises a hand in goodbye, there’s something stilted in the way it moves, hesitant and unnatural. But Joonmyun has no time to dwell on that and when the van’s door shuts to a close, he’s already waving at Minseok, the other man flanked by two vaguely familiar faces and waving back.
So maybe being injected with suppressors and riding a roller coaster right after is not such a bright idea, but the frayed circuits in Joonmyun’s brain just make everything fly and hey, what’s the problem? He’s happy, and so is everyone else. This is Minseok and Joonmyun hanging out like the rest of the world, and Suho and Xiumin don’t drop by for even a second.
This is just Minseok and Joonmyun and the world.
And Xiumin will never come back, Kyuhyun tells him the next day.
The IV drip hasn’t been removed yet and Joonmyun thinks it’s a smart move on Kyuhyun’s part - had it been removed any sooner, someone might have probably found themselves torn apart by intracellular water already. He closes his eyes, and after a few moments, manages to ask, “Why?”
Kyuhyun doesn’t meet Xiumin’s gaze at all, and Xiumin makes no attempt to do anything else but stare out the van’s window.
“Well,” Kyuhyun begins, “your current arrangement was never a permanent thing, anyway. And Xiumin’s experience is needed by the Chinese branch - they’re looking for a replacement for Hangeng.” He slants a searching look in Joonmyun’s direction, shadowed by the streetlights as the van passes by them. “He lost his temper and they couldn’t risk him going berserk, so they had to put him down.”
Joonmyun’s anger fades away and starts to be replaced by fear.
“The IV drip staying on is a good thing after all, right?” Kyuhyun pats Joonmyun’s shoulder and smiles.
The van lurches to a stop at a wharf, lined by piers and littered with small boats and yachts. Xiumin and Joonmyun climb out wordlessly.
But Kyuhyun’s not yet done talking. “Two targets, remember. There’s a lot of water around and I know it’s tempting, but try not to use your ability today. Too close to downtown.” He pats the gun cases tucked beneath his legs and continues, “We tuned up some Colts, S-and-W’s, other things for you to use instead, so just tell me the model you have in mind. ”
“No thanks,” Joonmyun replies, taking the water bottle from Kyuhyun’s expectant, outstretched hand. “I can use one of Xiumin’s spares.” But they all know he won’t.
Kyuhyun shrugs. “This is your last mission with him, so do it well. Leave a good parting impression.”
Xiumin scrunches up his nose and turns to face the sea.
“Oh, and - ” Kyuhyun smiles again, and his eyes dangerously sharpen in the moonlight. “- thanks for the promotion, you two.”
Xiumin’s already making quick steps away but Joonmyun stays, the little piece of sea nearby bucking and rearing. His hand around the water bottle tightens impossibly and its contents mold into threatening spines. “You told the higher ups about - ”
“Your rule number one, Suho,” Kyuhyun interrupts, closing the van door and rolling its window back up and in place, “should be to remember that you’re never safe for anyone. Going to that amusement park was a safety breach, and now you’ll never get do it again.”
Joonmyun yanks the IV drip off but the van’s already gone.
They’re just using you.
There are no cafés to wait around in this time, so they end up sitting on one of the piers with their feet dangling just above the waves. It’s the wrong time and place for Joonmyun to stay and for Minseok to come back, but it happens to Xiumin anyway, and Joonmyun lets it. Suho returning in the middle of an oppressing, approaching sense of loss would benefit no one.
“Did you know about this?” Joonmyun asks, tracing lines into the tides.
Minseok shakes his head. His throat bobs, and then he asks back, “Were you the one who told him?” There’s no accusation or threat in his tone at all. There might even be nothing but disappointment.
“I did.” The water beneath Joonmyun’s ankles stirs in slow, deep circles. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Minseok stands, presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. And then Xiumin is back and unlatching his telescope case, taking out a sharp, new assault rifle and hanging it on his shoulder by its strap. The cartridges in his pockets click together. “I didn’t think he’d tell anyone else, either.”
The ones who sat down were Minseok and Joonmyun, but Xiumin is the one standing, now - he stretches a hand out to the other man but Joonmyun doesn’t want this mission to ever be finished. He doesn’t want Xiumin to leave. And, maybe, something’s been gathering in both of his eyes, but Joonmyun's been pushing them back into himself with a practiced smile - would Minseok call Joonmyun out for cheating? For hiding his tears, for practicing the wrong thing?
But life is a thing that flows, and Joonmyun can’t wish stagnation on Minseok just for this one moment to last forever. They have to go.
So the one who holds Xiumin’s hand and lets himself be pulled up is Suho.
Shim Changmin gives Suho a feeling of fulfilled reja vu. He makes Suho remember his last solo mission, makes him think about a man with a bright smile, and wonder if this is what could have been. Suho doesn’t want to be happy about killing someone, but here he is with a vague sense of regretful accomplishment - Shim Changmin controls light, too, but is much more lethal.
Still, Xiumin’s incendiary rounds make Changmin bleed trails of blood that he can’t illusion away fast enough, and he reappears against the scenery as he falls to the concrete, flickering in and out of vision like a struggling firefly.
He stills when they stand above him like angels passing judgement.
This is just another night of their job, and Xiumin aims right at the breastbone for the final shot, as he always does. His finger on the trigger is resolute. This is just another night of their job. Just another night.
Just another night, but Changmin's eyes and blood give Suho déjà vu, too; they’re glowing, lost, getting lost, and suddenly Suho finds himself holding onto Xiumin's wrist, knuckles going white. When Xiumin briefly glances at him, Suho opens his mouth to explain how you see, I. But. It's just. Maybe we've been working for the wrong people, and.
Nothing comes out, and Suho only swallows.
The reply he gets is a small, sad shake of Xiumin’s head.
So when Shim Changmin dies, covered in wounds and a hole in his chest, Suho hates how his shoulders are heavier than ever.
Xiumin immediately starts going through Changmin’s pockets and Suho follows, telling himself, this is just another night. A smear of luminescent blood gets on his hand and he repeats, just another night. Changmin’s wallet, deep brown leather with a picture of him and another man, laughing, arms on each other’s shoulders.
(Joonmyun remembers the picture they had taken right after the roller coaster ride, hair going this way and that with a few stray locks pointing to their smiles, but) This is just another -
Xiumin suddenly staggers.
Suho jumps back from Changmin’s body and sees a hand pierced right through Xiumin’s shoulder, the flames covering this stranger’s fingers hissing like they want to scream.
Their second target, Jung Yunho, with red eyes lost in the power.
“H-he’s gone berse - ” Suho's words freeze in his throat when a few bullets of blood trickle from the corner of Xiumin’s mouth, and Xiumin swallows just as Yunho throws him off his arm and to the ground.
Just another…?
Xiumin quickly sways back onto his feet, but the flames are cracking paths across the ground from Yunho’s fists to Xiumin’s soles. Suho cracks a sharp arc of water in Yunho’s direction, but the hissing of evaporation and the flames trying to lick at his cheeks make him take uneasy steps back. He hates fire, hates it hates it hates -
Looking away from Yunho’s shadowed eyes, Xiumin faces Suho and yells, “Go!”
“Go?!” A whirlwind of heat begins to pick up around them, condensing into feathers of embers, and Suho calls forth a ribbon of water to put them out but finds himself only grasping at steam. His hand leaps to the Beretta M9 holstered at his side and the metal is bitingly cold on his skin, unfamiliar, desperate, and Suho feels like he’s about to lose.
“T-the sea,” Xiumin gasps out, hurling Yunho’s wallet away and catching his breaths as Yunho leaves to chase after it. “Go to the piers - ” Yunho’s flames return right after and Xiumin pushes at Suho with a shoulder. “Go! I’ll lead Yunho there.”
Suho’s knuckles are going white again, and the weight on his shoulders and throat comes back - Xiumin is bleeding like an automatic machine gun throwing away its shells, carelessly going on and losing and losing. But Xiumin smiles, and Suho tries to trust that Xiumin will be absolutely fine.
With a last touch on Xiumin’s shoulder, Suho breaks into a sprint.
He tries to trust Xiumin to change this into just another day.
When he reaches his destination, he can only wait, listening to gunshots and waves crashing themselves into concrete. Probably the first time he’s bitten his nails, and Suho wants to be proud - he’s becoming like everyone else. Maybe. Just maybe.
A few seconds later and even the grade schooler in him is disappointed for thinking of such a thing.
It’s a bit after he arrives that Yunho finally comes, bleeding in many places but still standing and walking. He is so holed and pockmarked that anyone else would be dead by now, but his eyes are still red and completely empty.
Even so, the sea behind Suho rears up at his command as easily as always, and a torrent of spears pierce Yunho’s neck.
He forgets to check Yunho’s pockets because where is Xiumin?
It doesn’t take long to find the other man, because the blood in the gutters has to have come from somewhere.
Suho finds Xiumin on the floor, surrounded by broken gun pieces. His XK-11’s sight is practically powder on the ground and the only part left of his Ruger LC9 is the grip.
Holding his last surviving gun by its barrel, Xiumin wordlessly extends it to Suho when Suho manages to approach. The blooming red on the concrete behind Xiumin's back moves like water, and as Suho takes the gun, he wonders if his own blood will be like that, too.
“Don’t aim at the face,” Xiumin says, hand plopping down onto the concrete. His thick cotton hoodie is soaking up so much red, but it’s still not enough. “Hard to say goodbye at a funeral without being able to see who you’re seeing off. And don’t - ” He shudders like a falling piece of paper, but continues. “Don’t forget to search pockets after.”
Suho’s fingers drop the gun and he stares at it as Minseok speaks, smile in his voice. “Listen to me this time, alright?”
“But - ”
“Listen.” Xiumin reaches to the side, and Suho takes a few steps closer to let the other man clutch at the end of his pants. “You don’t just quit in this job, or get transferred away. You get killed.”
“No. You don’t. No.” Suho kneels down, teeters, and his hand ends up buried in Xiumin’s blood - if it’s like water, then maybe he can make it go back in, go back, go back. “That was just Hangeng, because - ”
“Calm down,” Xiumin says, no force in his voice at all. His shoulders rise laboriously, and then his chest, and then he’s turning onto his side, facing Suho. “It was either die here or die there. It’s hard being people like us.” He closes his eyes, and Suho tries even harder - Xiumin’s face is turning porcelain pale and the blood, go back, go back. His voice is almost a whisper. “Don’t have an ability, but work long enough with people who do have one and everyone else starts thinking that you’re sympathizing with them.” He meets Suho’s gaze. “And I guess I do.”
“But you’re not allies with our targets,” Suho manages to answer, and his fingers are grabbing only the dried red dust of blood cells - all he can manipulate with his ability is the water, two pieces of hydrogen and a piece of oxygen and nothing else. No. Go back. “You’re not sympathizing with them, right?”
“I’m friends with you.”
And Suho stops.
After a pause, he manages to answer, “Yeah.”
Xiumin gets that look on his face when he wants to shake his head. “Suho, the institute...”
is only -
With quaking fingers, Suho picks up the gun from the floor next to him and screws his eyes shut. “I know.” The metal’s smeared with red, and though it’s warm in his palms, it still doesn’t fit there. “But I don’t have anywhere else.”
“You do,” Xiumin says, smiling tiredly. His eyes and everything are completely unmoving now, except for his lips and words. “Apartment keys are in my jacket's inner pocket.”
Suho stands, and he feels like throwing up.
Minseok sighs Xiumin away. “Choose wisely, and stay safe.”
And when Suho hurriedly aims, racing against the blood before it completely leaves Minseok’s body, he wins. He listens, and he follows.
The keys in his pocket are the coldest metal he’s ever touched.
He doesn’t wait around for Kyuhyun’s squad. He just dumps his clothes into the sea, swishes them around for a while, then dries them before putting them back on and walking away. But the blood on Minseok’s gun is probably something he’ll never clean off.
Walking all the way to Minseok’s house takes a tired hour and a half and a path next to a semi-public park that they never got to play soccer in. A Ferris wheel over at the distance, with the lower-lying silhouette of a roller coaster snaking around it. Cotton candy, feeling like flying, wanting to escape, making friends…
When he opens Minseok’s apartment and sees Jongdae’s surprised face, he falls against the doorway and covers his eyes. At least he doesn’t push back the tears this time.
A cell phone call.
“Where are you? Institute’s worried.”
“At Minseok’s house.”
“Who's Minseok - oh, Xiumin, right. It’s already morning, so I’m guessing you stayed there for the night. Why are you there?”
“Because this is my home.”
“…Your bed’s here.”
“I know. The straps hurt my ankles, though, and my left’s sprained a bit, so I decided to stay here.”
“Don’t bull - ”
“I set up my own IV drip here, since there’s still stuff left over from when I stayed last. I’ll turn up for work tomorrow if you let me live here instead.”
“…I’ll discuss it with the others.”
Joonmyun ends the call.
Jongdae is as lively as Joonmyun remembers, just as sharp, accommodating and kind. He brought Joonmyun to the couch with a quiet, gentle silence, didn’t ask about anything, only explained how Minseok once told him that if, one day, the one who returns to Minseok’s house at the end of the day is Joonmyun, then Jongdae should stay.
“I guess he noticed how lonely I was in the dorms,” Jongdae says with a small laugh, voice chirpy and pleasant like a bird’s. He’s coated the pan on the electric stove with oil and started cooking two eggs, one sunny side up for each of them. “Spatula’s where? Man, I haven’t been here in a while…”
“Drawer,” Joonmyun replies, setting the table and putting on a smile when Jongdae says thanks. “And I think you forgot to plug the stove.”
Jongdae’s shoulders jerk, and when he laughs, Joonmyun chuckles along a bit, too. The younger man gushes a few apologies in his direction before adding, “No wonder it was taking a while!”
Just as Jongdae plugs it, the eggs begin to sizzle immediately.
The familiar smell of mornings here brings back a lot to Joonmyun’s mind, and he sees too clearly how Jongdae and Minseok are so different from each other - Minseok’s hands had taken to holding things firmly and cautiously, as if he was always holding a loaded gun, but Jongdae is bright and warm and Joonmyun finds himself wondering. Is this why Minseok had always talked about Jongdae? Why he had made plans to go out the country again in a trip just for two, made plans to say what he’s always wanted to say, and why he never could?
It’s at this moment where Joonmyun decides, facing the lingering image of Minseok sitting across the table, that yes, I’ll take care of him, just as you took care of me.
Minseok, steaming cup in his grasp, smiles.
He fades away when something suddenly dings and Jongdae says, “Heated some bagels in the toaster. Want one?”
Joonmyun closes his eyes, takes a relieved breath, and the smell of coffee disappears with the mug in Minseok’s hands. “Sure.”
- masterlist + requests - watch - join -
joondae, as requested by sardothien. it's getting there, lol. and i'm sorry alkjdasd i'm pretty sure this was not what you were expecting ;;
part two on its way.
- cafe angel appeared again! this is its third appearance, haha.
- the switches between suho/joonmyun and xiumin/minseok are not exactly important plot-wise, but i like to think that they're important character-wise. :)
- dong youngbae is from big bang but bb is not in the tags because he's alive for only a few sentences, whoops. ;; sorry taeyang...
- dong youngbae was supposed to be jessica jung aka snsd's ice princess. ice. lol i'm so creative. chose taeyang instead because (1) he was covered in ice in fantastic baby and (2) stabbing people with stilettos after freezing them sounds kind of ridiculous.
any feedback is greatly appreciated! leave a comment? :)
eventual suho/chen, mild implied other pairings (xiumin/chen, yunho/changmin)
6.2k words
request - joondae.
People like them are different from the rest of the world, and it’s what makes them different that makes this job perfect for them.
scilicet
{one: will you listen?}
His co-workers know him as Suho. It’s a cool name. Joonmyun likes to think that he guards the general populace, and his work alias is pretty helpful with that.
Just kidding.
The man with the biological flashlight in his palms finally goes down, the bolts of water speared through his left chest evaporating into mist. Bending and manipulating light looks like such a fascinating power, and Joonmyun had caught this man in the middle of a conversation, all bright smiles and lively gestures - he seemed like a good, cheerful person.
But this man, like all the others before him, had to go. Abilities are never a safe thing to have and there are never exceptions.
(Even so, Joonmyun wishes and wonders if maybe, just maybe, they could have become friends.)
The clean-up team comes to take the dead man’s body away and one of its members, a Cho Kyuhyun who Joonmyun has worked with for as long as he remembers, claps a hand on Joonmyun’s shoulder with a small smile. “Not much mess to clean, today - you did great.” Men in uniform flood the forest like a rushing tide. “Did the guy go berserk?”
The last remnants of the man’s power bleed out with his blood, setting it aglow.
Kyuhyun casually stabs a syringe into Joonmyun’s arm and the younger man doesn’t even blink, ignoring the familiar burn of the suppressors flowing right into his blood. The little niggling thoughts of power power power fade away from his mind like ink in water and Kyuhyun slips the needle out with a relieved smile.
It takes Joonmyun a while to will away the tightening of his throat, and it’s only after he swallows the little left of Suho away that he finally finds words. They’re quiet and tired and resigned, just like him. “He didn’t even know how to use his power, yet.”
The body bag is wheeled into the van carefully, warily, and Joonmyun’s eyes zoom in to the drops of luminous red on the soil. Somehow, their light is a pure, powdery white.
Another man like him, dead.
Joonmyun is the last of his kind in the city once again.
But this is just another night of his job and there is no reason to feel any different about today - Joonmyun doesn't like it, as always. Him as Suho is him as a killer, whether he's guarding the rest of the country or not, and now that he’s started, it will never change.
Xiumin returns to duty the next day, just as the leaves are done changing colors and beginning to fall.
Joonmyun is happy to have a partner again. Using the arms the institute gives him is difficult and he always ends up resorting to sharp, bladed water, even when he’s told to avoid doing so. But Xiumin has a quick, sharp eye that’s good for sports and made for guns, so when he checks out from the hospital, Joonmyun can’t help a sigh of relief.
There’s a bit of catching up to do but immediately, they have a mission - somewhere on a sparsely-populated street east north-east, lined by low-level apartments and small bookstores, is an odd, intangible wrinkle that almost separates the place from the world. The IV drip in Joonmyun’s arm is pulled off, Joonmyun pulls Suho back on, and then they go.
But even when they've already arrived, there are still traces of the suppressors in Joonmyun’s system, rendering Suho unable to stay for very long. They decide to huddle in a small café to allow time for it to completely melt away. All Xiumin has with him today is a Glock 27 in a messenger bag, a Ruger LC9 in his hoodie’s front pocket, and an assembled, modified XK-11 in a telescope case, which has the institute’s emblem finely engraved on its handle. It’s useful for scaring policemen away.
But none of them would probably think to come nearer, because Xiumin is only sipping on some coffee and Joonmyun is only cradling a water bottle, eyes glassy and half-closed.
“How was it, going solo?” Xiumin asks, slipping back onto his seat after ordering a bagel.
Joonmyun remembers the odd, angular feel of the semi-auto pistol in his hands, the same one now in Xiumin’s bag, and tries to bury himself deeper into his scarf. Cold, static grips and firearm recoil, no matter how suppressed, are never for him. “I still don’t get how you manage to use those things.”
The other man chuckles and he’s back to being Minseok, but talk of work is such a Xiumin thing to do and Joonmyun finds himself squinting - who is this? “This is why you should listen to me,” he says with a grin. This is Minseok. But then his eyes shape into a slight, contemplative narrow and, opening and closing his trigger hand, he continues. “It took me four years to get to this level, you know.” So this is Xiumin. “Practice more?” Another smile, another sip, and Joonmyun squints again before turning away. Pinning people down is much too complicated for his drug-addled brain.
“I’ve been working this job since I was sixteen and practicing since I was born.” Joonmyun covers his yawn with a hand and stretches his shoulders and neck in his seat - it’s almost ten. They’re the last customers in the café and the barista looks more young and tired than Joonmyun is. “I just happen to not be practicing in your field of expertise,” his muscles and tendons start to wake up, and he smiles, “so sorry about that.”
“Right, right.” The bagel is finally brought to their table in a paper bag and Xiumin stands, pulling it out and taking a bite. He stretches it in Joonmyun’s direction, and when Joonmyun shakes his head, he shrugs and swallows. “Well, time to go.”
The barista’s sleepy gaze follows them as they leave, and it’s outside where Joonmyun is finally ready - all the vapor in the atmosphere, the dew on the leaves and grass, the lake around one-hundred and fifty meters away. The water in his bottle. He feels it all, the threads of power flowing back into his fingers and the itch in his mind returning - you are powerful, you have power, more than any of them - but he’s learned to think little of it.
They’re hidden in shadows when the barista finally locks the café and leaves, beginning his walk home. His usual route is blocked off by the sudden ‘renovations’ sponsored by the institute, so he makes a detour through the park, which is probably devoid of any other people at this hour. It’s a quaint, tree-walled place with a lake right in its center, but all the leaves are green and the air is a bit too warm and the grass is too alive - it’s all wrong. It's still living in spring.
It’s in the wrong season.
The barista’s name is Huang Zitao and when Xiumin shoots him once, the bullet freezes mid-air.
A bird in mid-flight pauses right in the air next to Joonmyun’s nose and two of them try to jump from behind the trees, but Xiumin is completely frozen and Joonmyun is already gone - only Suho comes out, twisting open his water bottle just as Zitao lunges forward. A wet, glimmering shield forms in the air just in time, but it ripples too hard from the impact of Zitao’s fist and Suho ducks, gathers the water back into his palms, and presses it into Zitao’s chest just as Zitao stumbles forward.
Zitao is trained, however, the way he ambles out of the way and follows it with a kick all so practiced, and the hair on Suho’s head stirs when Zitao’s calf brushes just barely past. Suho finds himself being pushed back, only dodging, blocking, never striking, and eventually, his soles meet the foot of a tree -
But Zitao’s back is facing a lake and Suho pulls.
Two spears of water, and then the invisible wrinkle straightens.
Zitao falls to the ground, face down. But even though he’s trembling and paling too much and too fast, he rolls over to stare up at Suho, chest fluttering in quick, furious breaths and face set in a vengeful look that Suho always sees on his targets. It’s Zitao’s disappointed eyes and tears that burn.
“Y-you’re.. just like me.” He grits his teeth, and the leaves on the trees surrounding them start to catch up to time, turning dry and orange. He’s losing his grip on his power and it starts to bleed out around him like sand spilling from a broken hourglass. “W-why are you helping them?”
“Because - ” Suho swallows because he feels like he’s about to lie, but he knows he’s not. “They… they gave me a home.”
“Your definition of h-home is all wrong.” Zitao swallows, and a string of red trickles from the corner of his mouth, grainy and ticking away his breaths. “T-they’re just using you.” He closes his eyes, unclenches his fists, and his face melts right back into its proper time, too - Zitao is eighteen and is as vulnerable as the rest of them. “I-I just… for the last time,” a weak, tired arm comes up to cover his eyes, “I wish I could see - ”
Quick footsteps stop right nearby, and there’s a click of a gun and bang - part of Zitao's chest becomes a splatter on the grass.
A resonance with Zitao’s words begins in Suho’s mind. They’re just using you. But you are strong and powerful, much more than any of them, so don’t let them control you. They can’t use you. You must -
Something burns.
Suho’s shoulder jerks from the pain but Xiumin’s holding it down with a hand, the other busy with a syringe. “Don’t move - the needle might break off in your arm.” His searching gaze is directed at Suho’s face but it’s too late for that, because the suppressors are already there. The power is all gone.
But hours and even days later, Suho never quite leaves Joonmyun alone. They’re just using you. They’re just using you.
The IV drip is an everyday thing, but Joonmyun’s arm is more numb than usual. Stronger dose, maybe. Kyuhyun’s been glancing at him pretty often, too, and Xiumin - more of Minseok, though - has been hanging around longer than he usually does after a mission. The ways and reasons the two of them worry are different, and Joonmyun likes Minseok’s brand of it more.
The only time Minseok leaves the lab is to go to the administrative offices on the lower floors, and when he comes back, he’s holding an official-looking document complete with a signature from their boss and a numbered list of provisions, each along the lines of ‘Suho must do this’ or ‘Suho must not do this’. The important part, though, is the first paragraph, which states in rigid, formal words that they’ve agreed to Xiumin’s request.
“Request for what?” Joonmyun asks, and he can’t help the panicked tinge to his voice when Xiumin - Minseok - who? - pulls him to his feet and removes the drip from his arm. But then the other man grins and guides Joonmyun out of the building with a gentle hand, and Joonmyun tries to relax. This is Minseok. No one is using anyone, here.
Joonmyun’s already buckled into the sport sedan's front passenger seat when Minseok finally spills, turning the ignition. “It’s not a vacation, but they’ve agreed to let you stay over at my place for a while.” He pulls out of the basement parking lot with the letter and its list of rules forgotten in his bag. “The lab’s kind of stuffy, right?”
With a small laugh through his nose, Joonmyun nods.
Minseok continues. “Well, there’s a semi-public park next to my apartment - maybe we can play soccer again, if we’re not too busy.”
From the corner of his eye, Joonmyun can see one of Minseok’s fingers bouncing on the steering wheel in excitement and grins. “No thanks, you’re probably gonna destroy me with the ball before I can even try to kick it.”
“Practice more?”
“Is that your catchphrase?”
Minseok smiles as he makes a left. “No, it’s ‘you should listen to me’ and all its variants.”
Joonmyun buries his face in his hands and heaves out a sigh. Minseok only grins.
The apartment is as clean as Joonmyun expects it to be, considering how everything Minseok touches magically becomes neat and arranged the next second. But it’s the homely kind of tidy, with a lot of the furniture in clean, modern lines and yet littered with the little things that show, like the cleats on the shoe rack near the front door or the taekwondo and kendo medals displayed on one of the bookshelves. Finding that he's not a stranger to the stories behind these things puts a satisfied smile on Joonmyun's face.
They chat as they usually do, but it's different, here - there’s no constant beeping from a radar looking for targets, but instead television and broadcasts of the Olympics and plans to go places around the neighbourhood. It’s not new, but it’s been a while, and Suho is slowly forgotten.
Joonmyun has a few questions about some things he already knows, and a lot about the things that he doesn’t, yet. Like the pictures Minseok has, for example, all colourful in their own ways. The friend posing with Minseok at Tiananmen Square, based on the older man's stories, is probably Jongdae, and the one with the cheeks that rival Minseok's can only be Henry.
“Did I get that right?” Joonmyun asks, still bent near the desk to look at the frames.
Minseok nods, focused on his task of pulling a Beretta M9 apart.
“So where do you guys usually hang out, when you're on vacation?”
About to reply, Minseok looks up, but Joonmyun plops onto the couch and adds, “I know we’re not on one, but still.”
From his spot on the floor, Minseok squints at the pictures. “Did you see my picture with Jongdae and Jino - the roller coaster in the background?” Joonmyun nods, and Minseok continues. “It's just a twenty minute drive away. I can introduce you to some of my friends, and we can probably go there sometime.”
When Joonmyun replies, there’s a cheery, upward lilt to his tone - “We can?” - that makes Joonmyun’s ears turn red from embarrassment and Minseok grin.
“Why not? Maybe even watch a concert someday, or a live soccer match. I met some of my friends through things like those.” He briefly looks up at Joonmyun’s face before his gaze returns to his hands, steadily piecing the gun back together. “Maybe you’ll get some friends that way, too?”
Friends?
Ones without abilities?
Minseok looks up again, fingers slowing down.
“I don’t…” Joonmyun swallows. “..think that’s a good idea.”
“Abilities aren’t as bad as the institute makes them out to be, you know.” Still cross-legged on the floor, Minseok grabs some flyers from the top of his desk and starts leafing through them - pizza, Korean food, chicken, all with delivery numbers. “And I don’t have an ability, but we’re on pretty good terms, right?” He stops in his flyer browsing and gives Joonmyun a reassuring smile.
Joonmyun gives his own shaky one back, trying to keep it bright, but his words slowly pull it apart. “But you... for one, you practically have an ability! You work in the institute, and your skill with guns - excuse me.” Minseok’s eyes are wide and trained on the flyer for Chinese food and Joonmyun almost rolls his eyes, the beginnings of a proper grin on his lips. “You have that ability too, of course.”
“See, that’s another thing!” Minseok leaves the flyers on the floor and returns the Beretta to its proper place, under the desk and in a case like all his other firearms. “If my marksmanship and my stomach capacity are abilities, then I’m sure everyone has one. Like Jongdae, he’s really good at singing - ”
“I’m not in grade school,” Suho says, looking down at his palms. “You know that’s different.”
Minseok freezes where he's standing in front of the phone, fingers unmoving on top of the handset. He closes his eyes. “Sorry.”
And after an exhale, Joonmyun smiles. “It’s fine. You’ll have to pay for my Chao Fan to make up for it, though.”
Minseok barks a short laugh, but asks anyway, “What flavor?”
“Dunno, beef?” Joonmyun leans backward onto the couch's backrest and grins when he hears Minseok sigh dramatically, the other man mumbling, “Why the expensive one?”
There’s a moment of silence, with Minseok just waiting for the restaurant to pick up and Joonmyun staring up at the ceiling, lightly shaking the water in a nearby vase.
And then Minseok says, “But really, though, we’re all people in the end. I’m sure you’ll find someone.”
“Well, like you said, there’s you, so.” This time, it’s Minseok whose ears turn red and it’s Joonmyun who smiles. “Maybe.”
It’s ten into the night and driving and treating someone to food aren’t exactly easy things, so Minseok’s already asleep.
Joonmyun is not.
He’s lying on the mattress laid out on the floor, comforter up pulled to his nose. Like a grade schooler, sure. At least he knows that he can’t be normal.
(But he can try coming pretty close.)
The next mission concerns a man named Dong Youngbae, who brings with him a growing six inches of snow when there aren’t supposed to be any. September hasn’t ended yet but many people are already getting colds. It’s not lethal, though, so that’s not much of a concern.
Freezing people into ice blocks and smashing them to pieces is what Suho rises against, however. Even though ice versus water is a bit of a one-sided battle, people like him are why Suho is around and Dong Youngbae dies because Suho makes sure of it - it’s not too hard, because the man kills himself. Frozen needles bite much deeper and faster than rain.
Kyuhyun wrinkles his nose when he sees the mess on the pavement. At least shoveling away incriminating snow is easier than replacing entire square meters of grass. “What happened to your cleanliness record?”
“In a hurry,” Joonmyun explains, trying not to shift from foot to foot. Minseok is probably buying tickets right now. Kyuhyun’s injecting an amount of suppressors into his arm, as is usual, and the moment it’s done, Joonmyun grabs the older man’s arm and pulls him toward the van, not even trying to hide his grin. “Let’s go!”
Kyuhyun cocks an eyebrow and smiles, crouching onto one of the van’s benches. The moment Joonmyun sits on the seat opposite and starts wriggling his fingers on his knees, the older man chuckles and says, “What’s up with you, today? Xiumin treating you to food again?”
“No, he’s gonna meet up with his friends at an amusement park.” Joonmyun wrings his fingers and smiles. “And he’s bringing me along.”
“Oh.” Kyuhyun straightens, and the van hums to life. “The one next to the river?”
“Um, I think? I don’t really know the neighborhood yet.” Joonmyun chuckles sheepishly and looks out the window - the snow’s rapidly melting, like Youngbae’s slushed-ice blood, and Joonmyun blinks the vision away. Work is already over. “But it’s not even a whole day vacation - I’m sure our boss wouldn’t mind. Do you want to come, too?”
“No thanks,” comes a quick reply. Kyuhyun looks outside as well. The snow has already stopped falling. After several, quiet minutes, he calls for the driver to pull over and puts on a small smile. “Anyway, I’ll… I can do the reporting. You can go ahead if you want to.” He jerks a thumb to the van’s door, pushing it open with a booted foot.
Joonmyun looks outside, sees the park right next to Minseok’s apartment, and can’t help the wondrous look he’s probably sending Kyuhyun right now.
With an amused half-smile, Kyuhyun replies, “Are you and Xiumin meeting here?”
“Somewhere close enough.” Joonmyun figures he’s probably hopping as he exits the car, but he can’t help that, either. “Thanks for dropping me off, here.”
When Kyuhyun raises a hand in goodbye, there’s something stilted in the way it moves, hesitant and unnatural. But Joonmyun has no time to dwell on that and when the van’s door shuts to a close, he’s already waving at Minseok, the other man flanked by two vaguely familiar faces and waving back.
So maybe being injected with suppressors and riding a roller coaster right after is not such a bright idea, but the frayed circuits in Joonmyun’s brain just make everything fly and hey, what’s the problem? He’s happy, and so is everyone else. This is Minseok and Joonmyun hanging out like the rest of the world, and Suho and Xiumin don’t drop by for even a second.
This is just Minseok and Joonmyun and the world.
And Xiumin will never come back, Kyuhyun tells him the next day.
The IV drip hasn’t been removed yet and Joonmyun thinks it’s a smart move on Kyuhyun’s part - had it been removed any sooner, someone might have probably found themselves torn apart by intracellular water already. He closes his eyes, and after a few moments, manages to ask, “Why?”
Kyuhyun doesn’t meet Xiumin’s gaze at all, and Xiumin makes no attempt to do anything else but stare out the van’s window.
“Well,” Kyuhyun begins, “your current arrangement was never a permanent thing, anyway. And Xiumin’s experience is needed by the Chinese branch - they’re looking for a replacement for Hangeng.” He slants a searching look in Joonmyun’s direction, shadowed by the streetlights as the van passes by them. “He lost his temper and they couldn’t risk him going berserk, so they had to put him down.”
Joonmyun’s anger fades away and starts to be replaced by fear.
“The IV drip staying on is a good thing after all, right?” Kyuhyun pats Joonmyun’s shoulder and smiles.
The van lurches to a stop at a wharf, lined by piers and littered with small boats and yachts. Xiumin and Joonmyun climb out wordlessly.
But Kyuhyun’s not yet done talking. “Two targets, remember. There’s a lot of water around and I know it’s tempting, but try not to use your ability today. Too close to downtown.” He pats the gun cases tucked beneath his legs and continues, “We tuned up some Colts, S-and-W’s, other things for you to use instead, so just tell me the model you have in mind. ”
“No thanks,” Joonmyun replies, taking the water bottle from Kyuhyun’s expectant, outstretched hand. “I can use one of Xiumin’s spares.” But they all know he won’t.
Kyuhyun shrugs. “This is your last mission with him, so do it well. Leave a good parting impression.”
Xiumin scrunches up his nose and turns to face the sea.
“Oh, and - ” Kyuhyun smiles again, and his eyes dangerously sharpen in the moonlight. “- thanks for the promotion, you two.”
Xiumin’s already making quick steps away but Joonmyun stays, the little piece of sea nearby bucking and rearing. His hand around the water bottle tightens impossibly and its contents mold into threatening spines. “You told the higher ups about - ”
“Your rule number one, Suho,” Kyuhyun interrupts, closing the van door and rolling its window back up and in place, “should be to remember that you’re never safe for anyone. Going to that amusement park was a safety breach, and now you’ll never get do it again.”
Joonmyun yanks the IV drip off but the van’s already gone.
They’re just using you.
There are no cafés to wait around in this time, so they end up sitting on one of the piers with their feet dangling just above the waves. It’s the wrong time and place for Joonmyun to stay and for Minseok to come back, but it happens to Xiumin anyway, and Joonmyun lets it. Suho returning in the middle of an oppressing, approaching sense of loss would benefit no one.
“Did you know about this?” Joonmyun asks, tracing lines into the tides.
Minseok shakes his head. His throat bobs, and then he asks back, “Were you the one who told him?” There’s no accusation or threat in his tone at all. There might even be nothing but disappointment.
“I did.” The water beneath Joonmyun’s ankles stirs in slow, deep circles. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Minseok stands, presses the heels of his palms into his eyes. And then Xiumin is back and unlatching his telescope case, taking out a sharp, new assault rifle and hanging it on his shoulder by its strap. The cartridges in his pockets click together. “I didn’t think he’d tell anyone else, either.”
The ones who sat down were Minseok and Joonmyun, but Xiumin is the one standing, now - he stretches a hand out to the other man but Joonmyun doesn’t want this mission to ever be finished. He doesn’t want Xiumin to leave. And, maybe, something’s been gathering in both of his eyes, but Joonmyun's been pushing them back into himself with a practiced smile - would Minseok call Joonmyun out for cheating? For hiding his tears, for practicing the wrong thing?
But life is a thing that flows, and Joonmyun can’t wish stagnation on Minseok just for this one moment to last forever. They have to go.
So the one who holds Xiumin’s hand and lets himself be pulled up is Suho.
Shim Changmin gives Suho a feeling of fulfilled reja vu. He makes Suho remember his last solo mission, makes him think about a man with a bright smile, and wonder if this is what could have been. Suho doesn’t want to be happy about killing someone, but here he is with a vague sense of regretful accomplishment - Shim Changmin controls light, too, but is much more lethal.
Still, Xiumin’s incendiary rounds make Changmin bleed trails of blood that he can’t illusion away fast enough, and he reappears against the scenery as he falls to the concrete, flickering in and out of vision like a struggling firefly.
He stills when they stand above him like angels passing judgement.
This is just another night of their job, and Xiumin aims right at the breastbone for the final shot, as he always does. His finger on the trigger is resolute. This is just another night of their job. Just another night.
Just another night, but Changmin's eyes and blood give Suho déjà vu, too; they’re glowing, lost, getting lost, and suddenly Suho finds himself holding onto Xiumin's wrist, knuckles going white. When Xiumin briefly glances at him, Suho opens his mouth to explain how you see, I. But. It's just. Maybe we've been working for the wrong people, and.
Nothing comes out, and Suho only swallows.
The reply he gets is a small, sad shake of Xiumin’s head.
So when Shim Changmin dies, covered in wounds and a hole in his chest, Suho hates how his shoulders are heavier than ever.
Xiumin immediately starts going through Changmin’s pockets and Suho follows, telling himself, this is just another night. A smear of luminescent blood gets on his hand and he repeats, just another night. Changmin’s wallet, deep brown leather with a picture of him and another man, laughing, arms on each other’s shoulders.
(Joonmyun remembers the picture they had taken right after the roller coaster ride, hair going this way and that with a few stray locks pointing to their smiles, but) This is just another -
Xiumin suddenly staggers.
Suho jumps back from Changmin’s body and sees a hand pierced right through Xiumin’s shoulder, the flames covering this stranger’s fingers hissing like they want to scream.
Their second target, Jung Yunho, with red eyes lost in the power.
“H-he’s gone berse - ” Suho's words freeze in his throat when a few bullets of blood trickle from the corner of Xiumin’s mouth, and Xiumin swallows just as Yunho throws him off his arm and to the ground.
Just another…?
Xiumin quickly sways back onto his feet, but the flames are cracking paths across the ground from Yunho’s fists to Xiumin’s soles. Suho cracks a sharp arc of water in Yunho’s direction, but the hissing of evaporation and the flames trying to lick at his cheeks make him take uneasy steps back. He hates fire, hates it hates it hates -
Looking away from Yunho’s shadowed eyes, Xiumin faces Suho and yells, “Go!”
“Go?!” A whirlwind of heat begins to pick up around them, condensing into feathers of embers, and Suho calls forth a ribbon of water to put them out but finds himself only grasping at steam. His hand leaps to the Beretta M9 holstered at his side and the metal is bitingly cold on his skin, unfamiliar, desperate, and Suho feels like he’s about to lose.
“T-the sea,” Xiumin gasps out, hurling Yunho’s wallet away and catching his breaths as Yunho leaves to chase after it. “Go to the piers - ” Yunho’s flames return right after and Xiumin pushes at Suho with a shoulder. “Go! I’ll lead Yunho there.”
Suho’s knuckles are going white again, and the weight on his shoulders and throat comes back - Xiumin is bleeding like an automatic machine gun throwing away its shells, carelessly going on and losing and losing. But Xiumin smiles, and Suho tries to trust that Xiumin will be absolutely fine.
With a last touch on Xiumin’s shoulder, Suho breaks into a sprint.
He tries to trust Xiumin to change this into just another day.
When he reaches his destination, he can only wait, listening to gunshots and waves crashing themselves into concrete. Probably the first time he’s bitten his nails, and Suho wants to be proud - he’s becoming like everyone else. Maybe. Just maybe.
A few seconds later and even the grade schooler in him is disappointed for thinking of such a thing.
It’s a bit after he arrives that Yunho finally comes, bleeding in many places but still standing and walking. He is so holed and pockmarked that anyone else would be dead by now, but his eyes are still red and completely empty.
Even so, the sea behind Suho rears up at his command as easily as always, and a torrent of spears pierce Yunho’s neck.
He forgets to check Yunho’s pockets because where is Xiumin?
It doesn’t take long to find the other man, because the blood in the gutters has to have come from somewhere.
Suho finds Xiumin on the floor, surrounded by broken gun pieces. His XK-11’s sight is practically powder on the ground and the only part left of his Ruger LC9 is the grip.
Holding his last surviving gun by its barrel, Xiumin wordlessly extends it to Suho when Suho manages to approach. The blooming red on the concrete behind Xiumin's back moves like water, and as Suho takes the gun, he wonders if his own blood will be like that, too.
“Don’t aim at the face,” Xiumin says, hand plopping down onto the concrete. His thick cotton hoodie is soaking up so much red, but it’s still not enough. “Hard to say goodbye at a funeral without being able to see who you’re seeing off. And don’t - ” He shudders like a falling piece of paper, but continues. “Don’t forget to search pockets after.”
Suho’s fingers drop the gun and he stares at it as Minseok speaks, smile in his voice. “Listen to me this time, alright?”
“But - ”
“Listen.” Xiumin reaches to the side, and Suho takes a few steps closer to let the other man clutch at the end of his pants. “You don’t just quit in this job, or get transferred away. You get killed.”
“No. You don’t. No.” Suho kneels down, teeters, and his hand ends up buried in Xiumin’s blood - if it’s like water, then maybe he can make it go back in, go back, go back. “That was just Hangeng, because - ”
“Calm down,” Xiumin says, no force in his voice at all. His shoulders rise laboriously, and then his chest, and then he’s turning onto his side, facing Suho. “It was either die here or die there. It’s hard being people like us.” He closes his eyes, and Suho tries even harder - Xiumin’s face is turning porcelain pale and the blood, go back, go back. His voice is almost a whisper. “Don’t have an ability, but work long enough with people who do have one and everyone else starts thinking that you’re sympathizing with them.” He meets Suho’s gaze. “And I guess I do.”
“But you’re not allies with our targets,” Suho manages to answer, and his fingers are grabbing only the dried red dust of blood cells - all he can manipulate with his ability is the water, two pieces of hydrogen and a piece of oxygen and nothing else. No. Go back. “You’re not sympathizing with them, right?”
“I’m friends with you.”
And Suho stops.
After a pause, he manages to answer, “Yeah.”
Xiumin gets that look on his face when he wants to shake his head. “Suho, the institute...”
is only -
With quaking fingers, Suho picks up the gun from the floor next to him and screws his eyes shut. “I know.” The metal’s smeared with red, and though it’s warm in his palms, it still doesn’t fit there. “But I don’t have anywhere else.”
“You do,” Xiumin says, smiling tiredly. His eyes and everything are completely unmoving now, except for his lips and words. “Apartment keys are in my jacket's inner pocket.”
Suho stands, and he feels like throwing up.
Minseok sighs Xiumin away. “Choose wisely, and stay safe.”
And when Suho hurriedly aims, racing against the blood before it completely leaves Minseok’s body, he wins. He listens, and he follows.
The keys in his pocket are the coldest metal he’s ever touched.
He doesn’t wait around for Kyuhyun’s squad. He just dumps his clothes into the sea, swishes them around for a while, then dries them before putting them back on and walking away. But the blood on Minseok’s gun is probably something he’ll never clean off.
Walking all the way to Minseok’s house takes a tired hour and a half and a path next to a semi-public park that they never got to play soccer in. A Ferris wheel over at the distance, with the lower-lying silhouette of a roller coaster snaking around it. Cotton candy, feeling like flying, wanting to escape, making friends…
When he opens Minseok’s apartment and sees Jongdae’s surprised face, he falls against the doorway and covers his eyes. At least he doesn’t push back the tears this time.
A cell phone call.
“Where are you? Institute’s worried.”
“At Minseok’s house.”
“Who's Minseok - oh, Xiumin, right. It’s already morning, so I’m guessing you stayed there for the night. Why are you there?”
“Because this is my home.”
“…Your bed’s here.”
“I know. The straps hurt my ankles, though, and my left’s sprained a bit, so I decided to stay here.”
“Don’t bull - ”
“I set up my own IV drip here, since there’s still stuff left over from when I stayed last. I’ll turn up for work tomorrow if you let me live here instead.”
“…I’ll discuss it with the others.”
Joonmyun ends the call.
Jongdae is as lively as Joonmyun remembers, just as sharp, accommodating and kind. He brought Joonmyun to the couch with a quiet, gentle silence, didn’t ask about anything, only explained how Minseok once told him that if, one day, the one who returns to Minseok’s house at the end of the day is Joonmyun, then Jongdae should stay.
“I guess he noticed how lonely I was in the dorms,” Jongdae says with a small laugh, voice chirpy and pleasant like a bird’s. He’s coated the pan on the electric stove with oil and started cooking two eggs, one sunny side up for each of them. “Spatula’s where? Man, I haven’t been here in a while…”
“Drawer,” Joonmyun replies, setting the table and putting on a smile when Jongdae says thanks. “And I think you forgot to plug the stove.”
Jongdae’s shoulders jerk, and when he laughs, Joonmyun chuckles along a bit, too. The younger man gushes a few apologies in his direction before adding, “No wonder it was taking a while!”
Just as Jongdae plugs it, the eggs begin to sizzle immediately.
The familiar smell of mornings here brings back a lot to Joonmyun’s mind, and he sees too clearly how Jongdae and Minseok are so different from each other - Minseok’s hands had taken to holding things firmly and cautiously, as if he was always holding a loaded gun, but Jongdae is bright and warm and Joonmyun finds himself wondering. Is this why Minseok had always talked about Jongdae? Why he had made plans to go out the country again in a trip just for two, made plans to say what he’s always wanted to say, and why he never could?
It’s at this moment where Joonmyun decides, facing the lingering image of Minseok sitting across the table, that yes, I’ll take care of him, just as you took care of me.
Minseok, steaming cup in his grasp, smiles.
He fades away when something suddenly dings and Jongdae says, “Heated some bagels in the toaster. Want one?”
Joonmyun closes his eyes, takes a relieved breath, and the smell of coffee disappears with the mug in Minseok’s hands. “Sure.”
- masterlist + requests - watch - join -
joondae, as requested by sardothien. it's getting there, lol. and i'm sorry alkjdasd i'm pretty sure this was not what you were expecting ;;
part two on its way.
- cafe angel appeared again! this is its third appearance, haha.
- the switches between suho/joonmyun and xiumin/minseok are not exactly important plot-wise, but i like to think that they're important character-wise. :)
- dong youngbae is from big bang but bb is not in the tags because he's alive for only a few sentences, whoops. ;; sorry taeyang...
- dong youngbae was supposed to be jessica jung aka snsd's ice princess. ice. lol i'm so creative. chose taeyang instead because (1) he was covered in ice in fantastic baby and (2) stabbing people with stilettos after freezing them sounds kind of ridiculous.
any feedback is greatly appreciated! leave a comment? :)