At Gunpoint 9/10
Title: At Gunpoint 9/10
Pairing: Jonghyun/Key
Genre: AU
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter
Summary: Jonghyun has always been the wordy type of guy; lots of theorising, planning, testing and retesting. That's how he operates. Other times, though, there's no time for talking, he decides while taping his Glock 22 to the underside of the tray trolley.
A/N: I don't want to say much about this chapter, I'll just let you ~think about it. Keep calm and carry on. *disappears into the night*
Jonghyun has always been the wordy type of guy; lots of theorising, planning, testing and retesting. That's how he operates. Other times, though, there's no time for talking, he decides while taping his Glock 22 to the underside of the tray trolley.
Or, he guesses, some matters are better off the way they are, not to be given much thought - like Kibum. Kibum can only upset him. Make him do something stupid.
As he walks down the corridors of the staff-only floor, palms tight and almost sweating around the tray's handlebars, he wishes he could backtrack. Rewind, change things, be someone else (his eyebrows rise at the thought).
Maybe, if his father hadn't been determined to make him an exact copy of himself, he wouldn't be here. He would have had a normal childhood, oblivious of how to assemble and disassemble a rifle. He would grow up in just one neighbourhood. He would define himself. And then, once high school would be over, he'd get a house of his own. He would study art - music. To support himself, he would work in his aunt's café in the suburbs. Commuting would be hard, but as time went on, he would have enough money to afford a bike; a light one. He would manage.
And one day, he would accidentally spill an over-sweetened mocha latte all over a laughing brunet's lap. He would keep watching his lips move while the guy went on and on about how expensive and rare that new pair of trousers was. He would apologise and secretly grin as the boy would sigh and complain to his friends.
Then, he would strangely become a regular. Jonghyun wouldn't think too much about it, but he'd be glad. They'd exchange names, playful jabs and maybe even phone numbers. And Kibum would become a friend. Jonghyun would get used to his sense of humour, straight-forwardness and teasing. Kibum would be amazed by Jonghyun's music knowledge and Jonghyun would be intrigued by Kibum's views on personal style. He would see him every day at work. He would be able to tell when something was wrong at home just by looking at his hair or clothes. He would study him while Kibum studied him.
Jonghyun would be a bit nervous about it, but, eventually, he'd invite him over to his house for a movie. It would become a habit of theirs. And when Kibum wanted a way out of family drama, he would pay Jonghyun impromptu visits at night. Jonghyun wouldn't be mad, but he would be caught off-guard at first. Sleep-overs would become more and more frequent.
Jonghyun would slowly fall for him.
The result isn't much different, he realises almost bitterly, and a tiny smile makes its way to his face as he pushes the trolley, walking past closed doors, storages. His eyes close for a bit, as if saving the imprint of his surroundings to his brain. Mental blueprints. He'll be returning down here soon, it turns out.
But enough thinking, already. His mind needs to stay blank and his body needs to take over.
So he just moves on, letting his legs take him towards the elevator, his finger push the button and his back straighten as he's being taken higher. His ears pick up the sound of heels clicking against marble, ringing mobile phones and chatter as he passes the lobby. Tuesdays are busy. All days are busy, here.
And so he reaches the nineteenth floor.
The chamber comes to a smooth halt and mere seconds go by before the sturdy, metallic doors roll open. His hand nonchalantly lags behind the rest of his body, pushing the stop button. The motion goes unnoticed by the security guards all around him when he steps out.
One, two, three, four, he counts, one by the door, two in the hall corners and one by the stairs. Fairly easy.
He eyes all of them, and the action is reciprocated as they scrutinize his every move. They're all wearing dark sunglasses, but Jonghyun can feel their stares on him. He can sense it in the way they curl their lips nastily, challengingly.
"Mr. Kim's breakfast," he simply says while nodding towards the tray in front of him, and the guy blocking the entrance leans forward, extending his hand. Jonghyun watches as he lifts the plate's cover, revealing a white cup filled with dark coffee, croissants and packets of jam by the side. The guy can now be seen looking at him from the top of his glasses as he nods, covering the plate and straightening up again. He steps to the side, fist reaching for the door as he knocks, and everything after that feels like it's in slow motion, to Jonghyun.
There are feet thumping against the floor on the other side of the wall, approaching, and Jonghyun's hand moves with every step.
The door flies open slowly -pretty fast, actually, only not for Jonghyun- and the moment the mark comes in view, fancy clothes and all despite the early hour, the only thing going through Jonghyun's mind when he grabs the handgun underneath the tray is things change, plans change.
And then he does it.
The gun is ready to go and his eyes have already found the ideal target before his hand has even completed its course. He notices the delay in the guards' reaction, the surprise passing by Sanghwan's face, the bead of sweat rolling down his own neck. His finger pushes the trigger before he even registers it.
Recoil.
Blood, tiny sprinkles wetting Jonghyun's face.
A deep red hole right in between Kim's eyebrows.
And then everything speeds up again, almost too frantically. His free arm bends up, his elbow being driven right into the nearest guard's stomach, and then the back of his hand instantly comes up, right against the other's nose. It's not that powerful, given Jonghyun's position, but it's enough to annoy and distract the guy.
His foot pushes at one of the trolley's wheel, directing it backwards while his hand grabs an empty tray. The trolley speeds towards the guy behind him, but he notices the latter avoid it, sending it down the stairs.
A swift move of his arm; the sound of a bullet against platinum; a twist of the back and a flick of the wrist.
One guard confused and one tumbling down the stairs, the sore line on his neck matching the outline of the tray. Two men immediately after him.
With that, he turns around as quickly as possible and runs towards the lift, still open and waiting for him. He hears one bullet whoosh by his ear, and then he's flush against the chamber's wall, momentarily hidden before he pushes the minus one button. The doors close and he's allowed to breathe.
The elevator isn't moving that fast, but they'll have fun trying to figure out how to reach the personnel floor using the customers' lifts. And if they're stupid enough to run down the stairs, they'll be way too out of breath to even blink.
His handgun comes to rest in between the pants' hem and the small of his back, while his other hand reaches for his face, only managing to smudge it further. His now red palm smells of iron.
Before he even knows it, he's reached his destination. He steps out. Looks around. Listens. Waits.
+
Kyungjin and two others make it downstairs maybe a minute later. He's panting, the suit too tight and too warm for this time of year, but he can do nothing but run after the flash of a man passing in front of him. The damn guy is short, but fit and agile. However, he must be a bit stupid; Kyungjin knows that if he had a gun in this specific position, he'd downright kill anyone that was after him. But whatever.
He runs and runs, leaving Hyunsang and Myungseok behind him; they're both strong but way too muscular, and speed isn't one of their strongest points.
The guy's way ahead of them, now, lost somewhere in the halls of the floor. Kyungjin's never been here before.
The whole level is strangely empty, the staff probably too busy in the rest of the building, so every move is audible; footsteps, heavy breathing, a door slamming.
He looks back, exchanging looks with his colleagues. Hear it?
"That way," Myungseok pants, his voice too husky and broken due to years of heavy smoking, using his gun as the extension of his hand. He points to the left.
All three of them head that way, afterwards, in pretty much the same speed. They turn around the corner, facing the wide corridor, all too white and sterile-looking. The doors are way too many. Split up, he mouths, and they do so. They start opening doors one by one, guns pointing inside the empty rooms. Nothing. Just food, clothes, linen, alcohol.
And then something happens. In the far side of the hall, someone exits a room hastily. It's him.
But this time he's different. It only goes by as a passing thought in Kyungjin's mind, though. The only thing that matters in this case is doing what he's supposed to do. Stop him.
The guy stumbles, looking... hurt? Confused? And barely manages to miss a bullet fired by Hyunsang. He turns around the next corner in a desperate attempt to disappear, and the only thing the three of them hear is a heavy thud.
"He fell?" Kyungjin barely hears Myungseok whisper before he runs forward, not forgetting that the guy is still armed.
That's the sole thought that stops him from hesitating before lifting his handgun. The eyes he meets are hazy, lost and almost dead, and he's one second away from believing them-
"He's playing us!" one of the other two hisses, and so Kyungjin does it.
There's the distinct sound of metal penetrating flesh and hitting bone; the familiar smell of instant death in the air. Kyungjin takes it all in as the guy's back goes slack and his stomach slightly twitches one last time.
The light in his eyes goes out.
→ previous. next.
Pairing: Jonghyun/Key
Genre: AU
Rating: PG-13 for this chapter
Summary: Jonghyun has always been the wordy type of guy; lots of theorising, planning, testing and retesting. That's how he operates. Other times, though, there's no time for talking, he decides while taping his Glock 22 to the underside of the tray trolley.
A/N: I don't want to say much about this chapter, I'll just let you ~think about it. Keep calm and carry on. *disappears into the night*
Jonghyun has always been the wordy type of guy; lots of theorising, planning, testing and retesting. That's how he operates. Other times, though, there's no time for talking, he decides while taping his Glock 22 to the underside of the tray trolley.
Or, he guesses, some matters are better off the way they are, not to be given much thought - like Kibum. Kibum can only upset him. Make him do something stupid.
As he walks down the corridors of the staff-only floor, palms tight and almost sweating around the tray's handlebars, he wishes he could backtrack. Rewind, change things, be someone else (his eyebrows rise at the thought).
Maybe, if his father hadn't been determined to make him an exact copy of himself, he wouldn't be here. He would have had a normal childhood, oblivious of how to assemble and disassemble a rifle. He would grow up in just one neighbourhood. He would define himself. And then, once high school would be over, he'd get a house of his own. He would study art - music. To support himself, he would work in his aunt's café in the suburbs. Commuting would be hard, but as time went on, he would have enough money to afford a bike; a light one. He would manage.
And one day, he would accidentally spill an over-sweetened mocha latte all over a laughing brunet's lap. He would keep watching his lips move while the guy went on and on about how expensive and rare that new pair of trousers was. He would apologise and secretly grin as the boy would sigh and complain to his friends.
Then, he would strangely become a regular. Jonghyun wouldn't think too much about it, but he'd be glad. They'd exchange names, playful jabs and maybe even phone numbers. And Kibum would become a friend. Jonghyun would get used to his sense of humour, straight-forwardness and teasing. Kibum would be amazed by Jonghyun's music knowledge and Jonghyun would be intrigued by Kibum's views on personal style. He would see him every day at work. He would be able to tell when something was wrong at home just by looking at his hair or clothes. He would study him while Kibum studied him.
Jonghyun would be a bit nervous about it, but, eventually, he'd invite him over to his house for a movie. It would become a habit of theirs. And when Kibum wanted a way out of family drama, he would pay Jonghyun impromptu visits at night. Jonghyun wouldn't be mad, but he would be caught off-guard at first. Sleep-overs would become more and more frequent.
Jonghyun would slowly fall for him.
The result isn't much different, he realises almost bitterly, and a tiny smile makes its way to his face as he pushes the trolley, walking past closed doors, storages. His eyes close for a bit, as if saving the imprint of his surroundings to his brain. Mental blueprints. He'll be returning down here soon, it turns out.
But enough thinking, already. His mind needs to stay blank and his body needs to take over.
So he just moves on, letting his legs take him towards the elevator, his finger push the button and his back straighten as he's being taken higher. His ears pick up the sound of heels clicking against marble, ringing mobile phones and chatter as he passes the lobby. Tuesdays are busy. All days are busy, here.
And so he reaches the nineteenth floor.
The chamber comes to a smooth halt and mere seconds go by before the sturdy, metallic doors roll open. His hand nonchalantly lags behind the rest of his body, pushing the stop button. The motion goes unnoticed by the security guards all around him when he steps out.
One, two, three, four, he counts, one by the door, two in the hall corners and one by the stairs. Fairly easy.
He eyes all of them, and the action is reciprocated as they scrutinize his every move. They're all wearing dark sunglasses, but Jonghyun can feel their stares on him. He can sense it in the way they curl their lips nastily, challengingly.
"Mr. Kim's breakfast," he simply says while nodding towards the tray in front of him, and the guy blocking the entrance leans forward, extending his hand. Jonghyun watches as he lifts the plate's cover, revealing a white cup filled with dark coffee, croissants and packets of jam by the side. The guy can now be seen looking at him from the top of his glasses as he nods, covering the plate and straightening up again. He steps to the side, fist reaching for the door as he knocks, and everything after that feels like it's in slow motion, to Jonghyun.
There are feet thumping against the floor on the other side of the wall, approaching, and Jonghyun's hand moves with every step.
The door flies open slowly -pretty fast, actually, only not for Jonghyun- and the moment the mark comes in view, fancy clothes and all despite the early hour, the only thing going through Jonghyun's mind when he grabs the handgun underneath the tray is things change, plans change.
And then he does it.
The gun is ready to go and his eyes have already found the ideal target before his hand has even completed its course. He notices the delay in the guards' reaction, the surprise passing by Sanghwan's face, the bead of sweat rolling down his own neck. His finger pushes the trigger before he even registers it.
Recoil.
Blood, tiny sprinkles wetting Jonghyun's face.
A deep red hole right in between Kim's eyebrows.
And then everything speeds up again, almost too frantically. His free arm bends up, his elbow being driven right into the nearest guard's stomach, and then the back of his hand instantly comes up, right against the other's nose. It's not that powerful, given Jonghyun's position, but it's enough to annoy and distract the guy.
His foot pushes at one of the trolley's wheel, directing it backwards while his hand grabs an empty tray. The trolley speeds towards the guy behind him, but he notices the latter avoid it, sending it down the stairs.
A swift move of his arm; the sound of a bullet against platinum; a twist of the back and a flick of the wrist.
One guard confused and one tumbling down the stairs, the sore line on his neck matching the outline of the tray. Two men immediately after him.
With that, he turns around as quickly as possible and runs towards the lift, still open and waiting for him. He hears one bullet whoosh by his ear, and then he's flush against the chamber's wall, momentarily hidden before he pushes the minus one button. The doors close and he's allowed to breathe.
The elevator isn't moving that fast, but they'll have fun trying to figure out how to reach the personnel floor using the customers' lifts. And if they're stupid enough to run down the stairs, they'll be way too out of breath to even blink.
His handgun comes to rest in between the pants' hem and the small of his back, while his other hand reaches for his face, only managing to smudge it further. His now red palm smells of iron.
Before he even knows it, he's reached his destination. He steps out. Looks around. Listens. Waits.
+
Kyungjin and two others make it downstairs maybe a minute later. He's panting, the suit too tight and too warm for this time of year, but he can do nothing but run after the flash of a man passing in front of him. The damn guy is short, but fit and agile. However, he must be a bit stupid; Kyungjin knows that if he had a gun in this specific position, he'd downright kill anyone that was after him. But whatever.
He runs and runs, leaving Hyunsang and Myungseok behind him; they're both strong but way too muscular, and speed isn't one of their strongest points.
The guy's way ahead of them, now, lost somewhere in the halls of the floor. Kyungjin's never been here before.
The whole level is strangely empty, the staff probably too busy in the rest of the building, so every move is audible; footsteps, heavy breathing, a door slamming.
He looks back, exchanging looks with his colleagues. Hear it?
"That way," Myungseok pants, his voice too husky and broken due to years of heavy smoking, using his gun as the extension of his hand. He points to the left.
All three of them head that way, afterwards, in pretty much the same speed. They turn around the corner, facing the wide corridor, all too white and sterile-looking. The doors are way too many. Split up, he mouths, and they do so. They start opening doors one by one, guns pointing inside the empty rooms. Nothing. Just food, clothes, linen, alcohol.
And then something happens. In the far side of the hall, someone exits a room hastily. It's him.
But this time he's different. It only goes by as a passing thought in Kyungjin's mind, though. The only thing that matters in this case is doing what he's supposed to do. Stop him.
The guy stumbles, looking... hurt? Confused? And barely manages to miss a bullet fired by Hyunsang. He turns around the next corner in a desperate attempt to disappear, and the only thing the three of them hear is a heavy thud.
"He fell?" Kyungjin barely hears Myungseok whisper before he runs forward, not forgetting that the guy is still armed.
That's the sole thought that stops him from hesitating before lifting his handgun. The eyes he meets are hazy, lost and almost dead, and he's one second away from believing them-
"He's playing us!" one of the other two hisses, and so Kyungjin does it.
There's the distinct sound of metal penetrating flesh and hitting bone; the familiar smell of instant death in the air. Kyungjin takes it all in as the guy's back goes slack and his stomach slightly twitches one last time.
The light in his eyes goes out.
→ previous. next.