SSS 2010: for onew (2/2)

[replaymods]

Kibum returns to the hospital exactly 3 weeks after Taemin’s death.

Nobody dares to talk about what happened nor offer him their pitiful condolences, under Dr. Choi’s orders. He’s not even admonished for his unexplained absence.

When he sees Minho, he gives him an appreciative smile, knowing very well everything he’s done for him during his absence.

“You can continue without trouble your residency. I’m due for surgery soon and I've elected you to help me in the surgery room.”

“Me? But I’m not prepared. Maybe I should sit out this ti-”

“-Nonsense. I’ll help you prepare. As a matter of fact, I’ve prepared a few remedial study sessions. Come, follow me.”

They walk down, in utter silence, to what appears to be the basement of the hospital.

“This used to be part of the hospital too. Until it burnt down in a fire, leaving 3 dead and 2 young twin girls with third degree burns.” explains Minho as they proceed further down the hallway.

“It was, ‘’the worst conflagration of the decade’ as written in the papers” Minho quotes, looking reminiscent.

“Did they catch the arsonist?”

“Nope.” As he pops the ‘p’ sound for added emphasis, Minho’s answer echoes loudly in the hallways.

For a basement, especially one that has recollections of tragic incidents, it’s not at all dodgy or dimly lit. In fact, it looks like every other part of the hospital, lights bright and floors immaculately clean.

Reading Kibum’s mind, Minho says, “They still have maintenance down here. They’d like to re-incorporate it again but until then, they use it for storing medical supplies. Us doctors, on the other hand, use it for private or personal reasons.”

At that exact moment, they hear a loud moaning from one of the rooms. From what Kibum can make out, it appears to be a man and a woman.

“Oh.” he says.

“Anyways, I didn’t bring you down here to do that, obviously.” He then takes out a key and unlocks one of the doors. “Ah, here we go.” opening his arms wide, he says, “This is the practice room where we will whet your surgical skills.”

Looking around the room, Kibum notices that it’s an exact replica of the surgery room, and everything is neatly organized. It’s absolutely spotless.

He pushes back his sleeves and smiles. “Well doc, I’m ready.”

“Good. First we’ll review your knowledge on the tools.” He points to a disarray of surgical instruments placed on the table. “Organize them by their respective classifications. You have 3 minutes.”

Silently, Kibum picks them up and categorizes them into eight groups. Graspers. Clamps. Retractors. Mechanical cutters. Injection needles. Surgical staplers. Scopes and probes. Dilators. He finishes in a little over a minute.

Minho walks over and eyes Kibum’s work briefly. With an affirmative nod, he says, “I’m impressed Kibum.” He places a large hand on the small of Kibum’s back, motioning him forward. Suddenly, Kibum halts, startled. There’s a huge cadaver resting on top of the operating table.

“As you can see, this is a dummy. I’ve placed a tumor-like substance in it. You’re going to locate and excise it without any collateral damage. 30 minutes. You will treat the dummy like a real patient. Any questions?”

Shaking his head, Kibum puts on his latex gloves and wears his mouth mask.

Minho starts the timer.

He follows proper surgical procedure. Anesthetizing the patient first and x-raying him next. After locating the tumor, well within the 10 minute mark, he chooses a Blade #10 scalpel and makes a determinate incision above the left kidney. The tumor is placed in a difficult area, nearly impossible to extricate without damaging the kidney.

In the end, he manages to remove the tumor but goes over the time limit. When he puts his scalpel down, the timer reads 38 minutes and 16 seconds.

“You failed. Nonetheless, we have plenty more exercises ahead of us. These sessions will continue on indefinitely until I feel that you’ve mastered your handwork in operating.”

“Thank you, Minho. For everything.”

“Don’t, Kibum. It’s perfectly fine. Anyways, all that operating made me hungry. Wanna go for lunch?”

Cracking a smile in what seems to be years, Kibum says, “Only if you’re paying.” His face feels unnaturally bent, muscles flexing in ways that feel strange to him. Nevertheless, he’s still smiling. And he thinks that he can get used to this. That everything will be okay.

“Fine. Sushi sound good?”

“Sushi sounds perfect.”

Lunch is nice. The entire day, Kibum keeps smiling, each time feeling less unnatural and more genuine. ‘This is what he would’ve wanted.’ thinks Kibum.

Two months later, they’ve had 47 practice sessions, ranging from 45 minutes to 3 hours. They’ve gotten surprisingly close, but this time, on a more intimate level. Still strictly platonic though.

“The surgery we’re going to be performing in a week is a coronary artery bypass grafting. Care to remind me what that is?”

“The accumulation of plaque in the coronary arteries reduces blood flow to the heart muscle, causing angina or heart attacks.” replies Kibum, slightly vexed that Minho tested him with such a simple question.

“Precisely. Now it’ll be real this time so we’ll need all the practice we can get. This’ll be your first surgery right? Let us begin, Doctor.”

The whole operation takes approximately 2 hours, during which there was a lot of tension. Not tension in terms of worrying that this patient wouldn’t make it, but tension from all the pent up sexual energy between them. Throughout the entire operation, he and Minho kept stealing glances at each other and colliding hands while reaching to grab the scalpel.

Craftily, Kibum sows the sternum closed and sutures the incision, finalizing the end of the operation. As soon as puts down the surgical suture, Kibum is overcome by an impetuous wave of accomplishment that he feels overwhelmed. He runs over to Minho and gives him a high five. The slap of their fake-blood covered hands spatters across Minho’s face, mostly hitting his cheeks.

Minho sputters out an ‘oopmh.’ “Kibum, you--”

Kibum, who’s still laughing, says “Sorry doctor, let me get it for you.” He slips off his gloves and throws them into the trash. Then frisks his pockets for a tissue.

“Hurry up Kibum!” whines Minho, with eyes still closed and nose wrinkled in disgust.

“I can’t seem to find..” Kibum looks around the room for a tissue box but finds no avail. So he takes his hand and uses his thumb to smear the fake-blood off of Minho’s face.

Minho’s eyes flutter open in surprise.

“Sorry,” Kibum hastens, dropping his hand and trying to explain himself, “there weren’t any tissue or napkins.”

“It’s okay.” murmurs Minho. Then he raises his hand to cup Kibum’s cheek and kisses him. He pulls back and then dips his head for another.

Kibum tries to speak but before he can, Minho silences him with yet another kiss. Kibum gives up and instead opts to tangle his fingers in Minho’s hair, threading them somewhat forcefully into Minho’s chocolate locks.

Their initially innocent kiss gradually heats up to the point where Kibum is ravishing Minho’s mouth and Minho is grabbing dangerously low on Kibum’s back.

They pull away, breathless and smile. Minho tugs at Kibum’s hand and says, Let’s go. I’m hungry and I want dinner.”

“Fine. But not Japanese this time. I want French.”

Minho laughs at the flagrant double-entendre behind Kibum’s words and says, “Here I was thinking you had tact.”

Kibum, full of mirth, dismisses Minho’s last comment and continues walking, steadily swinging their clasped hands together. All of a sudden, he stops in his tracks, disentangling his fingers Minho’s.

“Kibum?”

“Wait. What about, um, your boyfriend. Jonghyun?”

“We broke up.” Minho’s voice is flat, completely detached.

Kibum’s not really one to pry. “Oh. So..this is okay? I mean, us. We’re okay?”

Grabbing Kibum’s hand once more, Minho answers, “We’re perfect.”

The coronary artery bypass grafting operation is a huge success.

This time, during the operation, Minho and Kibum remained completely professional. Both too occupied by the gravity of the situation.

Kibum kept on repeating the words of advice Minho gave him before the surgery, “Just emulate exactly what we did during practice.”

The emotions Kibum felt as he flung the doors open and went out into the waiting area to tell the family members of the patient that, ”The operation was a success and he’s going to be just fine.” was indescribable. The way that he was able to relieve them of their panic-stricken faces felt good. Real good.

“Now I know why you do this. Saving lives. This..this just feels amazing.”

“Mhmm.” Minho wordlessly acquiesces as he looks at Kibum’s face, mesmerized.

“Stop looking!” Kibum raises his hands up to cover Minho’s eyes, feeling embarrassed.

“I can’t help myself,” confesses Minho honestly. “The fact that you just had the power to determine a person’s life makes you so..”

“So?”

“Irresistible” he finishes. Giving Kibum a smoldering gaze, he swaggers forward. On tempo, Kibum takes a step backward as Minho moves forward until he’s mounted against Minho’s office desk.

“Save it for later, cowboy. Remember I said none of this at work?”

Acting like a petulant little child, Minho pouts. “What about a couple days ago, downstairs when you got frisky after we talked about prostate examinations? If I recall, you said something along the lines of, ‘Oh doctor, care to give me one of those?’ Remember that?”

Kibum flushes, smacking Minho’s shoulders. “I-that-it. It was just for fun.”

“Oh yeah,” Minho adds, rolling his eyes while taking a seat in his chair, “you seemed to be really enjoying it judging by the sounds you were making.”

“Minho! Just.” He grits his teeth. “Just shut the fuck up.”

Laughing, Minho presses the power button on his Mac. He waits, patiently, for it to load completely and organizes a few papers on the meanwhile. One of which has Kibum’s name printed on it.

Kibum leans forward, and snatches it out of Minho’s hands, shouting, “Let me see that!”

Turns out, it’s his medical files, listing every sickness he’s had since birth. “You..are such a creep.”

Smirking, Minho professes, “You’re just so paranoid all the time I was wondering if you had a psychological thing.” His tone is slightly sarcastic and heavily teasing.

“You asshole. I wouldn’t be so paranoid if you weren’t so scary all the time!” Kibum contests. “There’s this inexplicable aura around you.” He squints his eyes suspiciously.

“Obviously, you’re mistaken. It must be my dashing good looks and my empowering charisma-something that’s alien to you. I understand though, it’s okay.” As an offhand note, that Kibum is obviously supposed to hear, Minho whispers, “I pity those who are less fortunate than I.”

“Hey Minho?”

“Hmm?”

“Shut your trap.”

After about 2 hours of filling in their respective paperwork, they leave. Minho excuses himself for a bit and tells him that he has to run some errands quickly and that he’ll meet Kibum at the front in 5 minutes. Right on the dot, Minho brings his car out to the front.

“Where are we going?” asks Kibum while trying to distinguish the surroundings through the darkly tinted windows of Minho’s car.

“Want to invite me over to your place for dinner? You look like you’d be a good cook.” The car comes to a stop.

“Well thats awfully presumptuous of you. But sure, why not.”

“Get off then.”

“Huh?”

Sighing, Minho undoes his seatbelt and exits. He comes around and opens Kibum’s door. “I said, get off as in, we’re here.”

When Kibum gets out of the car, he realizes, with marvel, that they’re in the garage of his apartment. Flabbergasted, he stammers, “How’d you know where I live?”

“Tsk, tsk Kibum. Don’t you know that I’m all knowing?” Minho says as they wait for the elevator.

“Yeah right. You’re not God, okay?” Kibum rolls his eyes and presses 10, as they enter.

“Um. I beg to differ.” retorts Minho who suddenly seems upset by a seemingly innocuous remark.

Kibum, sensing the change in atmosphere, runs his hand down Minho’s chest, salaciously slurring, “So what exactly,” he bites Minho’s ear, “are you hungry for?”

Giving Kibum an up-down look, Minho replies by palming Kibum, slipping his hand in between Kibum’s closed thighs.

The elevator bell dings, and they both stumble off, Kibum running down the hall to open his door. From behind, Minho gives him a backhug, proceeding to rub Kibum, who’s trying desperately to focus on unlocking the door, through his jeans. Kibum’s prodding at the lock with his key, unable to slip it in properly, as Minho’s dexterous hands undo his belt.

Moaning uncontrollably, he manages out a “Wait, Minho, wait.” He places both his hands over Minho’s, which are situated right against his erection. Minho’s hands still but he doesn’t relent. Instead, he begins to move his fingers, rubbing teasingly.

After a few more minutes of Kibum’s insistent pleading, Minho complies. Successfully unlocking the door, Kibum drags Minho, clothes flying off, and pushes him into the bedroom even before the front door can close shut.

“So you guys finally did it.” scoffs Jinki. “You called me at,” there’s a shuffling noise, “5:30 a.m to tell me that you had sex?”

Kibum can imagine Jinki’s annoyed face, with unkempt hair and swollen eyes. Smugly, he answers, “Oh yeah we did.”

“What happened to the whole, ‘I-think-he’s-a-murderer’ thing?”

Cringing, Kibum says, “Well, Jinki. This is one of the few times I’ll say this, but you were right. I was being too judgmental.” He appends, “Don’t gloat though.”

“No, too late. So you admit that you were being a prissy, irrationally paranoid, little sissy?” Kibum hears a snort-chuckle laugh on the other end.

“Good bye, Jinki.” He hangs up the phone with a click, scorning Jinki for being such a know-it-all.

“Good morning.” A pair of arms wrap around Kibum’s bare torso. “I could get used to this, waking up every morning to you in my boxers.”

“Huh, what? Your boxers?” Kibum looks down and sees that he is, actually, wearing Minho’s red and blue striped boxers.

Before Kibum can slip away to shower and change, into his own clothes, preferably, Minho holds him tighter and nuzzles his nose into the crook of Kibum’s neck, breathing in deeply.

Then, at the most inopportune moment, he breathes hotly into Kibum’s ear, “Ew you smell.” Pulling away, he gives Kibum a firm slap to the buttock, saying loudly, “Go shower.”

Disgruntled, Kibum wiggles out and walks toward the bathroom, swaying his hips conspicuously. He calls over his shoulder, “I’m locking the door after a minute, so if you want to join me..”

When they finally head out and arrive to the hospital, they’re both met with frantic nurses.

Just as they both open their mouths to ask what’s wrong, there’s an announcement on the intercom blaring, “Will Dr. Choi and Dr. Kim please report to room 223?”

Sensing the urgency of the voice, they both run to the second floor.

“Room 223. Room 223. Why does that sound so familiar?” mutters Kibum as he speed walks down the hall with Minho right on his tail. Just as they round the corner, it hits him. “Room 223, that’s. Oh my god- that’s Mr. Newark’s room. The patient from yesterday!”

The room is filled with staff, the doctor closest to the body says, “Somebody call the patient’s family. He has a wife, there’s a tan line around his index finger, but the wedding band is gone.”

“Cause of death?” another doctor asks.

“Yet to be determined.”

Kibum doubles over in shock and complete disbelief. Swarming through the crowd, yelling, “He was alive yesterday. I operated on him. The surgery was a success.”

Minho holds Kibum back, soothing him. “I’ll go call the deceased’s family. Kibum, care to come with me?”

Still shell-shocked, Kibum turns his head and nods. Minho gives the rest of the doctors a curt nod and leaves with Kibum on his arm.

“Minho! This, oh god, this isn’t happening. Is it my fault? Did I do the surgery wrong? Oh my god, how will I face his wife? His children?”

For the first time since they’ve arrived, Minho’s eyes show real emotion. “Kibum, no. This isn’t your fault. Don’t blame yourself. If anything, this is my fault. I swear!” He grabs Kibum’s square shoulders and looks at him with wide eyes.

Shaking his head even before Minho can finish, Kibum cries, “No Minho, how could this be your fault? I knew it. I had this feeling that I hadn’t trained enough. That I wasn’t ready.” Looking down at his trembling hands, he says, “I killed someone. I killed him!”

“Kibum, look, listen to me. It is not your fault. He died of poisoning, not the surgery.”

“He did?”

“Yes, Kibum.” He gives Kibum a huge hug and kisses him on the forehead. “Now pull yourself together. Let’s get going, we have to inform the family.”

Later that night, as Kibum is getting ready for bed, he remembers the first doctor saying that the cause of death had been unknown.

But hadn’t Minho assured him that Mr. Newark had died of poisoning? How did he know?

Feeling that intrusive feeling of uneasiness permeate through his body, Kibum shudders violently. He tells himself that Minho had just made that up, only to console him. Probably when he goes to the hospital tomorrow, they’ll tell him that Mr. Newark died from a medical mistake or a sedative overdose, not from poisoning.

Checking the time, he picks up the phone and dials the number to his hospital. After a prolonged amount of time, somebody picks up, greeting him in a hurried voice.

“Hello. This is Dr. Kim Kibum calling. I was wondering if Nurse Juls is in?”

“Yes, I believe so, I’ll transfer you to her right now.”

“Thank you.”

A moment later, “Hello, this is Nurse Juls speaking.”

“Hey Juls, it’s Dr. Kim. I was wondering about Mr. Newark, the man who died today, what was his cause of death?” With fingers crossed, he mouths, “Please don’t let it be poisoning, please. Please.”

“It says here, that he died from poisoning. They found traces of arsenic and mercury in his IV bag. It seems that he suffered for a long period of time before finally dying.

“IV bag?” Nauseated, Kibum thanks her and says goodbye.

Slowly dying in pain and agony. IV bag. All of this sounds too familiar for Kibum.

He crawls into bed and pulls the covers over his head, wishing that this is all just a terrible nightmare.

The next day, Kibum arrives early to the hospital after having spent a restless night, tossing and turning in his sleep. When comes out of the stairwell, he sees that there’s a crack of light shining from the end of the hallway, from Minho’s room. He hears voices.

“Minho, let’s break up. I don’t want to be a part of your life anymore. I don’t want to be a part of this. I-I-I cant sleep, I can’t eat. It’s sick. It’s perverse. It’s disgusting what you’ve become.” the man’s voice ends in a faint whisper.

Jonghyun? Break up? Kibum hears a sharp slap and a thud.

“Nobody talks to me like that. You want to break up, Jonghyun? Nobody breaks up with Choi Minho. You’re mine.”

There’s a quiet sobbing. “I loved you. But I was mistaken. You deceived me, you’re not what I thought you were.”

“And you think you know what I am? You think you know me?! Oh I’m sorry! I didn’t realize Kim Jonghyun actually had a brain. Naive, innocent Jonghyun. High school drop out Jonghyun thinks that he can understand something as great as Choi Minho. I did you a favor, I went out with you, held your hand, kissed you even.” Minho’s tone is mocking and abrasive.

Kibum is trembling. He can almost envision the look on Minho’s face, eyes darkened, lip quivering. He hears light footsteps.

“I’m leaving. Good-bye Choi Minho.”

Inside the room, Minho grabs Jonghyun’s pallid face with his right hand, squeezing his cheeks. Looking deep into his eyes, Minho smashes his lips against Jonghyun’s. Jonghyun’s trying to squirm away, biting Minho’s lip and punching him in the diaphragm. Minho doubles over, wind knocked out of him.

Wiping his bloodied lip with his left hand, Minho growls, “I hoped that you’d reconsider but now I have no choice.” His voice is ominous and Jonghyun knows very well what’s about to happen. At this point, even Kibum knows what’s coming.

Holding his hands up and backing slowly out into the hall where Kibum is frozen in place, Jonghyun pleads, “No! No please, Minho, no!” He turns his head to the side, giving Kibum the most terrified face that he’s ever seen in his entire life. Jonghyun’s mouthing something at Kibum.

He’s mouthing “Run.”

Torn, Kibum remains rooted in place, glancing at the stairwell 5 steps away from him. He hears menacing footsteps and sees a tanned arm shoot out at Jonghyun’s throat. “You’ve been very disobedient. Don’t you know, Jonghyun, that disobedience is what made God scorn the devil?”

Choking, Jonghyun spits, “You are the fucking devil.”

And with that, Kibum hears a scream and the slamming of a door, the light at the end of the hallway disappearing. Moments later, he hears the sound of nails scraping against the wooden door. And with the vigor of his life, he runs into the stairwell and vomits what used to be his breakfast all over the floor.

He’s hysteric. His hands feel like ice and yet he’s sweating profusely. He checks his cell phone, no service. The clock reads 6:05. Minho will be expecting him in 55 minutes.

Going up to the fourth floor, he goes to the bathroom to calm down. Looking at his reflection, he splashes cold water onto his face. Unable to get Jonghyun’s terror-stricken face out of his mind, he feels the rest of his breakfast coming up. He quickly runs to the nearest stall, emptying out the contents of his stomach.

There’s a creak and somebody walks in. Getting up from his crouched position, Kibum quietly shuts the door and sits on the toilet, putting his feet up on the seat. The door is slightly ajar. It’s Minho. He’s washing his hands. But, unlike what Kibum expected, there’s no blood. Then he turns off the taps with a squeak.

Kibum’s heart is thudding loudly.

Minho’s searching for something in his pockets. He pulls something out, something shiny. It’s a ring. Kibum has a series of flashbacks:

It’s the ring that Jonghyun was wearing around his neck. “It was my mother’s. She gave it to me before she died,” he said.

The missing wedding band on Mr. Newark’s hand.

The box of rings Minho had on his desk that day.

Trophies. Trophies of his kills. He’s sure that if he checked Mrs. Kieger’s records, there would be a ring missing from her too.

And Taemin. Had Minho desecrated Taemin’s body too after he left? How could he?

It’s sick. It’s inhumane.

There’s a sudden sound of a gush of air being let in. Minho’s left.

“Kibum!” Minho rushes off his chair and pulls him in an embrace. “I was so worried! You’re never late! Is everything all right?”

Kibum is noticeably stiff, arms mechanically wrapping around Minho to return the hug. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just felt sick this morning.”

Using his head to nudge at the door frame, he asks, “What happened to the door?”

“Oh. The lock was jammed this morning so I asked the janitor to take it off entirely. So,” his fingers tiptoe up Kibum’s ribs, “we can’t do anything private in here for the next little while.”

Kibum feels like hurling, and beyond his control, he bends over, gagging.

“Kibum!” Are you okay?”

Holding up a palm, he replies, in a strained voice, “Yeah. I just feel sick. I’m just going to go to the bathroom, excuse me.”

And then it hits him, as he’s leaving Minho’s room, that Jonghyun might still be alive. No matter how skilled of a psychopath Minho may be, there’s no way he could’ve killed and disposed of Jonghyun’s body so fast.

He’s pacing, one hand on his forehead, muttering to himself, “Think, Kibum, think.”

He recounts everything that Minho’s ever said, anything that could be a potential clue. He likes watching them suffer, watching them die, slowly and painfully, completely under his will. Playing God. Somewhere remote, somewhere where nobody goes.

It’s the basement. It’s always the basement. The basement where they had their practice sessions.

He runs down, blood racing, breaking out into a sweat, through the hallway where there doesn’t seem to be any sexual activities afoot today. He reaches the end, the light on the ceiling blinking ominously. He grasps the handle and pushes.

It’s locked. Of course it is.

It’s too late for Jonghyun. And with a dry sob, he runs back up to the sanctity of the first floor, surrendering Jonghyun.

On the first floor, he runs into a nurse with a familiar face. “Nurse Juls! Can you tell Dr. Choi that I had to leave early please?”

Without even giving her time to answer, he leaves, heading to the one place he knows is safe.

“Jinki! Please open up, please! Jinki, JInki!”

“Kibum?” Jinki answers the door, looking thoroughly perplexed. Clad in comfy clothes and his thick rimmed glasses, Kibum can deduce that he’s been studying, most likely for his mid-terms. “Kibum, what’s happening. You look like a mess.”

Rushing in with his shoes on, stepping all over the living room rug, he shouts, letting everything out, “Jinki. Oh god Jinki. He’s a psychopath, a serial killer. He works at the hospital and he slowly kills the patients, one by one and he did that to Taemin and his boyfriend, Jonghyun is his next victim Oh god, Jinki! I’m so scared.”

“Kibum! Kibum!” Jinki grabs Kibum and yanks him down on the couch, rubbing his back. “First of all, you need to calm down. You’re hyperventilating. Here, hold on.” He runs into his room and comes back out, holding a puffer. “It’s for asthma, but I think this will work.”

Taking the puffer into his hand, he inhales. “A sociopath.” Inhale. “Serial killer.” Inhale. Setting the puffer on the table, he looks at Jinki sternly, “Jinki, I need to ask for a huge favor.”

“You name it.”

“I need a gun.”

“Minho.”

He’s turned around, and remains turned even when he replies, “Kibum! Are you feeling any better?”

“Minho. Turn. around.” Kibum’s voice is cold yet quivering, laced with terror.

“Kibum.” The instant that Minho turns around, he’s met with the barrel of a gun. He sees Kibum a moment later, looking frightened and on the verge of tears.

“Kibum. What-what are you doing?”

“You’re a murderer. A serial killer. You--you get off on people’s pain. You killed all those people. Mrs. Kieger, Mr. Newark, Jonghyun, and Taemin,” his voice cracks, “You killed Taemin.”

“Kibum,” Minho says, with arms raised defensively, “there must be a misunderstanding. I don’t know what--”

“--Shut up! Just shut up!” Kibum’s shouting, teardrops dropping and spit sputtering. “I don’t want to hear it! Minho, how could you?”

In that moment, Minho decides, taking a deep breath and risking everything, to tell Kibum the truth. “Kibum. I won’t, I won’t deny it. I did. I did do those things. But I love you. I’m gonna stop. I don’t want this anymore. I won’t do it. I love you Kibum, do you hear me? I love you.”

Kibum’s grip on the gun loosens slightly. “You-you what?” But before Minho can respond, he yells, “No, no, no. I’m not-I’m not falling for that. I don’t. Just shut up!” He’s sobbing hysterically, “Just shut up!”

“Kibum,” Minho says, moving forward a bit.

“Don’t move! Don’t fucking move or I’ll shoot. I’ll do it, Minho. You know why I want to become a doctor? I wanted to save lives. I wanted to have the power to save lives in my own two hands. But you, you became a doctor to do the exact opposite, to kill, to kill for your fucking pleasure.” He refastens the grip on his gun, holding it steadier, aiming straight for Minho’s heart, because that’s where he hurt him. “You tore out my fucking heart.”

“Kibum, I’m stopping. I made that decision today, honest.”

“Liar! I saw. this morning, I saw. I witnessed the whole thing! How you tormented and beat Jonghyun. I saw. You hadn’t even broken up with him. I-I thought I loved you. I kissed you.” He cringes, face filled with absolute, unmitigated repugnance. “Oh god, I had sex with you. Did you imagine them, Minho? As you slept with me? Did you picture their decaying, dying bodies. Their suffering, miserable faces?”

“No! Never! I’m not like that Kibum. I’m not! I just, I kill them, slowly. Okay, this is beyond the point. The point is that I love you and I’ve stopped. I let Jonghyun go today. I spared him his life.” Minho can’t help the involuntary upward twitch of his lips, a feeling of satisfaction. “Ignore that! Please, Kibum. It’s not something I can control.”

“You sicko. You liked that, didn’t you? Sparing him his life? He’ll live every fucking day in fear, watching every shadow that lurks his way and you thrive on it.” He shuffles forward a bit, gun still pointed to him. “Look at your dilated pupils, you like that, eh? Oh yes, you love playing God, having people’s lives like putty in your hands. No, you haven’t changed a single bit.”

“I want to. But I can’t. It’s an addiction beyond my control. I want to feel shame, I want to feel remorse for what I’ve done. I want to love you. And I think that I actually do, that’s what makes me certain that I could stop. I’ll defy fate if I have to Kibum, I’ll do it! I love you Kibum. I’d want to kill myself too, but I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

He’s wavering, unsure. “A killer never changes.” he whispers. And with that, he shoots. A through and through right in the chest.

Immediately after shooting, he drops the gun with a clatter and runs to Minho’s side, kneeling and lifting his torso off the ground. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. But I don’t regret it. I’m sorry I killed you, Choi Minho, but I’m not sorry that I killed a cold blooded serial killer.” He brushes Minho’s sweaty fringe off his forehead, and hesitating, places a soft kiss on his lips.

Minho musters a smile. “I’m not sorry. You’re right. I wouldn’t have stopped. I love you, Kim Kibum. In another lifetime, we’ll be together.”

Face full of tears, Kibum cries, “I love you too.” and lets go just as Minho’s head drops, heavy in his arms.

“We appreciate your courage Kibum. It’s not easy taking down one of your own.” The police officer tells him as they wheel out Minho’s body along with other bags of evidence they’ve collected.

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.” Kibum’s still shaken up, overwrought with mixed emotions of relief, sadness and exhaustion.

“You’ll be summoned in a few weeks or so in court. They’ll require you to attend an extensive therapy program.”

“Yes, sir. Oh and I have a request, I’d like for this to be kept out of the papers. I don’t want them romanticizing the whole thing nor inciting fear. I think it’s for the better.”

“Yes. That sounds manageable. Anything else?”

“No that’s all. Thank you.”

“You’ve saved countless lives, I hope you know that Kim Kibum.” The officer walks away after giving him a squeeze in the arm.

“Yes. I suppose I have.” he says, to nobody, standing by himself outside the hospital. A smile makes its way onto his face. “I’m a doctor. I save lives.”