you can't reverse the bullet from a gun. part 2
two
Am I the latest in your art of war? (Anberlin - Art of War)
Shanghai, China
7:35PM
It wasn't that Kris was gay, or that he was straight, really. Kris just had a certain appreciation for people's faces, people's bodies, regardless of gender. He could still remember the last few people he had slept with: a beautiful flamenco dancer from Spain, a brooding painter from Dubai, and a charismatic man from Washington DC, who had turned out to be a CIA agent. Kris had eliminated him with a heavy heart and left the next day for his mission in Prague. So his attraction to Yixing was only normal. He had been attracted to his targets before, and he had always managed to complete his missions. This was no different. No different, Kris reminded himself.
He kept repeating the mantra but then Yixing looked up and into the crowd, flashing a charming smile at the gaggle of girls standing in front of Kris, who immediately dissolved into hysterical giggling, and Kris suddenly felt just like them: insipid, silly, gooey. Yixing's eyes were roaming the crowd and though Kris attempted to move into the shadows beneath a tree nearby, it was too bright and early for his all black outfit to pass notice, and his height only made it more difficult. Fuck, Kris thought to himself again.
The crowd was cheering as Yixing's father cut the ribbon, and then Yixing was descending from the podium and headed straight for Kris. He was beaming, shaking hands and bowing to people as he passed through the crowd, and when he made his way to stand in front of Kris, Kris could hardly believe that Yixing was human. He was too good-looking, too unsettingly perfect. Fuck, Kris thought for the third time.
Pleasure to meet you. I'm Zhang Yixing, Yixing said, sticking his hand out to shake Kris's. Kris hesitated briefly before taking the smooth hand in his, steadily avoiding eye contact. He was making contact with the target, extended and prolonged contact. It was strictly forbidden, and Kris knew he'd have to answer for it if the Committee found out, but what could he do? He was mesmerized.
I'm... Kris was afraid to reveal his name, here in this crowd of people who'd remember, but then what did it matter? Yixing would be dead very soon, and he'd be on a plane under an alias to a new place with a new mission in a matter of months. I'm Kris. Yixing at least deserved to know the name of the man who would kill him. It only seemed fair.
So, Kris, are you a fan of community service? Without waiting for Kris's reply, Yixing's voice dropped to a hushed whisper and he leaned in close to hiss, Neither am I. This is so boring. He took a step back, and Kris tried to catch his breath; Yixing left an intoxicating smell in his wake, delicious and husky.
I'm a fan of your father's work. Kris realized how absolutely dull it sounded, but the point was to blend in, to fade into the shadows as little more than a passing memory. Perhaps Yixing could tell how insincere Kris's comment was, because a small flicker of doubt crossed his face, but then it was gone. He's done so much for this city.
Would you like to meet him? Yixing asked. I'm sure he'd love to meet potential interns he can use to do his filing and scheduling for him, he said with a laugh. Kris immediately shook his head no, and Yixing laughed again. For someone who admires my father's work, you don't really seem so eager to be here.
I... For once in his life, Kris was speechless. Something about Yixing threw him off, made him messy, made him trip over his normally calculated responses. He struggled to find a response to Yixing's comment, all the while aware that the hysterical fan girls were pressing in too close to the conversation. He looked around him, hoping to find a way out of the situation.
In that moment, Yixing provided him with one. I'm thirsty. Kris, would you like to join me for some coffee? Kris could only nod mutely and awkwardly as Yixing led the way, talking a mile a minute about his father's recent projects.
It was finally beginning to dawn on Kris that maybe this mission wouldn't be so easy.
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Shanghai, China
8:03PM
Kris was no expert on romantic situations but this felt like a date. The cafe was decked out with little heart streamers and baby Cupid decorations all around the place. The booths were love seats, perfectly spaced for two lovers to sit together and preen over coffee and biscuits. Cheesy romantic music was floating out from the speakers behind the counter, and every few minutes, a waitress would come by to ask Yixing and Kris if they'd like to "look at the lovers' special for today."
Kris was uncomfortable.
Yixing seemed at ease, however. He was leaning back in his booth, sipping on his coffee and regaling Kris with stories about his father and his own boredom with the politics scene. He hated being paraded at every public event, the apple of every female's eye to gawk at and fawn over. He hated knowing that all of his father's aides were just waiting for Yixing to assume the political spotlight, waiting to be passed over from father to son like an inheritance. He hated his father's disappointment when Yixing showed no interest in discussing health reform or community activism.
Kris was in too deep.
But Kris's stony silence did not seem to faze Yixing; it was almost as if he needed someone to just listen to him go on and on at length about his life, someone who wouldn't interrupt him with a story of his own. And that was the last thing Kris intended to do: Yixing didn't need to know anything about Kris, ever.
Suddenly, Kris's phone beeped loudly. Yixing paused in the middle of a sentence, and gestured at Kris to pick up the phone. Kris slid his phone out from his pocket with an apologetic grimace on his face, and turned away from the table to get a closer look at what was on his screen. A text message, from the Committee.
7. Kris felt a prickle down his spine, a surge of...fear? He had never received a 7 before. Plenty of 1s, 2s, 3s, and even a 4. But never a 7. A 7 was reserved for the most serious of situations, when the Committee felt that a mission's time schedule needed to be shortened drastically. Failure to complete the mission would result in the Committee dispatching a dark warrior, one of its nameless and faceless assassins who would kill the target and capture the person who had been given the original mission to return to the Committee for questioning. Kris heard another beep and he looked back at his phone. 48 hours, this text said. Kris had 48 hours to kill Yixing, or he'd risk being killed himself. The prickle became sharp and white-hot, almost painful.
Kris looked up at Yixing, who was smiling genially at him. In that instant, Kris decided against his better judgment. He reached across the table and clamped his hand down, hard, on Yixing's. Yixing's eyes lit up in alarm, and the smile dropped from his face as he struggled to comprehend what was happening. Kris leaned in, taking great pains to look at Yixing's face instead of the stupid baby Cupids floating around behind him. Their eyes locked as Kris whispered, We need to get out of here. Then he took Yixing's hand, lifted him out of his seat with a sharp pull, and began to run.
Three booths over, near the back of the cafe, a man with no face and no name watched them run.
part three