After the Eleventh Hour (4/4) for yunsias
part i | part ii | part iii
Yifan has always been this tall, has always had to look down to speak with Xiumin, but suddenly he seems to loom in the doorway. Xiumin avoids the other man’s gaze while he tries to collect his thoughts.
“Lee called someone to notify me there was a fox in my garden,” Yifan walks further into his office, “I’d thought she meant you.”
“Where’d you go so early?” Xiumin asks from behind Yifan’s desk. Amber’s phone beeps from where it lays in the broken drawer, an alert its battery is critically low appearing on screen. Yifan pauses momentarily in his trip to the beverage table where he has apparently started exclusively keeping Claret.
“Meetings. The usual,” He answers casually. The thermo pitcher thuds heavily when he sets it back down, his cup filled almost to the brim with a dark maroon color. “You’ve been busy too, huh?” He says softly, “Some meetings of your own?” Xiumin only nods. He can hear Yifan approaching the desk and looks up, surprised when the man settles on the sofa instead.
“You look good.” Xiumin blinks, unable to focus on the moment. Was this how Adam and Eve had felt after biting into that apple? Had it tasted this bitter? The truth weighs too heavily upon his shoulders for him to just run and hide. His eyes are open now, and Xiumin stands atop this strange new level of awareness and sees Yifan for what he really is- a snake.
“Tell me why you want to see the cop.” Xiumin realizes belatedly that he is the one who said it.
Yifan is still talking, “That why you’re here alone? Rather give orders than take them?” Xiumin bites his lip into his mouth as he steadies his voice.
“Why did you do it?” Some time passes before Yifan registers his meaning. He purses his lips, nodding his head slightly with his eyes towards the ground.
“So that was the phone earlier.” Surprisingly, Xiumin finds some comfort in having Yifan know he knows. Worrying that his boss would catch him snooping around had been the second most stressful part of this. The first was that Xiumin would find something worth snooping for. The cat was out of the fucking bag, and instead of the fear he had been imagining would come, there was only anger.
“Answer the fucking question,” Xiumin spits out. Yifan is taken aback for a moment, his face full of warning.
“It’s not like I wanted to. I loved Am-“
Xiumin’s voice was hoarse, “Don’t say her name. You don’t say her fucking name. I swear to god I’ll fucking kill you- you don’t get to do that!” Yifan’s brows slowly come together, his expression guarded. “You killed our sister!” Xiumin just screams, jabbing his finger at Yifan and rising from his seat.
“Yeah- I did! Would you have preferred I have a stranger do it?! She was trying to hurt the House, Xiumin. I did it to protect us.”
“Fuck off! She was trying to save you from yourself! She must have seen you were about to step off a cliff and did what she thought would stop it. Snatching girls from Jung? There’s no way he hasn’t already asked to meet with the other branch heads. Jesus, Yifan, screwing with another man’s business?”
“Those girls came to me themselves!” Yifan rares up in defense of himself, surprised at how much Xiumin knows. “Besides, Jung is losing his touch- the timing couldn’t be better. This is a good move for the upper third. It’s not a secret we always had a mind to absorb more of the lower House, and the others have agreed to stand with us should problems arise.”
“This temporary alliance is going to end as soon as you annex Jung and whoever else chooses to back him. They won’t need you anymore once they’ve got their foot in the door!”
“They wouldn’t even have the opportunity if I hadn’t put my ass on the line. The whole lot of them are indebted to me, and they know it. My life is fucking insured.”
“Do you really think our people want to collaborate with someone who can’t even follow the rules? You know letting you live is not an option for them- not if they want any type of relationship with the lower branches. You’ve served your purpose, Yifan! You were foolish enough to start a scuffle, but you won’t be the one to end it. Amber is dead for no reason, and it’s your fault.”
Yifan scrubs at his face in frustration, and the next time he looks at Xiumin, his eyes are wet. “I have run this portion of the House since I was twenty years old. It was my leadership that kept us afloat when those motherfuckers took a giant shit on my father’s legacy and froze us out of our own niche. Don’t you remember what that was like, Xiumin? Scrounging around the smalltime for scraps with loan sharks like fucking rats! If there is a chance for me to win back our old territory- I’m going to take it!” He looks positively wild at this point, face flushed from the yelling he had lapsed into.
“You killed our sister so you could continue your obsession for revenge? Uncle would be embarrassed to see you like this! Jung isn’t the only one losing it.” Yifan’s breathing has evolved into heaving as he fights to step back from the threshold of rage. He speaks carefully with each exhale.
“You want to talk about revenge, Cop Killer?” Xiumin reels back from the desk, his legs hitting the chair behind him. The outline of the seatback dwarfs him. He is wide-eyed- keeps opening and closing his mouth like he has too many thoughts and they are all trying to leave through the doorway of his mouth at once. Maybe a solution to all of this will make it out first.
Excuses are easier to form.
“I believed you! You said he killed Amber!”
“And if he had? So what? Is Amber alive now? Did killing Yixing bring her back to us?! Would killing me bring her back you son of a bitch?!” Xiumin can only sit and stare. The nuances of pride: this too he must learn.
“So, don’t even try to come at me with that, Xiumin. Pretending like I’ve backed you into a corner. I have been making difficult decisions for years now- killing Amber was a necessary move. She could have disrupted our progress. Her selfishness was going to put us at risk.” Xiumin suddenly feels inexplicably tired. Why did he come here? To find out the truth and maybe turn over- give his boss and family up? Or, to find an excuse to drag Yifan- find himself a reason to scream: you’re a murderer! you made me a cop killer? Wasn’t it Yixing’s blood on Xiumin’s knife and under his fingernails? Did he really want Yifan’s blood there too?
“…Yifan,” He begins, Yifan staring unblinkingly at him, “Do you remember my first big fuck-up?” He continues without waiting for response, “Uncle ripped you a new one ‘cuz I ditched Amber.” His voice almost catches when he says her name. Yifan seems to sober slightly, glad for a break from the heaviness of the argument no matter how abrupt. He goes to retrieve his drink from the side table and drags a hand down his face.
“He hit me with his Audi,” Yifan says, and Xiumin laughs loud and full, feeling giddy all the sudden, “I don’t think I ever told you.”
“No- no you didn’t.” Xiumin watches Yifan smile softly to himself, and wonders for a second if he is strong enough to leave this all behind him- forgive his old friend his trespasses and maybe even himself for his own. Find his reason on the way. He looks out the window at the beginnings of sunset, the day steadily fading into a pale peach. Night will come soon and bring with it foul creatures too cowardly to face the sun.
Suddenly, Xiumin remembers his agreement with the cop. “Shit.”
___
“Delivery,” Joonmyeon mouths to the clerk in a booth near the front door. He had knocked on the glass and started pointing dramatically to the bag in his other hand as soon as she had looked up. “Duh-LIV-UH-Ree,” he mimes again, noticing the woman’s confused expression.
There is a ‘pop’ and then a disembodied voice is heard. “Sir, please use the intercom to speak.”
Joonmyeon steps back from the metal pane and examines the buttons before him. Which button is he supposed to press? “Sir, please press the largest black button to speak.” Oh! Joonmyeon nods enthusiastically with his mouth open and raises his hand to a button before saying, “I have a delivery for Xiumin Kim.”
The clerk furrows her brows and moves as if pressing a button at her station. “I’m sorry, Sir. Could you repeat that?” Joonmyeon repeats himself, peering at the woman for her approval. She still looks perplexed and rounds the counter of her booth, to open the door. “What is your-“ the end of her sentence goes unheard, Joonmyeon’s arms raised above his head in case he needs to hit her harder.
The lady is out cold though, so he tosses the bag to the ground, an echo sounding when a corner of the cinder block escapes and knocks against a giant vase. He halts all movement, and listens a while for the sound of feet approaching- maybe some workers had stayed late. He knows that was Yifan Wu entering earlier. No one comes rushing out, so he lifts the lady bridal-style and deposits her under a desk in the booth, rolling a pellet around his palm, and deliberating. He doesn’t need it.
He runs his eyes over the tiny televisions playing feed from security cams and is annoyed with himself. There are so many hallways- he should have just asked the clerk for directions. Joonmyeon turns to his side to check on his victim but finds only carpet beneath the adjacent desk. He scoots back in the rolling chair just as the knife comes down, his eyes wider than saucers when he sees the blade has broken the leather of the seat between his legs. He shrieks in terror, backhanding the clerk in a panic, and she hits the wall before falling to the floor.
The pellet is warm with kinetic energy against his palm, and he drops it on her back, a short seizure signaling the light has done its job. Woman or not- he had a job to do and could make no allowances. Let sexism be the undoing of some other jackass. He checks for people down the corridor on either side of the booth before turning back to the panel of televisions.
He stares for a moment before cursing aloud. “I forgot to ask for the fuckin’ directions.”
___
“What?” Yifan asks. Xiumin hadn’t realized he was speaking aloud.
“Huh? Ah, it’s nothing. I just remembered I have to meet someone.” He heads for the door but stops halfway and makes a slow walk back to Yifan’s desk. He picks up Amber’s bloody phone, waving it at the seated man before cradling it in his own hands. “Just gonna take this,” He says. Yifan nods.
“Yeah.” Xiumin is almost to the door when Yifan calls out to him. “Hey, what- why did you ask me about that thing earlier?” Xiumin blinks at him, having already made his decision.
“I don’t know. It just popped into my head I guess.” Yifan nods, his lips forming an O.
“Goodbye, Yifan.”
“See you later.” Xiumin shows him his back. No- you won’t. “You still need to kill that cop though. If he knows about Amber and Yixing…I’m not sorry for what I did.”
Xiumin doesn’t turn around, hand still on the doorknob. “I know.” It is time for him to leave. Let the dead lie with the dead.
___
Joonmyeon’s brain recognizes the orange hair a second after he’s already brought his hand up in a panic and stabbing the person in front of him is the decided objective. Judging by how highly strung he’s been during this entire little expedition into a mostly empty building- the amount of time he’s spent behind a desk has turned damaging. This hypothesis earns the title of theory when he feels a foot land square on his chest. Xiumin has got some serious thigh strength.
“What the hell are you trying to pull?!” Joonmyeon lifts his head off the floor and peers down the length of his body to where Xiumin is raging near his feet. A pounding is flowering from where his head hit the ground.
“I usually focus on upper body, like. Work on my core.” Xiumin shoots him a thoroughly disgusted look and walks by him, snatching up the knife that had flown from Joonmyeon’s hand.
“Xiumin,” A voice yells from inside the office, “Who is that?” Xiumin spins around at the sound, looking terrified.
“Joonmyeon!” He whisper calls, rushing back up the hallway. Joonmyeon pulls himself off the tile and frowns at him.
“You better start being nicer to me, or I’ll have you thrown in the slammer too.” He jerks back at a sudden pinch-like pain in his shoulder.
“No! Yifan!”
“This is what you were trying to say? Eye for an eye?” Yifan’s face darkens, and then a series of pops sound and Joonmyeon looks so still on the carpet.
Xiumin suddenly experiences a sensation he would usually regret succumbing to but welcomes now. The man before him is a cop killer. The man before him looks exactly like the person who killed his sister, and so Xiumin lets himself admire the delicious sheen of Claret staining Yifan’s lips- thinks of fruits that burst between teeth. The meat of a tomato, fibrous at first and then jellylike. He finds a knife in his hand with a blade far too long for peeling fruit but perfect for peeling still.
Yifan sees the shift in the other man’s expression, an unsettling smoothing of his face as the muscles there go slack. Yifan almost wants to laugh. He has always wondered how he would fare against this side of Xiumin. Here is his chance.
The knife in the other’s hand seems to come from nowhere, and Yifan prepares himself, internally rings the bell for the match to start.
___
“I almost don’t believe it was your tiny foot that squashed the scorpion,” Joonmyeon winks exaggeratedly, “There’s still an entire freakin’ hive though, and the fights for a new queen have gotten spicier since another block from the tower got knocked off last month. It’s why I couldn’t come visit…had to see who was trying to scream Jenga this early in the game…was some new landlords on the top floor of Chungcheong who are…”
Xiumin stares dully ahead, trying to imagine a world without Joonmyeon. There would be no need for Aspirin in that world. “Would you quit with that ridiculous code that you think no one can understand? You actually aren’t as clever as you imagine yourself to be.”
“Aw, Xiubaby don’t be like that,” The grin Joonmyeon makes when he sees Xiumin blush looks downright maniacal, “Uncle Kim just wants to be friends.” The man in the blue jumpsuit pastes a sneer onto his face.
“Call me that again, and I’ll introduce you to a couple of maggots,” He growls. Joonmyeon isn’t deterred.
“Why not? I know you like it- and I know you like being called dumpling too, “Joonmyeon waves at Xiumin with a slim black notebook, “It’s all in here. Yixing was freakier than I thought- I mean damn. This shit is juicy as hell! I was going to respect his privacy and all that, but I guess I’m a bigger asshole than I realized ‘cuz I totally read the whole thing in one sitting.” Xiumin rolled his eyes.
“You’re disgusting. I can’t believe you read a dead man’s diary. He’s probably turning in his grave.” Joonmyeon leans forward to whisper, all trace of amusement gone.
“And you fuckin’ put him there, right?” This sudden animosity again. Joonmyeon was so confusing. One moment he was acting like an annoying older brother, and in the next he would be winding back his arm to launch a metaphorical stone at Xiumin’s head.
“And you put me here, right? Why do you keep coming to see me, Joonmyeon?” He really wants to know this time. Is the cop so lacking in social skills that he can’t make a friend who doesn’t have to shit in a bucket? Or, is Joonmyeon someone to be wary of- a man unsatisfied with the five year sentence Xiumin was serving- a slap on the wrist for someone as guilty as him. And Xiumin felt guilty for it.
In the quiet of the night, he sometimes wonders if the two-faced cop had something to do with how few crimes he had been charged with and convicted of, but he doubts the notion more than he finds it believable. Maybe Joonmyeon likes being able to see the gradual decay of Xiumin’s dignity every month. Leaves the prison high on the knowledge he’s put away the human who killed his partner and friend.
“Why do you keep agreeing to see me, Xiumin?” The two men have a staring match. Joonmyeon doesn’t lose but he speaks first anyway. “Even if you didn’t love Yixing,” He begins, and Xiumin turns his head away disinterested with this topic, “I know he loved you. And…yeah, he was a fuck-up, but he was still my friend. I don’t know…I guess I feel like I should look after you or something. Like he would have wanted to.”
Xiumin scoffs, “You should be watching out for yourself- I know how to hold my own. I have been doing it for years.”
“I still want to be here for you though.” Joonmyeon seems to be embarrassed by his own words because he shakes his head with his eyes toward the sky. “I swear to god these diaries have infected my brain.” Xiumin raises a brow.
“Diaries?” Joonmyeon is thankful for the segway out of that weird and uncharacteristic dip into sappy waters, and hastens to answer.
“Yeah, hah, he’s got more- an entire box of ‘em in storage. Should I bring some next time and read you some of the entries? He had some ideas for your- you know- that thing. You still into that shit? It’s like a health thing, right?” Xiumin eyes the cop, unconvinced.
“So, you want to be my friend despite the fact that I killed your old partner?” Joonmyeon cracks the bones in his neck loudly, trying to expel the energy from what was probably a burst of anger. A long, quiet moment passes before he sighs.
“I knew what was in store for him the second I got the memo about my unit transfer. They’re a bunch of bastards up there- they weren’t going to look out for him like I did. And besides, he wasn’t even looking out for himself.” Joonmyeon absentmindedly rubs at a spot on his chest where Xiumin knows the skin is marred as a result of a difficult surgery. All of the bullets hadn’t passed completely through his abdomen, and his shirt must cover a body pockmarked with scars. Just looking at him he looks fine though. Way better now that he wears his hair short. Handsome. “I’m a piece of shit for letting him get so deep.”
“You’re not shit,” Xiumin surprises himself with the statement. He looks lost for a second, and in that moment, Joonmyeon decides to just say it.
“I’m glad you think so. You’re a good guy, Xiumin, I know that now. The kind of person I want around me. On my team.” Joonmyeon steels himself before finishing, “Let’s be partners.” The relative silence afterwards stretches a bit too long.
“…The fuck do you mean- I’m a convicted felon.” Joonmyeon clenches his jaw so hard he hears his jaw pop.
“The police hire former criminals as consultants, do they not? We need someone who was born and bred in the briar patch.”
“I actually cannot believe these words are actually coming out of your actual mouth,” Xiumin says slowly, looking nonplussed. He wants to say Joonmyeon is stupid for even suggesting it, but a part of him is receptive to the idea. Xiumin is alone fifteen hours of every day. That’s a lot of time to sit in a corner and think about what you’ve done. Think about how you might pay recompense.
“Just consider it- damn. Don’t act like it doesn’t sound like a good idea.”
“It doesn’t?” Xiumin offers, and Joonmyeon feels a muscle spasm over his eye. “I mean, say the other inmates didn’t just hear what you said, and I manage to survive these last two years here without getting a shank to the neck. There’s still a shitload of people outside of this prison who want to put a bullet in me. Or a knife. Several bullets and knives.”
“All the better! We can save on gas if the criminals come to us.” Xiumin draws back from the table looking exhausted.
“You really are a fucking idiot- aren’t you?” Joonmyeon tilts his head in agreement.
“You are absolutely correct. I am a giant idiot, and you are the genius. A consultant with field experience in criminal activity,” He hesitates, peering into the other’s eyes, “What better way for us to give back to those we’ve taken from?” Xiumin is shaking his head, but his smile is growing.
“Quit trying to read me, Joonmyeon.” A beat passes and then- “I’ll consider it,” He says lowly. The attempt at discretion is killed when Joonmyeon laughs out loud like he’s just heard the best joke of his entire life, completely ignoring the stares from the other tables’ occupants.
“It will be cool! We’ll be like the Korean Boondock Saints.” Xiumin chooses not to respond, and Joonmyeon takes his silence as permission to continue. “What should my code name be? We already know yours is definitely going to be Dumpling- that’s just a goddamned given.” Xiumin waves over a guard to take him back to his cell. He’s still got visit time left, but he’d rather spend those fifteen minutes far away from Joonmyeon.
“Dumpling, come in,” Joonmyeon says into an imaginary walkie talkie at his shoulder, “Dumpling, do you read me? The wasabi sauce is en route to the destination- I repeat: the wasabi sauce is coming in fast. Somebody’s ass is gonna get burned tonight.”
Xiumin shows Joonmyeon his back and fights the smile that springs unbidden to his face. Child. A consultant for the police? Him? It even sounded strange inside his head. Unfortunately, he would have another twenty-four months to get used to the idea. Hell no. Twenty-four more hours of Joonmyeon’s soft ass voice trying to convince Xiumin of his own goodness. He tries to picture that life and comes up with a vision of himself in a practical brown suit- the sun high in the sky as he walks into Joonmyeon’s precinct; but can’t tell if he likes what he sees.
Xiumin lays down as soon as the cuffs come off, his palms pillowing the back of his head as he relaxes atop a thin cotton mattress. Criminal or consultant- he still owes himself one full cup of Joonmyeon’s blood.
end.
a/n: I AM SO SORRY THIS IS LATEx9
…this is so fake…& i hope that randomass turn of the supernatural didn’t put you off your dinner- i just wanted to play around with prompt b’s use of the phrase: most dangerous. sorry about the lack of action. i tried to keep it simple. this is only my second completed story/the longest thing I’ve written to completion, so i hope it wasn’t too cheesy/tryhard (or that it at least gave you something to do while zoning out during lecture, you filthy tennisball). Come back next week when Joonmyeon performs a cover of Wu-Tang Clan’s “Ain’t no thang 2 f*ck wit” ft. light pellets.
Yifan has always been this tall, has always had to look down to speak with Xiumin, but suddenly he seems to loom in the doorway. Xiumin avoids the other man’s gaze while he tries to collect his thoughts.
“Lee called someone to notify me there was a fox in my garden,” Yifan walks further into his office, “I’d thought she meant you.”
“Where’d you go so early?” Xiumin asks from behind Yifan’s desk. Amber’s phone beeps from where it lays in the broken drawer, an alert its battery is critically low appearing on screen. Yifan pauses momentarily in his trip to the beverage table where he has apparently started exclusively keeping Claret.
“Meetings. The usual,” He answers casually. The thermo pitcher thuds heavily when he sets it back down, his cup filled almost to the brim with a dark maroon color. “You’ve been busy too, huh?” He says softly, “Some meetings of your own?” Xiumin only nods. He can hear Yifan approaching the desk and looks up, surprised when the man settles on the sofa instead.
“You look good.” Xiumin blinks, unable to focus on the moment. Was this how Adam and Eve had felt after biting into that apple? Had it tasted this bitter? The truth weighs too heavily upon his shoulders for him to just run and hide. His eyes are open now, and Xiumin stands atop this strange new level of awareness and sees Yifan for what he really is- a snake.
“Tell me why you want to see the cop.” Xiumin realizes belatedly that he is the one who said it.
Yifan is still talking, “That why you’re here alone? Rather give orders than take them?” Xiumin bites his lip into his mouth as he steadies his voice.
“Why did you do it?” Some time passes before Yifan registers his meaning. He purses his lips, nodding his head slightly with his eyes towards the ground.
“So that was the phone earlier.” Surprisingly, Xiumin finds some comfort in having Yifan know he knows. Worrying that his boss would catch him snooping around had been the second most stressful part of this. The first was that Xiumin would find something worth snooping for. The cat was out of the fucking bag, and instead of the fear he had been imagining would come, there was only anger.
“Answer the fucking question,” Xiumin spits out. Yifan is taken aback for a moment, his face full of warning.
“It’s not like I wanted to. I loved Am-“
Xiumin’s voice was hoarse, “Don’t say her name. You don’t say her fucking name. I swear to god I’ll fucking kill you- you don’t get to do that!” Yifan’s brows slowly come together, his expression guarded. “You killed our sister!” Xiumin just screams, jabbing his finger at Yifan and rising from his seat.
“Yeah- I did! Would you have preferred I have a stranger do it?! She was trying to hurt the House, Xiumin. I did it to protect us.”
“Fuck off! She was trying to save you from yourself! She must have seen you were about to step off a cliff and did what she thought would stop it. Snatching girls from Jung? There’s no way he hasn’t already asked to meet with the other branch heads. Jesus, Yifan, screwing with another man’s business?”
“Those girls came to me themselves!” Yifan rares up in defense of himself, surprised at how much Xiumin knows. “Besides, Jung is losing his touch- the timing couldn’t be better. This is a good move for the upper third. It’s not a secret we always had a mind to absorb more of the lower House, and the others have agreed to stand with us should problems arise.”
“This temporary alliance is going to end as soon as you annex Jung and whoever else chooses to back him. They won’t need you anymore once they’ve got their foot in the door!”
“They wouldn’t even have the opportunity if I hadn’t put my ass on the line. The whole lot of them are indebted to me, and they know it. My life is fucking insured.”
“Do you really think our people want to collaborate with someone who can’t even follow the rules? You know letting you live is not an option for them- not if they want any type of relationship with the lower branches. You’ve served your purpose, Yifan! You were foolish enough to start a scuffle, but you won’t be the one to end it. Amber is dead for no reason, and it’s your fault.”
Yifan scrubs at his face in frustration, and the next time he looks at Xiumin, his eyes are wet. “I have run this portion of the House since I was twenty years old. It was my leadership that kept us afloat when those motherfuckers took a giant shit on my father’s legacy and froze us out of our own niche. Don’t you remember what that was like, Xiumin? Scrounging around the smalltime for scraps with loan sharks like fucking rats! If there is a chance for me to win back our old territory- I’m going to take it!” He looks positively wild at this point, face flushed from the yelling he had lapsed into.
“You killed our sister so you could continue your obsession for revenge? Uncle would be embarrassed to see you like this! Jung isn’t the only one losing it.” Yifan’s breathing has evolved into heaving as he fights to step back from the threshold of rage. He speaks carefully with each exhale.
“You want to talk about revenge, Cop Killer?” Xiumin reels back from the desk, his legs hitting the chair behind him. The outline of the seatback dwarfs him. He is wide-eyed- keeps opening and closing his mouth like he has too many thoughts and they are all trying to leave through the doorway of his mouth at once. Maybe a solution to all of this will make it out first.
Excuses are easier to form.
“I believed you! You said he killed Amber!”
“And if he had? So what? Is Amber alive now? Did killing Yixing bring her back to us?! Would killing me bring her back you son of a bitch?!” Xiumin can only sit and stare. The nuances of pride: this too he must learn.
“So, don’t even try to come at me with that, Xiumin. Pretending like I’ve backed you into a corner. I have been making difficult decisions for years now- killing Amber was a necessary move. She could have disrupted our progress. Her selfishness was going to put us at risk.” Xiumin suddenly feels inexplicably tired. Why did he come here? To find out the truth and maybe turn over- give his boss and family up? Or, to find an excuse to drag Yifan- find himself a reason to scream: you’re a murderer! you made me a cop killer? Wasn’t it Yixing’s blood on Xiumin’s knife and under his fingernails? Did he really want Yifan’s blood there too?
“…Yifan,” He begins, Yifan staring unblinkingly at him, “Do you remember my first big fuck-up?” He continues without waiting for response, “Uncle ripped you a new one ‘cuz I ditched Amber.” His voice almost catches when he says her name. Yifan seems to sober slightly, glad for a break from the heaviness of the argument no matter how abrupt. He goes to retrieve his drink from the side table and drags a hand down his face.
“He hit me with his Audi,” Yifan says, and Xiumin laughs loud and full, feeling giddy all the sudden, “I don’t think I ever told you.”
“No- no you didn’t.” Xiumin watches Yifan smile softly to himself, and wonders for a second if he is strong enough to leave this all behind him- forgive his old friend his trespasses and maybe even himself for his own. Find his reason on the way. He looks out the window at the beginnings of sunset, the day steadily fading into a pale peach. Night will come soon and bring with it foul creatures too cowardly to face the sun.
Suddenly, Xiumin remembers his agreement with the cop. “Shit.”
___
“Delivery,” Joonmyeon mouths to the clerk in a booth near the front door. He had knocked on the glass and started pointing dramatically to the bag in his other hand as soon as she had looked up. “Duh-LIV-UH-Ree,” he mimes again, noticing the woman’s confused expression.
There is a ‘pop’ and then a disembodied voice is heard. “Sir, please use the intercom to speak.”
Joonmyeon steps back from the metal pane and examines the buttons before him. Which button is he supposed to press? “Sir, please press the largest black button to speak.” Oh! Joonmyeon nods enthusiastically with his mouth open and raises his hand to a button before saying, “I have a delivery for Xiumin Kim.”
The clerk furrows her brows and moves as if pressing a button at her station. “I’m sorry, Sir. Could you repeat that?” Joonmyeon repeats himself, peering at the woman for her approval. She still looks perplexed and rounds the counter of her booth, to open the door. “What is your-“ the end of her sentence goes unheard, Joonmyeon’s arms raised above his head in case he needs to hit her harder.
The lady is out cold though, so he tosses the bag to the ground, an echo sounding when a corner of the cinder block escapes and knocks against a giant vase. He halts all movement, and listens a while for the sound of feet approaching- maybe some workers had stayed late. He knows that was Yifan Wu entering earlier. No one comes rushing out, so he lifts the lady bridal-style and deposits her under a desk in the booth, rolling a pellet around his palm, and deliberating. He doesn’t need it.
He runs his eyes over the tiny televisions playing feed from security cams and is annoyed with himself. There are so many hallways- he should have just asked the clerk for directions. Joonmyeon turns to his side to check on his victim but finds only carpet beneath the adjacent desk. He scoots back in the rolling chair just as the knife comes down, his eyes wider than saucers when he sees the blade has broken the leather of the seat between his legs. He shrieks in terror, backhanding the clerk in a panic, and she hits the wall before falling to the floor.
The pellet is warm with kinetic energy against his palm, and he drops it on her back, a short seizure signaling the light has done its job. Woman or not- he had a job to do and could make no allowances. Let sexism be the undoing of some other jackass. He checks for people down the corridor on either side of the booth before turning back to the panel of televisions.
He stares for a moment before cursing aloud. “I forgot to ask for the fuckin’ directions.”
___
“What?” Yifan asks. Xiumin hadn’t realized he was speaking aloud.
“Huh? Ah, it’s nothing. I just remembered I have to meet someone.” He heads for the door but stops halfway and makes a slow walk back to Yifan’s desk. He picks up Amber’s bloody phone, waving it at the seated man before cradling it in his own hands. “Just gonna take this,” He says. Yifan nods.
“Yeah.” Xiumin is almost to the door when Yifan calls out to him. “Hey, what- why did you ask me about that thing earlier?” Xiumin blinks at him, having already made his decision.
“I don’t know. It just popped into my head I guess.” Yifan nods, his lips forming an O.
“Goodbye, Yifan.”
“See you later.” Xiumin shows him his back. No- you won’t. “You still need to kill that cop though. If he knows about Amber and Yixing…I’m not sorry for what I did.”
Xiumin doesn’t turn around, hand still on the doorknob. “I know.” It is time for him to leave. Let the dead lie with the dead.
___
Joonmyeon’s brain recognizes the orange hair a second after he’s already brought his hand up in a panic and stabbing the person in front of him is the decided objective. Judging by how highly strung he’s been during this entire little expedition into a mostly empty building- the amount of time he’s spent behind a desk has turned damaging. This hypothesis earns the title of theory when he feels a foot land square on his chest. Xiumin has got some serious thigh strength.
“What the hell are you trying to pull?!” Joonmyeon lifts his head off the floor and peers down the length of his body to where Xiumin is raging near his feet. A pounding is flowering from where his head hit the ground.
“I usually focus on upper body, like. Work on my core.” Xiumin shoots him a thoroughly disgusted look and walks by him, snatching up the knife that had flown from Joonmyeon’s hand.
“Xiumin,” A voice yells from inside the office, “Who is that?” Xiumin spins around at the sound, looking terrified.
“Joonmyeon!” He whisper calls, rushing back up the hallway. Joonmyeon pulls himself off the tile and frowns at him.
“You better start being nicer to me, or I’ll have you thrown in the slammer too.” He jerks back at a sudden pinch-like pain in his shoulder.
“No! Yifan!”
“This is what you were trying to say? Eye for an eye?” Yifan’s face darkens, and then a series of pops sound and Joonmyeon looks so still on the carpet.
Xiumin suddenly experiences a sensation he would usually regret succumbing to but welcomes now. The man before him is a cop killer. The man before him looks exactly like the person who killed his sister, and so Xiumin lets himself admire the delicious sheen of Claret staining Yifan’s lips- thinks of fruits that burst between teeth. The meat of a tomato, fibrous at first and then jellylike. He finds a knife in his hand with a blade far too long for peeling fruit but perfect for peeling still.
Yifan sees the shift in the other man’s expression, an unsettling smoothing of his face as the muscles there go slack. Yifan almost wants to laugh. He has always wondered how he would fare against this side of Xiumin. Here is his chance.
The knife in the other’s hand seems to come from nowhere, and Yifan prepares himself, internally rings the bell for the match to start.
___
“I almost don’t believe it was your tiny foot that squashed the scorpion,” Joonmyeon winks exaggeratedly, “There’s still an entire freakin’ hive though, and the fights for a new queen have gotten spicier since another block from the tower got knocked off last month. It’s why I couldn’t come visit…had to see who was trying to scream Jenga this early in the game…was some new landlords on the top floor of Chungcheong who are…”
Xiumin stares dully ahead, trying to imagine a world without Joonmyeon. There would be no need for Aspirin in that world. “Would you quit with that ridiculous code that you think no one can understand? You actually aren’t as clever as you imagine yourself to be.”
“Aw, Xiubaby don’t be like that,” The grin Joonmyeon makes when he sees Xiumin blush looks downright maniacal, “Uncle Kim just wants to be friends.” The man in the blue jumpsuit pastes a sneer onto his face.
“Call me that again, and I’ll introduce you to a couple of maggots,” He growls. Joonmyeon isn’t deterred.
“Why not? I know you like it- and I know you like being called dumpling too, “Joonmyeon waves at Xiumin with a slim black notebook, “It’s all in here. Yixing was freakier than I thought- I mean damn. This shit is juicy as hell! I was going to respect his privacy and all that, but I guess I’m a bigger asshole than I realized ‘cuz I totally read the whole thing in one sitting.” Xiumin rolled his eyes.
“You’re disgusting. I can’t believe you read a dead man’s diary. He’s probably turning in his grave.” Joonmyeon leans forward to whisper, all trace of amusement gone.
“And you fuckin’ put him there, right?” This sudden animosity again. Joonmyeon was so confusing. One moment he was acting like an annoying older brother, and in the next he would be winding back his arm to launch a metaphorical stone at Xiumin’s head.
“And you put me here, right? Why do you keep coming to see me, Joonmyeon?” He really wants to know this time. Is the cop so lacking in social skills that he can’t make a friend who doesn’t have to shit in a bucket? Or, is Joonmyeon someone to be wary of- a man unsatisfied with the five year sentence Xiumin was serving- a slap on the wrist for someone as guilty as him. And Xiumin felt guilty for it.
In the quiet of the night, he sometimes wonders if the two-faced cop had something to do with how few crimes he had been charged with and convicted of, but he doubts the notion more than he finds it believable. Maybe Joonmyeon likes being able to see the gradual decay of Xiumin’s dignity every month. Leaves the prison high on the knowledge he’s put away the human who killed his partner and friend.
“Why do you keep agreeing to see me, Xiumin?” The two men have a staring match. Joonmyeon doesn’t lose but he speaks first anyway. “Even if you didn’t love Yixing,” He begins, and Xiumin turns his head away disinterested with this topic, “I know he loved you. And…yeah, he was a fuck-up, but he was still my friend. I don’t know…I guess I feel like I should look after you or something. Like he would have wanted to.”
Xiumin scoffs, “You should be watching out for yourself- I know how to hold my own. I have been doing it for years.”
“I still want to be here for you though.” Joonmyeon seems to be embarrassed by his own words because he shakes his head with his eyes toward the sky. “I swear to god these diaries have infected my brain.” Xiumin raises a brow.
“Diaries?” Joonmyeon is thankful for the segway out of that weird and uncharacteristic dip into sappy waters, and hastens to answer.
“Yeah, hah, he’s got more- an entire box of ‘em in storage. Should I bring some next time and read you some of the entries? He had some ideas for your- you know- that thing. You still into that shit? It’s like a health thing, right?” Xiumin eyes the cop, unconvinced.
“So, you want to be my friend despite the fact that I killed your old partner?” Joonmyeon cracks the bones in his neck loudly, trying to expel the energy from what was probably a burst of anger. A long, quiet moment passes before he sighs.
“I knew what was in store for him the second I got the memo about my unit transfer. They’re a bunch of bastards up there- they weren’t going to look out for him like I did. And besides, he wasn’t even looking out for himself.” Joonmyeon absentmindedly rubs at a spot on his chest where Xiumin knows the skin is marred as a result of a difficult surgery. All of the bullets hadn’t passed completely through his abdomen, and his shirt must cover a body pockmarked with scars. Just looking at him he looks fine though. Way better now that he wears his hair short. Handsome. “I’m a piece of shit for letting him get so deep.”
“You’re not shit,” Xiumin surprises himself with the statement. He looks lost for a second, and in that moment, Joonmyeon decides to just say it.
“I’m glad you think so. You’re a good guy, Xiumin, I know that now. The kind of person I want around me. On my team.” Joonmyeon steels himself before finishing, “Let’s be partners.” The relative silence afterwards stretches a bit too long.
“…The fuck do you mean- I’m a convicted felon.” Joonmyeon clenches his jaw so hard he hears his jaw pop.
“The police hire former criminals as consultants, do they not? We need someone who was born and bred in the briar patch.”
“I actually cannot believe these words are actually coming out of your actual mouth,” Xiumin says slowly, looking nonplussed. He wants to say Joonmyeon is stupid for even suggesting it, but a part of him is receptive to the idea. Xiumin is alone fifteen hours of every day. That’s a lot of time to sit in a corner and think about what you’ve done. Think about how you might pay recompense.
“Just consider it- damn. Don’t act like it doesn’t sound like a good idea.”
“It doesn’t?” Xiumin offers, and Joonmyeon feels a muscle spasm over his eye. “I mean, say the other inmates didn’t just hear what you said, and I manage to survive these last two years here without getting a shank to the neck. There’s still a shitload of people outside of this prison who want to put a bullet in me. Or a knife. Several bullets and knives.”
“All the better! We can save on gas if the criminals come to us.” Xiumin draws back from the table looking exhausted.
“You really are a fucking idiot- aren’t you?” Joonmyeon tilts his head in agreement.
“You are absolutely correct. I am a giant idiot, and you are the genius. A consultant with field experience in criminal activity,” He hesitates, peering into the other’s eyes, “What better way for us to give back to those we’ve taken from?” Xiumin is shaking his head, but his smile is growing.
“Quit trying to read me, Joonmyeon.” A beat passes and then- “I’ll consider it,” He says lowly. The attempt at discretion is killed when Joonmyeon laughs out loud like he’s just heard the best joke of his entire life, completely ignoring the stares from the other tables’ occupants.
“It will be cool! We’ll be like the Korean Boondock Saints.” Xiumin chooses not to respond, and Joonmyeon takes his silence as permission to continue. “What should my code name be? We already know yours is definitely going to be Dumpling- that’s just a goddamned given.” Xiumin waves over a guard to take him back to his cell. He’s still got visit time left, but he’d rather spend those fifteen minutes far away from Joonmyeon.
“Dumpling, come in,” Joonmyeon says into an imaginary walkie talkie at his shoulder, “Dumpling, do you read me? The wasabi sauce is en route to the destination- I repeat: the wasabi sauce is coming in fast. Somebody’s ass is gonna get burned tonight.”
Xiumin shows Joonmyeon his back and fights the smile that springs unbidden to his face. Child. A consultant for the police? Him? It even sounded strange inside his head. Unfortunately, he would have another twenty-four months to get used to the idea. Hell no. Twenty-four more hours of Joonmyeon’s soft ass voice trying to convince Xiumin of his own goodness. He tries to picture that life and comes up with a vision of himself in a practical brown suit- the sun high in the sky as he walks into Joonmyeon’s precinct; but can’t tell if he likes what he sees.
Xiumin lays down as soon as the cuffs come off, his palms pillowing the back of his head as he relaxes atop a thin cotton mattress. Criminal or consultant- he still owes himself one full cup of Joonmyeon’s blood.
end.
a/n: I AM SO SORRY THIS IS LATEx9
…this is so fake…& i hope that randomass turn of the supernatural didn’t put you off your dinner- i just wanted to play around with prompt b’s use of the phrase: most dangerous. sorry about the lack of action. i tried to keep it simple. this is only my second completed story/the longest thing I’ve written to completion, so i hope it wasn’t too cheesy/tryhard (or that it at least gave you something to do while zoning out during lecture, you filthy tennisball). Come back next week when Joonmyeon performs a cover of Wu-Tang Clan’s “Ain’t no thang 2 f*ck wit” ft. light pellets.