[Super]Hot À† Minsung 06 ; Distance .ᐟˎˊ˗

Seungmin must be some sort of psychic, fortune teller, Seer, genius, or something.

The first day that passed by, an ordinary day who’s hours slipped away from him rapidly as the schools periods zoomed by. He went home without too many issues aside from needing to create his quiz questions once he settled down at his coffee table with his dinner, his current TV show binge playing through episodes in the background, and his laptop to finish up his work. He took a warm shower. Peeled the last of the muscle tape off now that the soreness had died down completely. Wiped the concealer off the fading bruises on his hands. Flopped into his bed without too much care about anything else in the world.

The second day that passed was more out of the normal routine than typical. These sort of, strange differences he typically wouldn’t have thought twice about before; The stabbing of eyes that watched his movements while he walked to the high school, a strange figure that he spotted through the window of his classroom lingering nearby the front gates before the person left, two of his freshman kids sprinted over when he was leaving the campus to ask if he would walk them to their bus stop a few blocks down. It wasn’t unusual for students to talk with him while they left, but the manner the two girls had been huddled together sent off an alarm in his mind. Did something they saw spook them? That stranger who had been lingering around the school? He walked with his kids to the stop, ensuring to keep a distance and to stay within eyesight of other people, checking the two girls had safely gotten onto their buses before he went off on his own way.

On the third day, when Jisung stepped foot outside of the main building, he noticed a few of the students crowded up. Clumped behind the pillar of the front gate as their eyes trained on a certain someone. Sitting on one of the city benches underneath the trees lining parallel the sidewalks leading up to the high school, on one of the seats on their side of the road, faced away from the high school behind him, while that figure was obvious to the students curiously staring at this sudden stranger. How relaxed he seemed, leg crossed over and arm propped up on the back of the bench while he played on his phone. Some strange tri-colored baseball jacket on, the collar in green, the body in cream, the sleeves in burnt orange, those same ripped blue jeans, his white shirt underneath, attracting too much attention from the student body for being something so normal.

What else was there for him to do? That man was obviously sitting there for a reason. Worming himself around the cluster of students, Jisung hesitantly approached the man sat on that bench as he looped his thumbs into the straps of his backpack. How did he even find where Jisung worked in such a short amount of time? Bounty hunters really were like bloodhounds when it came to tracking. To say that seeing the man sitting on that bench in broad daylight felt surreal would be an understatement, he’d rather liken it to the uncanniness of a horror movie or thriller film. Though he didn’t fit the movie killer stereotype; With the half squished carton of strawberry milk and nearly devoured chunk of melon bread sitting by his hip. Plus the same Doraemon keychain he had before clipper to the same spot on his jeans. Why Doraemon…?

When he reached that man’s side, he paused his mindlessly scrolling on his phone. Briefly glancing up to Jisung beside him, before he grabbed his load of melon bread and strawberry milk to move off to the side, making room for the teacher to join him as Minho set his phone down with a subtle smile tugging the corners of his lips up, “To be honest, when you said you were a teacher, I thought you were lying.”

“Want to see my student’s assignments too?” Jisung teased as he slumped down on the empty bench seat beside Minho. Keeping a healthy distance from the man, practically a stranger to him. Pulling his backpack in front of him to hug tightly to his chest, protecting what few contents were inside as if they were more precious to him than gold. The laptop, the assignments, the worksheets, like treasure to a wayward pirate stranded so far off in the oceans. He could hear his students gossiping from the front gates behind him, he was going to have a lot of questions to answer on Monday from his all too nosy kids who couldn’t kept their noses out of his personal life (Not that he minded, but what did it matter if he was single or not! He’s their teacher!)

“No, I don’t need to see their assignments, its not hard to believe you when there’s a pack of children watching you, whispering to each other ‘Mr. Han, who is that guy Mr. Han is talking to, Mr. Han’,” Minho just shook his head, that awfully pleasant smile maintaining on his lips as he reached down to his side and ripped a chunk of his melon bread off. Holding the fluffy piece of cloudy dough in offer over to Jisung, “I’m sorry by the way. I frightened two of your students yesterday. I was trying to find the nearest convenience store and they were walking ahead of me, when they looked back, they saw me, freaked out, turned and made a b-line back to the school. I think they thought I was following them. I wasn’t, I just wanted potato chips.”

He spared a glance back to the students by the gate. As Minho had said, the pack of children that were whispering to each other as they watched them talking lowly to one another on the bench. Like he said. He was going to get a lot of questions on Monday. From a lot of students. He’s sure there’d be a rumor or too cropping up sometime soon, especially if Minho showed up to the school at any point again. Hopefully not, though. So, to accept the bounty hunter’s offer of a peace treaty in the form of the melon bread chunk he was attempting to pass off, Jisung gingerly plucked the piece from his grip before pushing it into the corner of his cheeks, “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you, Sweetheart,” Minho hummed, a bit too casually for a stranger who most likely spent the majority of his day loitering around the high school. What was with the pet names anyway? Jisung wasn’t sure what the purpose of him using them were, nor did he seem to give any answers in his gestures. He ripped off his own chunk of melon bread, shoving it into his mouth before swallowing it down with a swig of his strawberry milk, speaking around the straw wedged in his lips, “I thought you had a motorcycle too? I didn’t see any around here, where is it?”

“I take the trains to work. The school sponsors my commuter pass and reimburses me for travel expenses, so it’s more economical for me to use my motorcycle outside of train operating hours,” Jisung hugged his arms tighter around his backpack as he watched the man tip his head back slightly and guzzle down the rest of his strawberry milk. This man had odd features; Sort of shaped, angular, and defined, but softened too, a dichotomy of two existences that shouldn’t have survived beside one another yet did so flawlessly. Each one defined by his motions as he drank up the last of drink, and Jisung was allowed the moment to ask him, “How did you find me?”

Minho set the emptied strawberry milk back down, “I’m good at finding people who need to be found.”

“You stalked me.”

“Staked out. Not stalking.”

“I’d think they’re the same.”

“Stalking is too personal. It’s so intimate, isn’t it?”

“Maybe? But I’m not familiar, I’ve never stalked someone.”

“Stalking is so, violent, and passionate, actions of emotions and seeking power in vulnerability, it’s disgusting. I just needed to know where I could find you, so it’s a stakeout. Nothing personal, only business,” Those words sounded so familiar falling onto his ears, he would’ve believed for a moment his thoughts were reflected on a mirror for him to see. An echo of his own heart and mind on display for him to gauge whether or not this stranger meant the words as truthfully as his own lips said them. Or a lie. He wasn’t sure, he couldn’t quite tell yet. Minho suddenly collected the trash from his bread and milk, bundling them up in his hands as he stood up from the bench, “Could we talk somewhere private? Where we won’t have a bunch of students watching us?

“I know a place we could talk,” Jisung sent a brief glance back to the students, before standing up from the bench as well. Slinging the backpack once more properly over his shoulders as the laptop slammed mercilessly into his spine. Again, that distance that filled the empty spaces stretched from one to another. A distance that said they didn’t know one another well. A distance between their bodies kept just outside of the width of their fingertips even if he attempted to stretch his hand out to grab him. A distance between their words, dancing around thoughts Jisung had as he locked into observing as much of the bounty hunter as he was able to correctly judge him. A distance within the bounty hunter’s eyes as he looked to Jisung in wait of an answer.

He was certain his hands would come to tremble if that gaze kept lingering over him, lingering past him to a distance he couldn’t see, something that was far beyond them both as if Minho was trying to connect a puzzle that hadn’t yet reached them. He was certain, his hands would tremble if he didn’t lock his thumbs around the shoulder straps. He was certain, if he didn’t look away from the rich hue of those eyes underneath the bright afternoon sunlight, he would be crumbling underneath his hand the same way the wrapper did.

As his eyes drifting away from Minho’s face, downward, he noticed an odd bump in his shirt. Where the hems laid disturbed. Catching, snagging gently on the corners of something that obstructed the fabric from laying smoothly against his gut. The outline of something hidden so well on his person, Jisung doubted anyone who had never seen those weapons before would ever notice what that ordinary person concealed against his stomach.

He has his pistol and knife with him.

Jisung glanced back up to Minho. Sending the bounty hunter his own version of a cordial smile before he pressed off to a new destination.

You don’t trust me.

Maybe, something within that thought, was comforting to him.

They didn’t make conversation as they walked together to the nearest station. They didn’t bother themselves with creating idle chatter, about the pleasant yet chilly weather of the autumn settling around them, about the local area that Minho had been curiously distracting himself with watching as while their steps fell in sync, about what sports were on the television last night and what team won. They didn’t bring themselves to fill the silence with useless words.

They didn’t grow closer to one another. Even when Minho stepped to the side to toss his garbage away in the nearest garbage can they could find, or when they climbed onto the next train headed westward, the bounty hunter stayed a few paces away from him as they stood adjacent to one another inside the train car. Though nearby, a barrier kept them from ever touching their hands or knees accidentally when the train swayed over the tracks at impressive speeds.

Them not breaking the bubble of apprehension kept suspended between them, was comforting. Not having to force himself to make light conversation about matters he didn’t truly care about, was comforting. A step outside of what he would consider normal, but comforting nonthele. There wasn’t a need to panic while they traveled that twenty minute walk from the station to the main shopping street to inconspicuous alleyways hidden between residential houses that echoed their footsteps back to their ears. Past theblue vending machines and the abandoned house that was surely haunted from by the looks of the decrepit outside, Minho made sure to stare at it for an increasingly long amount of time before they passed on. Onward toward a more active street for locals. Taking left. The location on the first floor of a four story building along that sidewalk, the apartment above the small shop with it’s lights turned off as usual.

The beef bowl shop.

Jisung quickly punched their orders into the little ticket machine by the doorway, grabbing up the little slips of paper before he led Minho inside to sit at a booth in the far back corner. Not that Minho really ordered. But it was Friday, Jisung was going to eat, that meant Minho had to eat too, and there was only one food that was acceptable to order at this shop on Fridays.

The bounty hunter reluctantly shuffled after him, Jisung watching from the corner of his eyes as he kept spinning his gaze around over the nearly empty interior of the beef bowl shop. A few customers. An older woman with a purple cardigan on, two middle school students doing their assignments over the table between them, the businessman sitting by himself, all knew the place through word of mouth rather than finding it’s presence online. A small, dainty little restaurant always sizzling with the smell of roasting meat inside, small but a pride. The bounty hunter kept his eyes focused on the others in the shop as he pressed him, “Uh…. So, Sweetheart, you think this place is… private?”

“See the chef? His name is Chan. He owns the place and he’s a friend of the person  who gives me hits, we come here all the time to talk business. He’ll stay quiet,” Jisung gestured over with his finger subtly to the man standing behind the bar area, busy hustling to fry up another customer’s order as the beef on the grill steamed up with frustration. Chan. A pretty unassuming and normal guy with simple passions. He liked cooking, so he opened a shop to cook for others. He looked ordinary, he acted ordinary, there wasn’t anything Seungmin or him found out of the norm about him. Just a guy. As Minho stared him down, Jisung propped his head up in his palm, “Anyway, he’s the only one we’d have to worry about, and he’s from Australia so his Korean isn’t that great. No one else cares enough about what’s happening around them to pay any attention to us.”

But Minho kept a skeptical eye trained on the poor man. His typical black shirt with the sleeves rolled back, gray striped apron splashed with a hundred different stains Jisung didn’t want to know the source of, brunette hair he kept trimmed to keep out of his face while he cooked, there truly wasn’t anything off about him. He seemed like a guy who loved to cook, he acted like a guy who loved to cook, he was a guy who loved to cook. The only reason he was friends with Seungmin was because the religiously spent hours at the shop just eating to his heart’s content after a long day at work. Therefore he didn’t mind. Therefore he didn’t pry when they were around. Still, Minho kept a strange suspicion about him as the chef served up the bowl to another customer before coming over to where they sat.

“Hey, Jisung, it’s good to see you again bro,” The chef, Chan, approached them in English. He spoke English to them rather than struggling through forming Korean sentences as he typically did when talking with the other customers, and Minho’s eyes widened by tenfold as he shrunk back into the seat. Almost trying to make himself smaller to hide from interacting with the chef as his features blended somewhere between amazement and shock staring up to him. Favor nor fortune was on his side when Chan simply turned to him too, a wide-tooth grin scrunching every bit of his face up as he greeted Minho with his thick Australian accent, “And that you brought a new friend with you!”

Jisung just offered up a fist to Chan that the older bumped with his own, that blinding grin that could brighten up even the ninth ring of hell laughing cheerfully as the teacher handed off the little ticket slips to Chan. Offering up the little English he knew from interacting with the Australian and Seungmin (Who often talked to each other in English even when he was around), “Thanks man, it’s good to see you too!”

As Chan walked away with their orders, Minho’s stunned eyes kept following him.

The bounty hunter twisting in his seat to hide behind the booth, yet peering around to stare the chef down as he returned back to cooking up two bowls.

Before Minho whipped back to Jisung.

“What did he say?”

“He’s glad we’re here, that’s all,” Jisung shrugged. His English wasn’t bad it just wasn’t the best. He knew how to have a basic conversation with Chan, if he focused and tried very very hard to understand what was being said, but he wasn’t as fluent at it as he admittedly may or should have tried to be. Still, he didn’t miss the sneaky pinch of interest that betrayed Minho. He brushed it off as it wasn’t anything too impressive to hover over for longer than necessary, instead opting to settle back into the seat that caught him as he wondered, “What was it that you wanted to talk to me about?”

With that question, Minho fell quiet. His hands laced together as his hands propped themselves up on the table. Where his gaze had fallen to trace lines between the folds of his fingers locked together as he admitted, “I want your help.”

Right. Jisung nodded, prompting him to continue. I already figured that’s what you want from me.

“I need to find that USB file and laptop. I need the information on it to finish my bounty,” Minho reiterated. The same as he did the previous times Jisung had seen him, he must’ve been pressed for finding the information if he kept bringing it up when they were together. He kept his gaze  casted downward as he seemed to be lost in his own thoughts, a sort of haziness to his unfocused eyes as they trailed hazardously over the interlocked skin of his fingers. He just seemed strange. And Jisung couldnt get a proper reading or feeling for what was happening in his features as he spoke, “I’m good at hunting people. But I got the impression this whole situation is more complicated than tracking a missing person down. I can fight, but it would be more reassuring if someone has my back. How good are you with that rifle?”

“I’m not dead or caught,” He uttered the response. Still, he couldn’t read his eyes away from Minho’s. No, he didn’t know what he was thinking, or quite what he was feeling in that moment, he couldn’t decipher the meaning behind the poker face and the rich mahogany hue of his irises that casted down, he couldn’t quite piece it together. Precisely what kept him continuing to be hooked on watching him. Exactly, to understand and know what those unknown eyes were attempting to convey, he was never able to look away. Only able to curiously wonder his own thoughts to be received, “How good at you at tracking?”

“I found you,” His gaze lifted from his hands, back to Jisung. Staring through him as the corner of his lips twitched in amusement, “A hitman, disguised as a teacher. Someone’s doing a good job of hiding you.”

We both want the same thing then. We both want to find Changbin for one reason or another, and our jobs won’t conflict with each other’s. He has a bounty on the information. I have an open order to hit him.

The teacher leaned back into the seat behind him.

Would that make us coworkers?

He folded his arms over his chest. Offering a swift nod and a friendly smile as he accepted, “Please take care of me.”

Minho offered a similar gesture back. Before his lips sunk down and he snapped to look at Chan, where the chef was still busy roasting up the last of the beef and garnishing their bowls with the classic fried egg and freshly grated ginger with green onion on top. Watching him for a beat more.

“Darling, you sure he doesn’t understand us?”

“I’m positive, why?”

“He keeps looking at me, I feel his eyes on me,” The bounty hunter grumbled underneath his breath. Though he quickly readjusted himself in the booth seat to face stiffly forward once more when he realized Chan was coming back to their seat. This time with a steaming hot tray of a delicious meal neatly cooked up for them both.

Minho went back to his previous posture. Reverting into the slouched, curled away, attempt at a hidden turtle shell to hide from the Australian’s overzealous nature, like a golden retriever if he had to equate his personality to anything. The scene like a golden retriever harassing a black cat that wanted nothing more than to be left alone. While Chan set down their beef bowls. Pardon, not beef bowls, their Mega Sized Friday Beef special bowls in front of them, the chef then tucked the serving tray underneath his arm as he flat-out faced Minho to tell him, “I’m glad Jisung brought his boyfriend here! You already know, bit he’s been looking pretty miserable lately, he needs something to bring back a… You know. Spark. He needs a spark to get him smiling like he used to.”

Jisung wasn’t about to translate anything Chan said. Only sent a slight scowl to the back of his head as he reached for one of the provided chopsticks and began shoveling the beef into his mouth. As always, such a heavenly flavor… An angel cooked up over a bed of a cloud… Chan had a way with food…

Meanwhile, Minho’s eyes went wide as he visibly panicked to respond, “I don’t… Eat… English.”

“Yeah, bro, I don’t either,” A hearty laugh escaped from Chan’s lips as he clapped a hand against Minho’s shoulder. The friendly greeting causing the bounty hunter to flinch underneath the sudden smack, and Jisung would be lying if he’d say he didn’t see his hand jerk toward the weapons on his stomach. Not used to stranger closeness. Not used to the warmth of a person he’d hardly known. Oblivious to the fact he came within inches of his life, Chan stepped away with a slight wave to them both, “Enjoy your dinners, and, hey, make sure Jisung doesn’t spill anything on his nice shirt again.”

When he left them, letting them be by their own devices, the tension on Minhos body gradually escaped from him. Allowing him to sit normally again as he reluctantly reached for his chopsticks to start picking apart his dinner. Slowly moving a few of the beef strips before puncturing the sunny side up egg at the top, “Are you usually that mad by the way? ‘Fucking asshole‘!”

“Not usually. Just to people who get in the way of my paycheck,” Jisung chewed way at his own bites of the bowl. Before he could swallow, already shoveling more rice and beef into his cheeks while he talked with his mouth full, “I need the money to enjoy small pleasures in life.”

The small pleasures in life. Like the Mega Sized Friday Beef Special Bowls from Chan’s shop. Hoping the massive amounts of food would put him into a digesting coma later on, so he could temporarily forget about his troubles.

Still, he’s never worked with someone else on the job before. Maybe working with a bounty hunter won’t be all that bad.

▄︻デ ══━一ᝰ.ᐟˎˊ˗

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