[Super]Hot À† Minsung 12 ; Dirty Money .ᐟˎˊ˗

Someone broke into his house.

If it wasn’t obvious when he came back from his grocery shopping and cafe crawl for the free wifi to do some of his lesson planning, the manner his door was left open despite him double checking the lock was firmly tightened, or by the lights left on in his kitchen, or the fridge warmed from the door not being closed,

Seungmin (The intruder, currently committing breaking and entering via the house key he stole from Jisung) was draped across his couch. Obnoxiously. His typically neat suit disheveled, jacket unbuttoned and the first few buttons of his button-up undone around his collarbones, tie and socks chucked somewhere else in the living room as if he owned the entire house. Perhaps he did have some right to it, it was because of Seungmin’s orders that Jisung earned the money to buy that house. Still, irritating. His dress shoes on his coffee table with the soles down. His leg kicked up on the backrest. A bag of potato chips on his stomach. Crunching away at his (Jisung’s) snacks while he scrolled on social media on his phone. What was he watching? Was he watching memes about the Seo Changbin situation at 11pm on a Saturday night? Isn’t that, sort of distasteful…?

The teacher sighed at the sight of the rat. No, there was another better word for him, an animal more alike Seungmin. Trashy. Eats everything. Doesn’t die. Like a cockroach. Seungmin was a cockroach and a mushroom to Jisung’s life. Storming up to where he claimed ownership of the house, he slung his backpack off, and mercilessly dropped the heavy weight right onto Seungmin’s chest. Ignoring the groan of protest he was given as he simply sat himself down on top of his boss’s leg and snatched the potato chips back (HIS bag of potato chips, now tainted by the other’s filthy hands. Damn it), “Why are you here.”

“To tell you how great my life is compared to yours. Hyunjin and I are going out on a date on Tuesday, I’m taking him out to dinner after his classes,” His boss snatched the backpack and chucked it over his head, laptop, binders of work, his copy of Brave New World, his phone, included as the pathetic lump thumped onto the carpeted floors lifelessly. The rude action followed by Seungmin lifting his unoccupied leg off the back of the couch to kick Jisung’s shoulder a few times. For sitting on him, and finally slipping off of his shin onto the cushy seats because it was too boney to sit comfortable. For taking “his” snacks away. For throwing his backpack down on him. For now snatching his phone away from his hands, Seungmin kicked his arm with his heel again as they chatted casually, “You know that big, five-star casino-hotel in the center of the cityー”

Chucking Seungmin’s work phone on the coffeetable in front of them, Jisung then jostled the bag of potato chips a few times to take one for himself, “The Centurion? I thought you didn’t like mixing with Lobos.”

“I don’t, Han. That whole mob is fucking C-R-A-Z-Y, no, not crazy, rabid. RABID! Don’t even get me started on that Don of theirs, talk about people who need to be put down, and, look, they hate me enough for accidentally killing their Consigliere, I’m not stupid enough to walk into their territoryー” Seungmin cut his own words off, stopping himself from raving any further into a conversation they’ve already participated in hundred of times before. Not like Jisung was a favorite of that mob either (he may or may not have been the reason Seungmin accidentally killed their Consilieger, but it didn’t matter if they stayed clear of that part of the city). Seungmin kicked him again, this time pushing Jisung a few times as he talked, “Id like to not get harassed and hunted down while I’m trying to impress Hyunjin. I’m not taking him there, I’m planning on taking him to the other, the big, with the restaurant on top….”

“What about that phone call?”

“He ended up picking it up after you left. Said it was a close friend of his, from university. He stepped outside to talk with him though. I’ll be cautious anyway.”

“But, you know… Hyunjin doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to like those sorts of things. Fancy, high-end restaurants. He might like something more low-key. Maybe… Flowers. An art museum. A calm, local restaurant. Take him to walk around a park,” Jisung hummed underneath his thoughts. Grabbing up a few of the salty chips to snack on before rolling up the rest of the family sized bag Seungmin nearly killed off by his lonesome. The hickey, Hyunjin being upset when Seungmin flexed his money to him, Friday at the beef bowl shop, how jumpy he was with Chan, how nervous he was being with the three of them, maybe it was better not to tread over rattlesnakes lying in wait, “He’s too nervous to enjoy something that gaudy. And a first date like that, he might think you’re treating him like an escort. Like you think he’ll sleep with you.”

Seungmin stopped kicking him, instead propping both of his legs up on the back of the couch as his body twisted uncomfortably, “Think so?”

“Yeah… I think, he’s someone you have to be gentle and slow with,” He gradually lifted himself up off the couch. The potato chips firmly in his hand. Popping in one crunchy snack at a time. The bag clutched in his other. He set the chip bag on the coffeetable, stamping the opening down with his left over coffee cup he forgot to wash that morning, before leaving both the chips and Seungmin unattended. Collecting his backpack up off the floor, checking nothing inside broke apart in the throw, lecturing the other as if he was the one above Seungmin. For once. Maybe he was. He did have more experience when it came to relationships, even if he had a history of seducing psychopaths and maniacs. He slung his backpack once more over his shoulder as he finished off his lesson, “I know you like flexing and showing off your wealth, but that’ll probably chase him away.”

But his boss only stared at him. Already distracted by something else as he twisted himself oddly to see Jisung disappearing  off, “Hang on, where are you going? Are you leaving? It’s a school night, I thought you’d have to stay and watch a bad horror movie with me?”

“Minho thinks he can find a trail. We’re going to a strip club tonight to see,” Jisung told as he left for the hallway and his bedroom.

Seungmin stopped him. Snatching up his arm before he could get too far.

“Say… It would be a shame…”

He dug in his jacket, finding his wallet to flip it open.

“if… You had to go alone…”

His boss pulled out a wad of cash. Folded between his fingers. Raising it up to Jisung.

“If you… Didn’t…. have a ride there and back because of the trains stopping…?”

Jisung scoffed. He snatched the bills from his hand, “You’re disgusting.”

His boss crooned his neck back against the armrest, shooting him a bitter smile in return, “You’re the one who takes the money.”

To set any puzzled doubts straight, Jisung hated strip clubs.

Nightclubs, raves, strip clubs, any activity in that category was a cesspool of STDs, drugs, and sweat waiting to happen. No room to move, little to no light to see, if he needed to defend himself there were limited options, strip clubs were the bane of his existence too; Gore pits where the worse of the worse went to gnash their teeth together and flash stacks of blood tainted money to impress one of their prey. A betting ring of foul, rabid dogs, barred fangs, silvery tongues. Yet the perfect place for information, wasn’t it? Between goers of the undercity that sat at VIP tables, wandering eyes that saught out secrets to sell off, the few who stumbled into territory unknown, as long as he didn’t have to interact, wouldn’t it be fine? If he kept to himself, and kept an eye on Minho searching for answers.

Speaking of the bounty hunter, he sent Jisung the location via text merely an hour or two before they had planned to meet. Some strip club called Wonderland (Huh. Cheesy name.) in a seedy part of the western city known for its popularity with university students due to the length of street purring alive in nightfall, dotted with neon signa of nightclubs, bars, and strip clubs, the perfect place for a few unsavory figures to find themselves lingering after dark. Best not to draw any attention to himself when in those locations.

Jisung made sure to keep himself covered up beneath a sweater and a jacket over top, hiding the taser Seungmin gifted him beneath along with his wallet. If only he could bring his rifle, his face mask, his hat, anything else to keep himself from being recognized…

Though not able to indulge in that liberty of anonymity in the undercity if he wanted to avoid suspicion toward himself. Reluctantly shuffling himself after Seungmin to his opulently fancy luxury Maserati, with his irritating custom paint job of sparkly midnight black, this man irked him by simply breathing and the manner in which he almost seemed excited to go with Jisung only stacked bricks up on his frustration. As if they were taking a vacation to an amusement park in the Bahamas, rather than driving on straits to the deepest pits of human lust and greed Jisung had ever had the misfortune of seeing. Something was seriously wrong with this man. Singing along to Brittney Spears without a care about the world in his car, while Jisung kept himself tucked up against the doorway to watch the city pass by beyond his closed windows. Trying to nurse the headache the other’s singing gave him.

For the first time since he became involved in the workings of the city’s infected underbelly, Jisung had never felt so glad to see a strip club in his lifetime. Much less the man waiting for them by his own unassuming vehicle in the parking lot, distracted with spinning his Doraemon keychain gently around his ring finger and unaware of the pair approaching where he was leaned on the driver’s door; His army green cargo pants hung loosely off of him, dwarfing him even more so than the oversized t-shirt drenching him with fabric, a typical look for a casual person, with dagger-like point to his eyes stabbing through all he saw to something beyond him, with a certain feline grace to his hands that spun his keychain without concern. Jisung was certain, if he reached his hands out and touched that man’s stomach, he would feel the outline of his pistol and his knife laying in wait below.

The grace of that man unraveling as he pressed himself up off his leaning spot, shifty eyes shifting across the parking lot before coming to land on Jisung. And, to Minho’s mind, the unknown man accompanying the hitman. Even if, judging by the movements of his eyes scanning over Seungmin, touching from his neatly combed hair to his yet-to-be fixed button up and suit jacket slumping off of his body loosely, to the double knot of his polished dress shoes scuffed on the sides, his haphazardly pushed up sleeve to show off his luxury brand watch Jisung wished he could’ve smacked off of his boss’s wrist. Even worse was the occasional glance he sent between him and Jisung as if attempting to piece together a jigsaw puzzle that didn’t exist.

Still, Seungmin casually strolled up to Minho. Offering out his hand in a friendly handshake as a simper came onto his lips, “Hey.”

“Hi?” Minho blinked at him, hesitantly taking up his hand.

“Don’t mind meー I’m here to see some tits. I won’t meddle with anything you’re doing, Minho,” Jisung’s boss shook their hands firmly. That typical gesture of his. Flash a smile. Give a handshake. Reach his hand out to pat Minho’s shoulder, even if the bounty hunter flinched to linger his hand over his pistol and blade only in case Seungmin meant him any harm. He wishes Minho would’ve stabbed him, even while knowing that meant he would be obligated to take out that man where he stood if so. Knowing well what that gesture from the bounty hunter meant, Seungmin simply kept his charming smile pulled on his lips and continued onward to the club, “I know the bounty hunting business is tough these days. I’m not interested where there’s no money for me.”

Jisung covered his face with a spare hand, burying himself away from the embarrassment until Hurricane Seungmin passed over them.

“Okay…?” The bounty hunter hissed underneath his breath as soon as Seungmin left them alone in the parking lot, already disappearing off to chat up the bouncers standing stationary by their posts at the door. His hands finally unoccupied long enough for him to slip his Doraemon keychain into it’s safe spot on his belt loop once more, “I feel like I just met a celebrity or something? Am I supposed to feel like that? Does he do that normally?”

“In a way, you could call him a celebrity. He’s infamous with the underbelly of the city, at least,” Offering his own answer of a shrug in return, Jisung pocketed his hands safely into his own slack pockets. Taking care to observe the others movements with vague caution; To the slouching of his shoulders in his usual hunched posture, to his fingers that hung idly by his sides with heavy lead, the lump in his shirt showing the pistol kept with him like an albatross slung around his neck, a typical elegance to Minho that Jisung yearned to peel apart layer by layer, if only to know how he saw the same world that Jisung did. With disgust? Regard? Revere it? Respect it? Jisung forced himself to stare elsewhere, anywhere aside from the man strolling beside him, “Long story. He’s really only interested in the club.”

“Yeah… Interesting character,” Minho commented, his eyes narrowing at the back of Seungmin’s head as they watched that asshole slip away into the club without much care for anyone else. Much less acknowledging Minho or Jisung stood awkwardly side by side in the asphalt field of a filled parking lot. What few wandering souls passed by them, proceeding on to enter through the guarded gateway to what they considered paradise, or others that stumbled off with arms slung around their friends as they lost a gamble to their humanity, the bitter smell of cigarettes and alcohol burning his nostrils numb.

The teacher just clicked his tongue, “Don’t let him hear any praise, he’s already insufferable.”

Bubbling up like carbon glitters in soda, a gentle laughter escaped Minho’s lips at the comment. Seemingly prepared to drop the topic instead of interrogating Jisung any longer on who or what that man truly was without much issue, the bounty hunter beside him simply widened his step to march off. The silent invitation of his invading glance, or the slight simper on the edge of his lips, on the edge of the look he spared to him spurring Jisung to follow close by his side. Though he hung behind him ever so slightly, keeping distant to watch the man’s slick movements, the relaxed manner of the breaths beneath his shirt, his fluid hands or the apparent slyness to his words when he spoke with the bouncers, Jisung watched him to keep a distance. That was all. He watched that beautiful man only to keep him outside of an arm’s reach.

These sorts of places really make me uncomfortable.

Cramped. Isolated. Darkened. Noisey. Too claustrophobic to move properly once they entered the main facility. Contained as if the nails had been driven into the wooden planks of their coffins, unable to have a glance of moonlight from the concrete walls reverberating the bass into his ears. Lightless, only neon that painted across the decorated floors, hazy indigo across the tables and seating indulgent in viewing a show, blazing magenta casted on the few standing at the high tops drinking their worried away, hot pinks that absorbed the faint smoke of cigarettes scalding his throat the longer he inhaled the scent and doused the floors in alcoholic lust. Obnoxiously voluminous songs without any direction, only beats, thumping, a senseless rhythm for the dancer on the stage near the front of the room to sway off to.

Invasive. Jisung kept his eyes glued to the floor, avoiding staring anywhere aside from his own personal bubble and the heel of Minho’s shoes in front of him. These places were always where the darkest went to writhe their limbs against one another.

Cruel. Jisung kept his hands fisted in his jacket pockets, idly picking at his hangnails as they found Seungmin once more, where his boss offered up to share the booth seat he had claimed. A larger, more exclusive booth set in a farther corner of the room away from the crowds. Raised slightly along with other occupied booths to provide a better view of the woman on stage.

Hedonistic. Jisung slid himself into the velvet padded booth. Keeping his gaze snapped onto the patterns of the glossy lacker on the mahogany table. On the set of alcohol shots on the table Seungmin must’ve ordered, the pungent bitterness of the shots strong enough for him to hold back a retch of his own. Blending unfavorably with the basket of french fries and chicken tenders Seungmin was occupied snacking on while he played on his phone. A glass of neat gin sitting posted beside him.

I just hope none of my student’s parents see or recognize me here.

Jisung tossed his head back and slammed down his first shot. Tequila? Damn it must’ve been cheap, the liquid burning his throat. Lying to himself by saying the shot was only to cover up the uncomfortable feeling stiffening his muscles up.

The only time he moved his eyes off of the table and the empty shot glass he held tentatively between his fingers, was to observe Minho. Where the bounty hunter chose not to sit, simply standing as he leaned his lower back into the side of the booth, close to where Jisung sat. Occupied by a familiar set of pictures he had sent Jisung earlier that day, a few profiles or social media posts of the researchers they were meant to be looking out for here. Only addressing anything else to watch the lights spill over Minho’s shadowed eyes, tensed up and narrowed with focus combing through the clumped audience or seats. The looseness in his jaw, or the lack of words on his lips, perhaps even the scent of mint that stained his mind when the bounty hunter leaned over the table to get a french fry for himself. Such a sweet, addictive smell for someone who appeared so cemented in themselves.

If Minho glanced at him from over his shoulder, slipping an inviting smile and a stare that shot through Jisung like a pointed silver-casted bullet, the teacher only returned his eyes to the empty glass. Trying to occupy himself by spinning a finger over the rim. Cold, wet, harsh on his fingertip, maybe he could’ve cut the print wide open on the lip of that shot glass if he sharped the edge enough. Yet so smooth, comforting, fitting perfectly against his touch, mirroring the reflection of a certain someone in the glass for him to entertain himself with in the passing seconds. His fit silhouette like an effigy of a marble statue, his casual demeanor like another unknown stranger passing by, his corners, his edges, he never lingered on the striper, yet his eyes searched the club thoroughly.

“Your eyes are wandering again, Han. Look ahead,” With Minho distracted elsewhere, Seungmin spoke up underneath the drone of the music to not be heard by anyone other than Jisung. As the hitman forced himself to glance across the way, his boss extended his hand to gesture out toward the stage. To the woman atop of it. To the pits of sinners and carnivores alike drooling on their own stacks of money. Where he could become one of them, one of the distant crowd he separated himself from in his mind. With those tauntings from Seungmin of vile sarcasm toward those masses, “Afterall, how often, will you be in such a place, with such beautiful men and women at your fingertips? All for a little cash.”

He danced his fingertip along the rim of the shot glass, eyeing his skin warping around the harsh lip as he shook his head, “It’s dirty money. I don’t enjoy it.”

“Your money is stained in blood. What’s the difference?”

“I didn’t earn it from despair.”

“No. You did it because you could,” His boss jeered as he ripped a piece of his chicken tender off, “I’d rather a desperate decision be made from necessity, not a hunger for meaninglessness.”

Jisung frowned at him. Watching as he stuffed the piece of chicken tender so far down his throat he might as well have been deep throating it, “You came for the chicken tenders and fries didn’t you.”

His boss raved around the food stuffed in his mouth, “Dude you think I give a fuck about strippers? It’s fucking 1am in this fuck ass city, no fucking restaurant is open right now, and no restaurant is going to have fuckin’ CHICKEN TENDERS and neat gin at this time, I can get drunk and eat chicken tenders, what a fuckin’ beauty of the creativity of humankind, chicken tenders, french fries, neat gin, good music, THIS is what modern society is meant for, this is what Rousseau meant when he was talking about creating the moral citizen, so we can make these places, and I can eat delicious chicken tenders at one in the morning, this is the only reason I ever come here is for their foodー”

Jisung turned his head away, sighing underneath Seungmin’s rant, “okay…”

This place is a crescent moon shape that faces one circular stage in the center. Bar off to the left, what might be a VIP section to the right of us, and this higher-end area we’re sitting in.

Instead focusing on his surroundings. Scanning over the inside of the strip club in the same manner Minho was occupied with doing.

There was a building above, an office building? The windows were large enough to see inside.

Avoiding glancing at the stage, to not invade on his own comfort.

Across the way is an apartment. I might be able to access the rooftop and keep a visual on the building above us. But inside of here, there’s no vantage points. It’s all close-quarters. I’m too far out of my element.

He turned his eyes back to the unfinished shots on the table.

I need to respond to my student’s emails when I get back…

Jisung sighed in irritation, grabbed up another filled shot glass, and downed it in one go.

Though ever so slightly too hasty in his movements, half of the shot inside of the glass sloshing out and spilling onto his hand regardless. Dousing him with? Whiskey? His hand reeked of whiskey. Another sigh slipping from him as he hurriedly snatched a few of the hand wipes to soak up the scattered droplets on the table. Leaving them there as Seungmin exchanged somewhat of an irritated glanced with him, he then slid outside of the booth. Reluctantly passing by Minho, onwards deeper into the cesspits, burying himself and his eyes lowered to the floors, to make his way across to the restrooms tucked behind some farther corner, down the length of a short hallway concealed by dimmed lights. To rinse himself off from the alcohol he spilled. To get that strong stench and the sticky feeling off of his fingers.

Not that the scent of the soap in the restroom was all that much better. Sort of bacterial, disinfectant stale, with a twinge of an artificial chemical that clung to his skin no matter how furiously he scrubbed away with. Though appreciative of the lack of noise, music muffled by the tile walls. Appreciative of the chance to breathe, even if the restroom wasn’t the cleanest he’d ever seen. Appreciative of the emptiness, no crowd to squish him or people to answer to. Slowly delaying the seconds he had there by dragging his movements out. Delaying washing his hands as much as possible to not return.

Reluctantly, shutting the faucet off and shaking his hands off. An empty roll of wipes and a broken air dryer on the wall, he wiped the rest of the water off on his pants. Finally opening the door of the restroom with his wrist and exiting.

Jisung nearly stepped into someone, a man with an expensive suit on hurrying down the hallway, “Sorー”

The stranger shoved their shoulder into his, harshly slamming him as they continued. Not bothering to stop or apologize to him.

Jisung watched him until he unlocked and retreated through a staff door.

He clicked his tongue, spitting out, “Asshole.”

The irritation evaporating from him as he pocketed his hands, and shifted to return to the other two.

Fuck it. I can’t do anything here anyway. I’m getting drunk.

▄︻デ  ══━一ᝰ.ᐟˎˊ˗