The group of friends huddled up in the corner of the classroom. Behind the Kuromi Sticker girl, her earbuds planted in her ears while she drew idly in her notebook to pass the lunch period in Mr. Han’s room, the cluster of five friends were bundled up between themselves as they circled around a desk. A cult. Almost. With the manner they were all sitting, whisperings passing between them, the occasional glances they would sent to Mr. Han sitting at his desk, before returning to their conversations, whenever he stood up to walk by them to eavesdrop on their conversations and the talking abruptly stopped until he walked away. All he saw was the graded assignments from the other day laid out on the table anyway, so Mr. Han eventually gave up on trying to figure out what they were doing and returned to munching on his lunch.
Little did he know,
“No. I’m certain, the handwriting is different from Mr. Han. It’s neat!”
“Is it a girlfriend?”
His students were looking too deeply into his personal life again.
Their bleached blond friend nearly shouted in surprise, “He has a girlfriend?!”
Two of them whipped to him, quickly ushering him before Mr. Han would catch onto their conversation, “SHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!”
That’s right; Jisung was mistaken to think that none of his students would notice the handwriting on their graded assignments was different than his. More, he was mistaken to think that none of them would realize, make a big fuss of it, or think twice about whether or not he was the only one that graded the papers. How wrong he was. So, sorely, wrong. Turns out more students actually payed attention to the notes he left than he originally assumed, and the reactions ranged from staring with confusion at their papers, to then suspiciously looking at him, to the students spreading rumors at their lockers because Mr. Han wasn’t the one who wrote on their papers, that meant someone else was in his house! That meant someone else stayed with him! That meant… Mr. Han had secrets! What if he had an unknown sibling, or a significant other! Was he finally not single?!
Of course, Jisung didn’t know anything about the student’s activities. He hardly even knew who actually cared enough to read his annotations. Much less the investment some of his more favorite students had in their attempts to pry into his life outside of the high school. Rather, more importantly, he was too invested in his delicious lunch to be invested in what his students were sneaking around about during that brief break; A reheated container of chicken fettuccine he slaved over cooking up the night before, complete with chunks of squishy broccoli, sprinkles of pepper, a peach on the side, and the watermelon gummies Minho introduced to him waiting for him as his desert. So yummy…
“Maybe it’s that guy that’s been hanging around the school,” One of their friends leaned a little closer over the desk, digging farther into their impromptu discussion circle to theorize, “That one that usually waits for Mr. Han on the benches by the front gate? Is it his friend?”
Another one gasped, “Maybe they’re dating…! Because, that means, they go home together, andー”
“Mr. Han has a boyfriend?!” The blond one hissed again.
In front of them, Kuromi Sticker girl removed one of her earbuds to listen into the conversation the cluster of friends were having. The debate? Not that she particularly enjoyed the group chatting rather loudly behind her disrupting her music and her drawing, but they had an interesting point. Afterall, those were the hot topics for some of the students in Mr. Han’s literature class: Who was the mysterious man that came to see him and who did the unknown writing on the homework papers belong to? Didn’t it seem reasonable for them to assume the answer was the same for both questions? Still, she wanted to know too. And knowing that the teacher didn’t mine too terribly unlike some of the others, she simply called out to the teacher munching on his lunch as his desk loud enough for the group behind her to hear too, “Mr. Han, who’s the man who waits for you after school?”
“The man…? Oh, you’re talking about Minho? He’s an acquaintance of mine I met through my guitar playing, why?” Jisung snapped his attention off of shutting his emptied container that once held the delicious gold mine of his fettuccine, and onto the student. Rather, onto the students. Six beady pairs of curious eyes staring into his very soul, as if they were trying to see through a bluff or a lie their teacher was putting front. Slowly, he set the container down, and reached for the half-eaten bag of gummies. Moving as slowly as a sloth while those gazes clung to his slightest movement, “Why….? Why are you asking me about Minho? Why are you all staring like that?”
They never did say why they were asking him about Minho. Only silently returned back to their own tasks with a certain look on their faces he couldn’t quite pinpoint exactly. So he paid it no mind, returning back to munching on the last of the fluffy marshmallow gummies and preparing his laptop for his coming periods. Eager for the remainder of the work day to pass by him bit by bit, eager for the chance to go back home and laze around for the evening without anything pressing to attend to now, eager to sit on his couch with a big bowl of popcorn with a crappy horror movie he wouldn’t remember at the end of the night anyway.
Speaking of the “strange, mysterious man” that waited for Mr. Han outside of the school, on the ancient wooden benches underneath the shade of branching oaks across the way from the high school’s front gate, he did receive a text on his phone from the bounty hunter. Announcing to him he would be waiting for him on the benches once more, to touch base briefly. And sure enough, he held to that promise as Jisung idly shuffled out from the school’s front gate and spotted the familiar mop of hair sitting. Waiting for him. He had an unopened bag of shrimp crackers by his side and a slick-pitched black outfit. The talk of the school gates, too. Mysterious, unknown man that Jisung tapped on the shoulder, offering a smile down to him as the bounty hunter stood up to greet him with the snack presented for Jisung to take.
Gladly, he had snatched the bag from his hands, tearing into it without a second thought as they walked along a few of the side roads on the way to the local train station. Too many of his students were walking along the main roads, too many were taking the buses along the bustling streets, he would prefer not to get spotted too easily, and he would prefer to avoid any other conversations with his students about who Minho was, why he knew Minho, what Minho was doing there (Even if he knew the questions would come up eventually anyway). The weaving side roads tucked off to the side were a reprieve from the noise. A small break from it all, while he enjoyed munching on his shrimp chips, bumping side to side with Minho walking the pathway with him.
He shook the bag of crispy, crunchy shrimp chips up, jostling it a few times as he planned for the perfect, greasy chip to snatch from the bottom. Eyeing his target. Striking. He pinched the chip between his fingers, taking immense care not to smash the delicate snack. Instead of shoving the bit of heavenly taste into his mouth, he instead offered the perfect chip out to Minho, “Lobos… why does this Seo Changbin hit keep getting more complicated…”
“You said you’ve encountered them…?” The bounty hunter trailed his words off, the wordless question not needing to be said for him to understand. He plucked the chip from Jisung’s hand and shoved it in his mouth. Chewing away at the chip. But, that meant he was shifted ever so slightly toward Jisung’s direction. Allowing the hitman a moment to glance him and his outfit over; He looked good that afternoon, his black cargo pants, his black graphic t-shirt with a logo of a rock band Jisung didn’t know plastered across it, even if it was slightly chiller on that autumn day and Jisung had bundled his own self up in his bomber jacket, his boots, and…
“My boss, Seungmin, he accidentally killed their consigliere a few years back because he looked similar to another target. It happened in their casino-hotel, The Centurion, and it was a shitshow,” Jisung watched his stomach. On his gut, where the outline of his pistol and his knife tucked in their holsters would be. Perhaps it was because the t-shirt was oversized and overly loose on him, perhaps it was the manner he was walking, but the fabric was flat. A distinct lack of the weapons he always kept on him. Strange. He tried not to think anything of it, and instead went back to munching on his shrimp chips, “So we’re not on good terms with Lobos. But Seungmin might know where we can start to find Limbo, if he’s the one who kidnapped Seo. I’ll ask and text you what he says about the situation.”
Minho reached over. Swiping close enough to Jisung, he had to stop to not run into him, he had to hold his breath as he could detect that addicting scent of that sweet peppermint naturally radiating from his body. Inadvertently, not realizing that the bounty hunter was only after a chip. He snatched up a shrimp chip, and took a bite out of it, smoothly shifting himself to walk away from Jisung.
The faint wink he sent the hitman not going unnoticed, “I’ll be waiting for you, Firecracker.”
Jisung only scoffed at him as he flipped over his heel, and slipped away.
He took my fucking chip.
He wandered the blocks aimlessly until he finished up his bag of shrimp chips. Rolling up the garbage, he slipped it into a pocket of his backpack before turning the other way and heading toward the station. Earbud in one ear, the other one out to keep alert of his surroundings, he mindlessly wasted his seconds during his walk, on the trains, as he managed to snag a seat at his transfer to another line and plopped down with his head slumped against the steel bar next to his head, continuing where he left off in his current series he was unhealthily obsessed with. It was just getting good too, the end of the season type-drama ramping up in these last few episodes we was occupied with watching on his commute homebound. When he got back, he’d toss everything aside, take a warm shower, cook himself a steaming hot dinnerー
Only to have all of his his hopes and dreams eradicated in an instant. Crushed to particles of eroding dust when he pressed his hand down on his doorknob only to find his front door already unlocked. A pair of polished dress shoes kicked off chaotically in his doorway. A suit jacket and a tie that matched taking up a hook on his key rack (Why? He has a place for him to hang his jackets right next to the doorway too). His wishes to relax for once evaporating as he walked into the living room and spotted the only other nightmare fuel aside from ungraded assignments, the only other horror to him more terrifying than losing his rifle or breaking his ribs, the only other thing in this world that could cause his nose to scrunch and his lips to curl up with disgust aside from black mold. His mortal enemy.
Kim-fucking-Seungmin was in his house again. In HIS living room. Laying dramatically on HIS couch, his head thrown back on HIS decorative pillow and his forearm drapped over his forehead. Staring off at HIS cieling, not watching HIS TVー Wait, Seungmin wasn’t watching his TV? That’s unusual. His shoes weren’t on the coffee table either. He wasn’t playing on his phone too. That’s weird. Something’s not right.
With his fist clenching up around his backpack so he didn’t slug Seungmin instead, Jisung walked to the edge of his couch and leaned. Towering over Seungmin to spit venom at him, “Excuse me? Can I help you?”
“Yeah, actually, you can…” Seungmin isn’t arguing back and chucking insults at him right back. Not a good sign. Something serious must’ve happened. Plus, the informant just looked off; His entire work uniform was carelessly disheveled on him, the few buttons undone and the top of his collar exposing lines of ink stained into his skin in that familiar tattoo he always took care to cover up, his gaze seemed distant from a thought hovering elsewhere than Jisung’s house, he was stuck in that melodramatic position too, forearm drapped across his head, his hand loosely fiddling with itself as if a wad of gum was stuck to his fingers. Quietly shifting gears to match, Jisung slipped his backpack off and sat on the armrest. Listening to Seungmin as he lulled, “You’re good with dating.”
“Is that what you call it…?”
“You’re better than I am.”
The hitman’s head snapped over his shoulder at him, “What did you say?”
“That… you’re better than me?” Seungmin looked up from underneath his arm.
Jisung smirked at him, “I’m not hearing you that well, say it again. A little louder.”
The next thing he knew was a pillow slamming into his face.
“Shut your mouth, Han. This is serious,” Despire the statement, he couldn’t dismiss the snort of amusement from Seungmin and his own weak smile as he peeled the pillow from his face. Bundling it up inside of his arms as he watched the goofy smile on his boss’s features fall once again, dropping to a certain seriousness once again as he sat up from his horizontal recline, “What do you do, and this is all hypothetically speaking so don’t take it too seriouslyー What do you do if the person you’re interested in, shows up on your doorstep, bloody and bruised. Not quite blood and bruised, but, like they had been hit, they’re on the verge of tears, and you just… You’re not sure what to do to help them?”
So it was serious. He wasn’t just imagining that Seungmin’s behavior was out of the ordinary. He knew it. The shoes by his doorway where they’re supposed to be instead of on his coffee table should’ve been a dead giveaway. With the pillow still craddled into his chest, Jisung plopped onto the couch beside Seungmin to pry more, “Is this about Hyunjin?”
“Yeah,” Seungmin’s gaze shifted away. Then back to him. “Hypothetically.”
“Well, the hypothetical Hyunjin is a nervous person, you need to be very careful with him. Every interaction I’ve had with him, he strikes me as a skittish little kitten. But if he came to you before he went to anyone else, he probably feels there’s a certain level of safety to you that others don’t have, or a certain level of security that he thinks he can trust you with. In either of those cases, it’s not good. Keep your doors open to him. Keep letting him know if he needs someone, he can come to you,” Jisung tried to advise him. As best as he himself was able to, despite he himself thinking he wasn’t the most responsible or the best at relationships. More experienced, maybe. But, aside from those slight concerns, he couldn’t help but wonder about Hyunjin too, “Why did he come to you beaten up? Did he tell you what happened?”
“Not really. He tried to tell me he fell down his stairs. He later said it was hypothetical loan sharks.”
“Hypothetically, did you offer to pー”
“ーay the loan off? Yeah. But he said borrowing hypothetical money was why he was in that situation, so he refused,” His boss kicked his legs a few times, idly making movement with himself before he leaned back onto the couch and crossed his legs. Criss-cross. Were his joints still good enough to do that? That impressive. Jisung didn’t think his knees were still good, especially not after some of the shit he saw Seungmin doing to beat the crap out of people. But it was odd too. To see someone he had seen so frequently to be the untouchable, unbeatable Cygne; Become reduced to a vulnerable mess over a pretty man, “I think there’s something else to it, though. There’s just something weird about the way he acts sometimes. Being flinchy, or watching certain people carefully on our date, he offered to have sex with me to repay me for helping. That on its own is a lot to unpack, there’s a lot to that.”
“Keep checking in with him, hypothetically speaking, all you can do is make sure he knows he can come to you whenever he needs, for whatever he needs, until he’s ready to ask for help,” Jisung hummed the conclusion, watching Seungmin carefully as his boss absorbed in his words and considered them with serious judgement. Something he never does, by the way. This was a rarity. About as rare as genuine laughter from Jisung. In hopes to brighten their mood up ever so slightly, Jisung reached to grab the TV remote off of its home on the coffee table. Powering on cable TV instead of any streaming services as he slumped over and kicked his legs into Seungmin’s lap, “You never told me, how did your first date go?”
“Really well. I took him to an art museum, like you said. He loved it. Turns out he’s a big fan of traditional art, he used to paint as a hobby. And, then… We walked around for a while, got some pizza at a local restaurant he really liked, ordered a few drinks, talked, then I dropped him off his station. Wouldn’t let me drop him off at his apartment though,” His boss shot him a side eye. A subtle click of his tongue before he reached over and snatched the remote clear out of his hands. Already occupied with flipping rapidly through the channel guide to see it anything semi-tolerable was on, “We’re going out again this Sunday. It’s nice to have these kind of days. To be normal, for a change.”
Jisung nodded lightly in agreement. Normal. For a chance. As if either of them would be able to grasp onto a sense of normalcy for very long. He brushed it off. Simply laying back and allowing his boss to flip through the available shows.
Medical hospital drama? Next. Baseball tournament? Next. Home cooking channel with a pretty woman? Next.
The man was more indecisive than a high school girl deciding on her prom dress, detailed, concise, only searching for quality to not waste his time. The hitman whipped out his phone and squished himself further into his couch, reclining as deeply as he was physically able to into the plushy netting of the couch catching him. Allowing the sounds of the channels to blend together in the background as he searched for a dinner recipe for two people now, in the stillness of the air that didn’t need to be broken between them, in the comfortable presence of the mushroom nuisance of Kim-Fucking-Seungmin.
The channel surfing stopped. He finally glanced over, taking in the view of the video he landed on after his searching. A wide, open field, with circular rings marked out with low bar fences, a track? A track field with grass across the grounds chewed up to create distinct sections, lanes within their growth, and a large bleacher section with an awning that stretched over for the scattered audience to not be burned up by the dim sunlight. There didn’t seem to be anything happening at the moment, only announcers chatting over various views of the track as the camera panned over the arena. For track and field? Humans? What else would they be racing? But they kept showing colorful ribbons, wreaths too, the whole track seemingly waiting idly in preparation.
Then, even stranger, one of the announcers was being films interviewing someone in a stables? Horses behind them? What the hell was Seungmin watching on his TV? He clicked his phone off, attention at full concentration on the screen, “What are you watching?”
“Do you have eyes? It’s horse racing. There’s a track in downtown. There’s supposed to be some massive race there, in a few weeks. That’s what they’re talking about if you would shhhhhhhhhhh,” His boss hushed him, placing his finger over his lips for extra effect in his point. The hitman narrowed his eyes at him until he was scowling, jamming the heel of his foot into the other’s knee harshly to prove his displeasure with being rudely quieted. With another sneer passed between them, Seungmin slumped back once again onto the back pillows of his couch and informed, “Lot of open orders will be there that weekend, if you’re interested in picking up any work until you’ve found Seo.”
Another odd thing. Seungmin was never big on horse racing, was he watching the broadcast only to gain information for potential orders? Most likely, Jisung would guess. Not unless there was another reason beneath it all. Trying to uncover any other vague intentions, Jisung tried to interrogate him, “Were you planning to go too?”
“HELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL NAUH! That track is on the edge of Lobos territoryー Limbo territory. From what I’ve heard, he loves betting odds on horses,” Seungmin flipped onto the next channel, returning to his browsing for something decent to watch, “Maybe, he likes rigging it more. Can’t tell. Seems like anywhere there’s gambling, he’ll be somewhere behind the scenes. You could probably get in and out without too much trouble, but they’d cut my jugular as soon as I step foot into their territory.”
Returning back to his phone, Jisung hunted for a dinner recipe once more, “What does he even look like…? Limbo…”
“Not sure. He’s too new, and too secretive, unlike the last Don. I’ve heard things here and there but it’s always changing.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. He owns dogs, I know that. Last I heard, his hair was dyed blue-ish.”
Blue…
Jisung glanced once more at the television screen, flipping from channel to channel aimlessly in an undefined existence. Then returned to his phone. He found a good recipe for tonight.
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