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Seungmin watches the fight unfold from behind a construction crane, jaw tight with irritation. Changbin has had a little trouble tonight, even though the first swing of his metal bat probably smashed the target’s knee caps. Seungmin hisses when the pathetic guy limps up anyway, slashing a knife wildly and making a tear through Changbin’s jacket.

It’s desperate. Embarrassing.

Changbin kicks him square in the chest and he stumbles to the ground. There’s a crack of the fucker’s skull when Changbin bludgeons him in the head this time. Instantly, his body crumples into the dirt where it belongs.

Seungmin walks further into the site as the dust settles, licking his teeth. Despite the struggle, it’s a clean kill, no blood, no mess. Internal hemorrhaging is lovely in that way. Changbin’s trained strength and weapon handling are also lovely in that way.

“I wonder what it feels like,” Seungmin muses, wandering closer. He kicks the guy’s arm where it’s an inch too close to Changbin’s boot.

“Getting hit by a bat?” Changbin mutters, brushing himself off. “It hurts, Seungmin-ah.”

“But if hyung’s the one doing it…,” he trails off, mostly talking to himself.

Changbin wraps an arm around his neck and pulls him into his chest, where his body is still warm-blooded from action. “You’re really a freak, aren’t you?”

Seungmin hums noncommittally into the fabric, breathing in the smell of his cologne and sweat before detangling himself. He sees Chan and Jisung approaching from their hidden spots throughout the site.

“All clear,” Jisung announces. “Let’s take this to the car?” He nods at the limp excuse for a human, whose skin is already blueing at their feet.

Seungmin surveys the ripped leather on Changbin’s jacket.

“No,” he says as Jisung’s eyebrows rise. “Burn it.”

Chan balks, even after enduring years of unpredictably vindictive commands.

“Client said they wanted the body though,” he tries.

“Don’t care,” Seungmin responds flatly. He makes his way to exit the construction site, to the car where Hyunjin is waiting as the getaway today. “Tell him there was an electrical fire or something. And upcharge them for another jacket too.”

Jisung whines, but takes the bottle of low-octane gasoline and matches out of his pockets anyway. There’s an earned crackle, then heat radiating behind Seungmin. He inhales smoke, tinged with the smell of flesh and better than any cigarette, once before leaving.

When they’re all back at the base, Seungmin’s eyeing the weapon wall, mind drifting as Chan discusses the mundane details of an upcoming hit request to finish off another government official who made off with a few million. He doesn’t get to use them as much now, more suited to calling the shots at a distance rather than killing in close range after his members joined. His gaze falls over the largest weapon, a staff that brims with the promise of electric shock. He gets to use it every once in a while since he’s still quite suited for torture, but it’s saved for only the most vile of targets. Not petty thieves, not corrupt lobbyists, not one-shot murderers.

Seungmin smiles to himself, all teeth. If he thought murder was that horrible of a crime, what would that make him?

No, some weapons, his torture methods, were all saved for the garbage, scum of the Earth, worse than the mud that got trapped between the indents of his shoes, more disgusting than–

“Are you listening?”

Seungmin is spacing out in what Jisung, both affectionately and fearfully, calls his killer fantasies.

“Yes.”

Hyunjin narrows his eyes at him. Seungmin glares right back, adding, “Ugly politician upset another. As if they’re not all depraved.”

Hyunjin sighs. “We’re on the next hit already. And we need everyone paying attention to this one.”

“He’s right,” Chan agrees, which makes Hyunjin preen and puff like a dove in his seat. Seungmin rolls his eyes as Chan continues.

“Cute Killer Lino. Long list of victims, though they’re all alleged. We haven’t been able to 100% confirm anything about the guy, other than that everyone who’s gone after him has basically disappeared since. Probably has a pulse on threats before they can get to him.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Seungmin says boredly.

“What’s our incentive then?” Jisung pipes up. His voice cracks only a little at the end.

“One billion won,” Changbin says, shuffling the papers. “I did some bargaining.”

Hyunjin claps his hands. “Can we get a new car? Something flashy?”

“Sure,” Seungmin yawns.

They go over more details, though it’s mostly pointless given how limited the information is. He’s likely male, slender frame, around 5’9. Half of the population is suspect.

Seungmin assigns Changbin and Hyunjin to take the previous target. Before Hyunjin can even ask, he tells him he can’t use the fire sword on something like this. He asks every time, as if his stiletto knives weren’t just as effective. Hyunjin – stealthy, sharp, and admirably practiced – could max any weapon’s potential, but Seungmin would rather take one of them in the eye than admit it out loud. And Changbin’s with him because of their indisputable chemistry; he’s grounding, consistent, especially when Hyunjin’s being temperamental.

He places everyone else on gathering “Cute Killer” intel for the rest of the week. He looks to Chan at the end, his eldest hyung, who nods in agreement and adds that they should maintain extra caution moving forward.

Seungmin is mostly content with a research week. He gets to live the majority of his life normally, make coffee in the mornings, watch dramas, play video games – without any guys coming in and out of his place in various states of minor injury. He lives in a high rise in the hub of downtown, where their operations stay camouflaged among chaos. He can watch the bottleneck of crowds and cars on the streets from the penthouse suite that overlooks it all, purchased with the blood money of a flawless tenth kill.

It’s late afternoon the next day when he ditches the stack of criminal reports on his desk to start a game of League. Unfortunately Hyunjin was rarely interested in PC games, and when he did play he kind of sucked, so Seungmin often ended up playing with people from a Discord server. Elixir915 chirps back in the chat that he’s down for a few rounds.

They do well for a while, until a typical bout of gaming rage overtakes him. Seungmin pushes his desk so his chair rolls back and decides he’s hungry anyway. His teammate, generally placid until they lost, continues spamming the chat enough to get himself banned again.

Seungmin ditches the pinging noises and heads to his kitchen, vaguely expecting the choices to be sparse. The last time Changbin opened his fridge, he said he didn’t know there was anything in the place more cold and empty than Seungmin.

To his credit, there’s nothing on the glass shelves other than some yogurt and energy drinks today, which means he’ll have to leave his game for a while longer.

Seungmin slips on a jacket, deliberately leaving a mask to hang on the coat rack even though Chan always urges him to put it on. Covering his face was unnecessary and stuffy. Anyone who has witnessed Seungmin in an incriminating position is dead anyway.

The walk to the grocery store is brisk, and Seungmin warms his palms together from the October evening before grabbing a cart handle. He pushes it inside, where yellow fluorescence and a Circle Top 50 hit immediately envelope him.

He makes his way down the aisle with meal kits, turning packages in his hands, evaluating how straightforward the preparation directions are. If Seungmin’s being honest with himself, using their work as an excuse for his lacking cooking ability had been beginning to take a toll. Changbin might be mostly content with sweet potato shakes and mildly seasoned chicken breast, but Seungmin misses home-cooked Korean meals extra during their downtime.

“How long have you been watching me?” he asks casually while scanning over the frozen options, feeling the stare of a stranger next to him. He’s not especially concerned, first because no one knows him, and second, nobody he actually has to worry about would be this blatant.

“Months?”

Seungmin turns towards the voice and finds the person in question smiling, close-lipped.

“Just kidding.”

“Okay.” Seungmin looks back to the freezer shelves and picks a bag of dumplings off the top row.

“You’re tall,” the guy muses, trailing behind Seungmin as he heads towards the pantry goods next.

Udon. Tteokbokki. Puffed snacks. He grabs them one by one and drops them into his cart. It’s not like Seungmin’s never been hit on. It just usually happened after 11 pm, in a bar where low lights and alcohol made people a lot more confident compared to what a shelf with discounted chestnuts could offer.

And as much as he and Hyunjin would tease each other about the guys who’d float up to them, Hyunjin has always been the first to wave people off for Seungmin. He isn’t quite used to handling it on his own.

The guy continues following him, past the packages with marbled cuts of meat, through the aisle with microwavable rice. Seungmin does his best to stay unbothered. He’s better suited to dealing with a different kind of weirdo, ones who made it appropriate and necessary to slash an artery open, puncture a lung until it deflated like a balloon.

By the time Seungmin approaches self-checkout, he slightly hesitates because of the guy’s lingering presence, given away by the subtle shift of his feet. He doubts anyone would notice.

But when he looks to check, the stranger’s smirking from where he’s still a half-step behind him.

Annoyingly enough, it’s attractive on him. Way too fitting with his feline eyes, the sharp slope of his nose.

“What’s your problem?” Seungmin asks finally, scanning his items. He sounds too snappy, like he’s lost whatever silent prowling game this guy decided to start.

“You didn’t even stop by the produce. You don’t want any vegetables with these?” The man moves closer, chest inches from brushing against Seungmin’s shoulder as he picks up the noodles.

Seungmin doesn’t deign the judgment with a response.

“Let me know if you ever want an actual meal. I’m Minho,” He scans the next item for him. “What’s your name, pretty?

“I’m Not Interested.” Seungmin pays for the groceries and the machine chimes, which means he’s another step closer to leaving this store and never coming back.

He isn’t quite sure how Minho snatches his credit card before he can put it away, in all but one smooth movement.

“Kim…Seungmin? Cute.” He hands him back the card. Seungmin glares. “See you around.”

Against his will, he does see Minho around. In the way after you recognize someone’s face, it’s suddenly like you can’t stop finding them. Waiting at a bus stop with a gym bag slung over his shoulder. Among the crowd at the closest metro while he’s heading to their base. Seungmin thinks their eyes might have met before he rushes onto a train. The uncharacteristically jerky movement causes the knives strapped to his thigh to dig in.

He sees Minho at the same supermarket the first week of November, exiting as Seungmin is about to enter. Minho looks surprised at first, before his expression predictably morphs into something cockier — one that he finds severely less palatable. The automatic doors stay stuck open on either side of Seungmin, where he’s decided to pause for some reason anyway.

Minho opens his mouth to speak after a few seconds, just as Seungmin gathers himself enough to push brusquely ahead.

“If you follow me, I’ll scream.”

Minho doesn’t try to go back inside with him, but Seungmin doesn’t think it could've been as bad as having to hear him laugh instead.

As he’s leaving a bar with Changbin one night, he spots Minho in line for hotteok at a food stall. Clad in a leather jacket, flanked by two blonde guys on either side of him, laughing softly.

He actually looks approachable then, someone Seungmin might want to know. They all seem tipsy and cold, puffs of breath leaving their mouths everytime they giggle. Minho puts his arms around their shoulders, and one of the blondes reaches for the other’s hands to toast them between his. Seungmin almost wishes he didn’t make a living off of murder. Maybe he'd want to pass this Minho, vulnerable and fond, his number. Maybe he’d want this Minho to know him.

Definitely, Seungmin would regret it the instant he’d get predictably smug about it. Before he can do anything rash, like kick his shin in, or worse, throw himself at him, Changbin’s tugging his head into the crook of his neck.

Seungmin’s stiff at first but relaxes into it, the fight leaving him for now. He lets Changbin turn them both and walk him towards home.

The remainder of the month is dimmer. The November wind turns bitter, and Seungmin chooses to walk an extra 15 minutes to the second nearest grocery store every time he wants a snack. The urge to sink his teeth into something delicious and convenient plagues him more than ever as Chan continues updating them on the growing list of Cute Killer murders.

None of them are any closer to identifying him than they were when they got the request. The client who put the hit out is getting snappier in their encrypted chats too, which only serves to worsen Seungmin’s mood.

His hands feel swollen and icy now, even deep in the pockets of his coat, a plastic bag digging into his wrist and knocking against his thigh irritatingly. He wants to be home, thawing, and see their bank account refresh with the deposit for Changbin and Hyunjin’s successful mission, the one and only highlight of his week.

He catches the streelights flicker on against the dulling sky just before he has to duck his head to avoid another blast of wind. He keeps his eyes trained on his shoes after that.

Ultimately, trading off his vision to protect his face worsens the walk. He could have sworn the street stretched empty for blocks, but he ends up crashing head-first into another body with a thud.

“Excuse me,” Seungmin mumbles, trying to sidestep the other figure.

“Hey, wait,” the voice says. Seungmin would keep walking, if not for the tug he feels on his sleeve. “Kim Seungmin.”

He halts, lifting his chin from his collar into the cold air, and meets the face he doesn’t want to admit has unsettled him since. The guy’s eyes are still really pretty.

Minho smiles knowingly, and it’s infuriating, because he really doesn’t know anything. Nothing but Seungmin’s name.

“What do you want,” Seungmin mutters, a statement more than it is a genuine question.

Minho reaches for the bag Seungmin’s holding, pulls it open and peers inside. When he glances back at Seungmin, his smile is marginally wider.

“It’s freezing. Come over, I’ll make us both curry.”

Seungmin scoffs. It hurts in his throat, raw and cold. “Why would I go to a stranger’s house?”

“Would you rather after we’ve had a few drinks? At a club before you let me bring you home? Because I can do that too.”

Seungmin doesn’t have an immediate response for that, especially considering he had done something similar a few months ago. He only wishes that he’d listen to Chan’s lectures on covering his face more.

Minho starts walking towards the pharmacy he was presumably on his way to, still carrying the bag containing Seungmin’s instant ramen packets. He follows him, in quiet defeat, then all the way to an apartment building that’s only a few streets from his own.

The wind continues, snapping at their exposed cheeks. Seungmin keeps his hands shoved in his pockets, reflexively turning a shock taser, thin like a pen, powerful enough to paralyze, in his fingers as they continue.

He doesn’t know what he expected when they arrive. But Minho’s place is normal, tidy, save for some cardboard boxes open across the carpet.

“Did you move in recently?” He shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the hook adjacent to Minho’s, slipping the weapon into his jeans instead with practiced subtlety.

“I’ve been here for a while, those are–,” Minho sinks down, scratching the chin of the orange cat that’s come up to greet him. “For Soonie.”

Minho goes to the kitchen and starts taking ingredients out of the fridge and pantry. Seungmin bends to pet Soonie a few times, letting her sniff his knuckles, before rising as well.

He feels silly for a moment then, wondering how he ended up in Minho’s home on a Tuesday and what he should be doing now. He hasn’t felt so out of place and awkward in a while. No one to kill, no one to keep watch for, no dead body to fight with Hyunjin about carrying out.

“Let me help,” he tries.

Minho turns around to give him a once over, and ends up looking more unimpressed.

“I don’t trust you with a knife,” he waves his hand dismissively, turning his attention back to the counter. “Go to the couch and look pretty.”

Seungmin laughs, and Soonie follows him curiously to his seat while Minho asks if he likes spicy food.

Usually, making conversations with strangers for more than a few minutes is futile for Seungmin. Annoying, at the very least. He can’t be honest about the majority of his life, never too open, and he’s always paranoid about a threat.

Yet, Minho’s questions don’t prod about anything he has to skirt around. They’re random, gentle even, carrying over the sound of chopping and stirring. Does he drink coffee? Yes. After 5 pm? Sometimes. How are his teeth so nice? Braces. Does he have many friends in the city? A few close ones. Though he’s pretty sure two of them are going to start hooking up, if they haven’t already.

“Oh?” He can hear Minho’s smile as they begin eating. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” Seungmin denies, too fast. He spoons some curry into his mouth, swallows before speaking again. “Not really. It can be difficult to find people who understand you. Those two…,” he pauses, thinking of Changbin and Hyunjin without mentioning their names. “They never really need to explain themselves to each other. That sounds nice.”

Minho nods, then tells him to try the pickled radish. It’s sharp and tangy, cutting through the rich curry.

They sit side by side at the table, where Seungmin continues eating so quickly that Minho asks if he knows that takeout exists, or if he’s always relying on his dismal cooking skills. Seungmin knows, he’d just like to control the number of deliveries to his place and any consistent contact. His hours don’t make it particularly easy to eat from restaurants either.

They do touch on the topic of work for a bit, discussing Seungmin’s seasoned lies about sports analytics, and Minho’s real life in dance. Seungmin remembers the way he deftly snatched his credit card the first day they met.

It also explains the span of his thigh muscle on the chair next to him. Seungmin has to consciously remind himself not to look down for too long. When Minho gets up to take their plates to the sink, their legs brush and he suppresses a shiver.

Seungmin stands and tries to nudge his way towards the faucet to help, but Minho maneuvers the dish away.

“Just tell me it was better than whatever you were going to have at home.”

“It was better,” he admits, standing with nothing to do again. His hands are limp on his sides, itching to grab something silver and pointed.

Over the sound of the water, Seungmin focuses his mind elsewhere, lets himself wonder if this is a date, or nothing more than a self-serving ego boost for Minho. Easily, Minho could conclude that proving a point to a guy he noticed in a grocery store was fun, but that he’s bored now. And Seungmin would go right back to his life, help finalize the murder of someone he’s decided will do more good being dead.

Minho dries his hands off on a towel.

“I’ll walk you home.”

“It’s okay, I have to make a couple calls anyway.” Seungmin has to head to their base.

He goes to put on his shoes, back towards the front door as he tightens the laces. When he rises, Minho is close again, watching him.

If this were a date, it was a good one. Minho cooked for him, listened attentively every time he spoke. Seungmin thinks about how soft his voice is when he isn’t trying to make fun of him and lets his eyes drop to his mouth.

“You look like a puppy that wants something,” Minho smirks, stepping further into his space.

Another part of Seungmin would like to tell him to fuck off and forget it. Why would he want anything from a guy who acts like he's won already, especially when Seungmin shows the slightest sign of nerves? Minho teases him without any idea of how much blood is on his hands, clueless that Seungmin could pick his bones out like he were a salmon filet if someone paid him enough.

Seungmin stares back at him, considering with a slight pout of his bottom lip.

“Oh, come on pup, all you have to do is ask. I made you dinner already, didn’t I?” A hand snakes up, falls into place on the wall next to Seungmin’s cheek.

Minho tilts his head to the side, gaze steady on Seungmin. He blinks and his eyes flash darker – maybe with desire, though somehow it feels more intense than that.

“Did you think I was gonna kiss you?”

“It’s not the craziest thing.” Seungmin is the craziest thing. “You tried to get my number. Would you rather have a couple of drinks and pick me up from a bar? Would it be easier for you then?”

Minho’s teeth glint when he smiles at him, slightly sneering this time.

“Maybe next time, if you’re good,” he says. Seungmin wants to slash his cheek, just a bit, mostly so he has an excuse to lick the blood off. “Plus, it’ll keep you coming back to me.”

He pushes his hand off the wall and leans back, far enough where Seungmin can no longer feel him exhale.

Seungmin leaves promptly after that, shaking his head annoyed, fingers tightening on the taser in his pocket that he wished he had a good enough reason to use.

When he gets to their base, the sprawling, renovated basement of Chan’s house, it’s well past 9 pm. He’s uncharacteristically late, delayed arrival further highlighted by Hyunjin’s raised eyebrows when he walks in, as well as Jisung’s presence already seated at the table. Chan and Changbin are completely engrossed in what he’s talking about, nodding as he speaks fervidly. Seungmin slumps into a seat on the couch.

Eyes bright, Jisung points to an image on the laptop between the four of them.

“It’s the same every time. Like they got bored halfway through, even though they already took care of security,” Jisung zooms in on a broken case where a pile of gemstones have spilled out. They’re huge, so high-clarity they still gleam on camera.

Apparently, they had been passed down through the previous aristocracy for centuries. Invaluable really. Probably should have been displayed in a museum rather than in a family mansion, in Seungmin’s opinion.

Either way, the heist must have taken at least months to plan. And yet, according to Jisung, more than half of the riches were left without a second look.

Changbin crosses his arms and sinks back on his chair. “Wasn’t there a suspected Cute Killer body the night before too? Does this guy ever get tired?”

“I bet he has a team too,” Jisung adds assuredly, closing the laptop. “He has to.”

“Wish they’d take out a couple of our targets,” Hyunjin mutters, leafing through a stack of papers.

It’s been increasingly difficult to keep up with hits lately. Seungmin hates to admit that the time they’ve been spending trying to uncover Cute Killer was finally taking its toll this month.

He watches as Hyunjin’s head rolls onto Changbin’s shoulder next to him. Changbin does the thing where he keeps talking, working overtime to seem focused on the discussion, like he isn’t melting into the touch right back.

“Any leads, Seungminnie?” Chan asks. He’s smiling, but there are sunken circles below his eyes. He knows the clients have been pushy, that Chan’s been handling their frustration with charm and promises that they all need to fulfill soon. For the sake of their hyung’s worsening insomnia, for their reputation too.

“Nothing,” Seungmin mutters, reaching for the weapon wall. He picks off a metal bat. “Jisungie, let's check out the place? Maybe there’s something else we can find out.”

Neither of them find anything of note that night, other than an empty diamond case that Jisung surmises might have some DNA – a hopeful notion more than anything. As much as Seungmin wants to deny it, they haven’t made any progress towards uncovering Cute Killer’s identity or any of his team members’ since they started.

The withstanding stress makes it easier to fall out of routine, go to bed late, eat too many salty snacks or skip meals altogether. It’s the only reason Seungmin keeps letting himself end up at Minho’s, indulging even a few times a week. It’s hard to resist, especially when Minho seems to text him every time he’s about to get lost in another dead end of a murder, when he cooks enough for two anyway. The choice is always Minho’s apartment, or playing Overwatch in between bites of frozen dumplings with a tension headache, and Seungmin decides he’s allowed to be cooked for in times like this.

He does keep it a secret from his team exactly how often he’s ending up in the same person’s apartment. Seungmin’s allowed to not think about work some nights.

So they keep having dinner, once lunch. Minho continues getting under his skin, teases him like he already knows him, stays keen on finding out what else will set Seungmin off and shooting metaphorical daggers.

None of it deters Seungmin from thinking about the veins branching throughout his forearms, or the line of his nose, the strong legs under the table that occasionally bump his own.

Minho tells him when there’s rice stuck to his cheek, even reaches out to pluck it off himself before putting it in his own mouth. Flirting, not flirting. Eating, always eating, occasionally takeout that Seungmin scrambles to pay for in order to make up for the other days. Minho never kisses him though, not even after letting his hand linger on Seungmin’s knee for the better part of an hour, trailing circles while Seungmin tries to remember why he was so annoyed at work in the first place.

He’s still using elaborate metaphors to discuss his day, but it becomes irritating to keep up a total wall. Even if he never drops their real names, he does talk about himself and his friends more openly.

It’s okay, because Seungmin keeps multiple weapons on him at all times and a clear, mental list of all the semi-personal information he’s mentioned. Where he grew up. What games he plays. What baseball team he likes. Seungmin just needs to keep talking because he likes the way Minho leans in to listen, how pretty his big eyes are that close – somehow even more when he blinks. He likes it too much to stop.

He could index and understand how attracted he is to Minho through his perfect features and clever jabbing, but it’s still a disservice. With every meeting, he knows more permanently that Minho is beautiful in a way that will always be partially inexplicable, in a way that demands to be sacrificed to in action rather than expressed in words. Seungmin’s delirious to feel him against his mouth, to be roughly taken apart and put back together by his capable hands, if the twisted, damp sheets he wakes up in are any indication of just how severely.

At the same time, he needs Minho to be the one to break first, some form of retribution for how he treats Seungmin like he has him in his palm.

Yet every night, after Minho’s washed the dishes and Seungmin’s watched suds bubble and disappear alongside him, Minho sends him off at the doorway with only a knowing smile.

“Oh come on Seungminnie, don’t give me that look,” Minho says. “Like I haven’t fed you yet or something.”

“It’s not about the food,” Seungmin continues frowning.

Minho rolls his eyes, playful. “Don’t puppies know how to beg by now? Just tell me what has you pouting like that.”

He has the audacity to step forward and brush his bangs.

“Use your words for me. Don't I deserve it?”

Seungmin ungracefully stuffs his face with popcorn at the movie theater where he’s supposed to be keeping watch today. He only wants to grind his teeth on a handful of kernels.

Seungmin made sure to stomp out of Minho’s apartment after that, fixing his hair in a huff. It’s similar to the way he exits the theater lobby now, heading towards one of the back entrances where Changbin and Hyunjin are in the shadows waiting for their target.

He leans against the brick wall outside, licking the artificial butter taste off his mouth.

“What are you doing here?” Hyunjin eventually hisses, slinking out from behind a corner. Changbin closely follows.

“It was boring inside,” Seungmin chews, “Wanna watch.”

“You’re gonna get us all caught, dumbass,” Hyunjin says, trying to swipe the bag from him, but Seungmin dodges. “At least give me some!”

“No. You said yesterday you’ve been ruining your meals with snacks.”

“You can’t just stand there and not share!”

“Jinnie-yah,” Changbin says lightly, at the same time Seungmin feels bile rise in his throat. Changbin tucks his head into Hyunjins neck and kisses behind his ear once. “It’s full of junk anyway.”

“Fuck this, I’m doing the kill too,” Seungmin says, taking a taser out of his pocket. ‘Hyunibinnie’ were proving that they could drive an already insane person insane.

Hyunjin steps away from his boyfriend, though it’s only to get in his face instead. “No the fuck you’re not, Min. I sharpened these all day. Go back inside.”

“Cuties, Hyunjin-ah, you can share,” Changbin chides. Seungmin wants to suffocate because it actually does make Hyunjin back down an inch.

“And where’s your usual composure Seungminnie? When’s the last time you got laid?” Changbin jokes, trying to smooth over the rising tension. It misses its mark entirely though, or maybe hits it dead on. Either way, Seungmin begins ranting fast and angry, and Hyunjin’s lashing right back.

Their target exits into the midst of it all, scans the three squabbling in their dark outfits, the flying silver weapons, and moves to take out a gun from his holster.

But Changbin is faster to grab his wrist, twisting it viciously before he can reach, just as Hyunjin launches a blade through his other palm. Seungmin eats a mouthful of popcorn, shoves the shockwave taser over his heart, and sends him somewhere between cardiac arrest and hell.

The figure crumples to the concrete unceremoniously. Somewhere, Jisung continues keeping the security cameras off.

When Hyunjin steps towards Seungmin again, he thinks he’s going back for another grab at his popcorn.

“Desperate,” he sniffs instead, just as Changbin’s pulling him away. “Jack off or something before you get here next time.”

Hyunjin apologizes profusely the same night, squishes his cheeks and calls him baby, even if they both know he wasn’t wrong.

Especially because the next few days, Seungmin is stupidly close to inviting Minho over to his own apartment and consequently reveal too much about his identity, all just to grandly treat him to instant ramen and stare at his face. He’s snappier at work, he goes to bed late, and he snoozes his alarm multiple times instead of waking up with the sun. The thought of Minho, what these meet-ups were, if Seungmin would ever receive another invite – it’s frustrating as it is distracting, a ball of twisted knots he can’t pull loose only by thinking.

He considers trying to stalk him at their grocery store. Wasn’t Minho the one who wanted him in the first place?

Seungmin is half-assedly surveying the empty case of diamonds for Cute Killer DNA, a PCR kit set up next to him, when the text finally arrives on Friday evening.

I bought steak

His back immediately straightens, every vertebrae clicking back into place as he reads it over an extra time to be sure.

On the surface, it looks like a banal update, a message as insignificant as the weather. But Seungmin recognizes an invitation from Minho when he sees one, even more after imagining the very thing for days.

He puts the phone back down resolutely, runs his fingers over the velvet dips of the case for exactly fifteen minutes before responding.

I’ll be home soon
🤍

Seungmin sends it off with a wide grin, knowing it’ll piss off Minho, but not quite enough to rescind his offer. Then he practically jumps from where he was sitting on the couch to get ready, the case falling to the carpet with a thud.

He’s standing outside Minho’s door just over an hour later, dressed better than usual. His pants are tight, hugging his legs in a way that has historically guaranteed that Hyunjin will hitch his own thigh over them at some point. His shirt is long sleeved, silky, and partially unbuttoned to show chest underneath. There’s a silver chain around his neck, his hair is styled off his forehead. Seungmin is especially excited, so he’s also slipped his prettiest knife in one pocket, and there’s a bag with a new cat toy hanging off of his wrist.

Minho opens the door and to Seungmin’s pleasure, pauses longer than usual to let his eyes sweep over his body.

Seungmin only needs to see his brow twitch once to start grinning and know things would work better in his favor tonight.

“No flowers to match the outfit?” Minho jokes eventually, as Seungmin brushes by him to head inside.

“I did you one better,” Seungmin says after he’s slipped off his shoes and Minho’s closed the door behind them. He happily spins around to present the bag. Minho peeks into it, and even rewards Seungmin with a faint, real smile before giving him a push towards the table.

Soonie actually ignores her fish toy after a few sniffs, but only to zigzag through Seungmin’s ankles during dinner, occasionally rubbing her cheek against the hem of his pants for a piece of steak. Seungmin obliges politely, and she licks his fingers with the rough pad of her tongue after.

He sits back up in the chair to find Minho watching. Seungmin cuts another piece of meat, leaving it on the fork this time.

“Jealous, hyung?” he asks, waving the steak in front of Minho's mouth. He turns away scrunching his nose before Seungmin can continue, which is fine. Seungmin eats the piece himself and chews unbothered. Minho could pretend to be unaffected all he wanted; Seungmin wouldn’t be backing down either way. No chance he was going to return to HQ empty-handed and slighted, snarling at Changbin and Hyunjin over nothing another night.

Instead of hovering by him while he washes both of their dishes, Seungmin moves to the couch and flatters him for the meal from there. Which is genuine. The food is always delicious.

“You’re making yourself comfortable,” Minho observes instead of responding to any of the compliments, turning off the faucet. Seungmin proceeds with moving his plans ahead in full-force.

“You know, usually, when people meet at this time of the night, it’s to hook up,” Seungmin says as Minho walks towards the other end of the couch. He regards him for a second, maybe contemplating kicking him out, but then he sits down – left knee six inches from Seungmin’s right.

“You didn’t seem like the type to enjoy that kind of pace.”

“Wow,” Seungmin exhales in faux-awe, “So you think about me then?”

Minho laughs at that. “More than you know, pretty.”

“So you should know what I’d enjoy,” Seungmin pushes, ignoring the way his heart jolts at the nickname. He lets a hand fall in the space between them, lets his nails drag against the fabric of the couch in light patterns.

When he looks back up, Minho’s gaze is sharper than he remembers. It makes him swallow.

“Do you hook up with a lot of people then, Seungmin?”

“Um,” he falters briefly, resisting looking down at his hand, “No. I’ve said before, I don't get close to many people.”

Minho’s shoulders visibly relax, dropping a half inch down. Seungmin almost doesn’t notice, too focused on the pretty corner of his that’s curling up, cocky and familiar.

“Are we close?” Minho asks, teasing.

“You should come closer,” Seungmin answers, far more serious. Far more desperate.

“You’re finally asking nicely?”

The remaining self-control inside Seungmin snaps with that, and he’s closing the distance between them quickly, straddling Minho’s lap before he can think otherwise. Minho looks surprised for a moment, and Seungmin can tell he’s taken back for once.

“Finally saying yes?” Seungmin asks, leaning his body forward.

Minho’s hands come up to his hip bones and rest there. He can feel the searing shape of each finger through his shirt.

“Sure,” Minho says, his grin glinting more than usual.

The hands on Seungmin’s hips tighten as Seungmin leans in, just brushing their lips together. Minho presses their mouths fully, kisses him finally, makes Seungmin let go of a sigh he’s been holding onto for too long.

Seungmin kisses back, wants to commit to memory how Minho’s soft lips slot and press against his.

He tastes warm, and Seungmin is only spurred further by the squeeze of Minho’s hands, gripping increasingly harder at his waist. They both need more.

Seungmin runs his tongue across his molars, then his canines. He tastes something like metal, polished and hard as rock, before backing off and letting Minho take control. He gives into his mouth, his tongue, the hands that unbutton his shirt further until his entire chest is exposed. Seungmin just keeps pressing closer, opens his lips wider, moans and gasps as Minho takes him. He feels Minho’s smile as he allows his body to unravel in his lap.

While Minho stays preoccupied, Seungmin smoothly unsheathes the nicest, silver blade he owns and brings it up to his throat.

Minho pulls back abruptly at the cool touch of it, Seungmin’s knife following the movement.

“What’s this?” Minho exhales. His lips and cheeks are dusty red.

“Playing dumb doesn’t suit you.” Seungmin licks his own mouth, tastes their shared spit. “It doesn’t suit either of us.”

Minho gives him a mild onceover. Maybe impressed, definitely still in control.

“Okay. So you figured out who I am, pup. Took you long enough.”

His fingers unfasten the last button of Seungmin’s shirt to leave him bare, even though the movement makes the knife dig deeper into his Adam’s apple. Minho doesn’t look at him scared as he should. Seungmin moves the knife to his forehead and swipes the blade across his temple.

The sides of Seungmin’s mouth pull up to match the dripping, red smile of the cut. He’s chased this answer for too long not to be happy.

“I could hurt you.”

Minho remains unfazed. He reaches towards his face with one hand and taps his thumb against his bottom lip thoughtfully.

“Sure, I know. You’re really scary aren’t you, Kim Seungmin?” He presses his thumb in. “Being a gang leader and all? Constantly on the hunt for me? Must be tiring.”

Seungmin moves the blade to hover by his throat again, more than ready to slit it. “I could take you out, even right now. You’re fine with that?”

“Doesn’t it sound boring otherwise? Fucking around with someone who isn’t capable of killing you.” He gazes at him challengingly, the most beautiful thing that has ever been under Seungmin.

Exactly, he thinks, unable to help himself from leaning back in.

“Glad you have standards,” Seungmin says against his mouth, sliding his tongue past Minho’s. He licks over the star-shaped gem on his canine again – one of a kind, drilled in and worn like a prize.

Seungmin sheathes the knife back into his pocket, so that he has two hands free to squeeze over Minho’s ass instead, listening to him make a soft hum of approval.

Minho’s lips move to his collarbone, biting hard enough to make Seungmin gasp, like he wants to make marks on his body as permanent as the diamonds embedded in his teeth, or at least to match the gash along his forehead. The blood from it stains Seungmin’s chest as he moves down, dribbles between his abs, sticky and red.

Then Minho’s hands slip below Seungmin’s legs and he’s standing up, taking Seungmin wrapped around him towards his room.

The shared transparency makes Seungmin feel deliciously closer to Minho, under his skin and right by a heart that knows how to spill blood just as well; it makes him feel powerful, one of the only people in the country to know his sought identity. Stupidly maybe, Seungmin trusts Minho with his life enough to pull him apart. Seungmin trusts him when he presses in, to split him open and make it hurt in the way he’s always craved. Seungmin believes he won’t stab him between his ribs when he closes his eyes and stretches after for minutes and minutes afterwards, satiated.

Still, instincts were harder to kill than people.

When the stars finally fade back into his eyelids, Seungmin rolls to hover over Minho’s naked chest with his blade and begins dragging it over his sternum. The sheets, smelling of sex, shift and stick over Seungmin’s back.

“Fake your death and work for me.”

Minho laughs, the rumble making his chest rise further into the knife.

“Can we split the reward? And then shut up the idiot who put the hit on me?”

Seungmin frowns. “I owe my friends a new car.”

“Pity," Minho sighs, "I’m sure you’ll make it up to me eventually though.” His cheeks are still flushed from exertion, forehead damp with both blood and sweat. His mouth is red from where he bit his own lip focused, after Seungmin had began crying out for more, hyung, more. He reaches for Seungmin’s hair now, runs his fingers through it.

“I know you have three knives under your pillow. And you’re stronger. Why aren’t you trying to kill me?” Seungmin asks. “Isn’t that what you were trying to do this whole time?”

“Why do you sound so disappointed? Want me to carve my initials into you as consolation?”

Seungmin clenches his teeth and feels way too seen for his liking, as it’s always been with Minho.

Yes. Yeah, I do. A voice in him chants betrayingly, I want it so badly. Can you please do that for me?

“If you try to pull anything, I have backup outside your door right now,” Seungmin manages instead.

He had pretended to silence his phone while they stripped out of their clothes, when really, he spent the five seconds sending off emergency code to his team. Then he chucked it aside, let Minho grab his face and kiss him like Seungmin wasn’t the only one who was starving this whole time.

“Those two? I’ve had Yongbok and Jeonginnie following them all month,” Minho’s laughing again. “I don’t know why anyone would try to kill you guys when flirting is so much easier. The blushy one is out cold from anesthetics and the squirrel boy is tied up at their place. Unharmed, of course. Our future coworkers and everything.”

Seungmin’s mouth slackens into silence, and the knuckles on his knife loosen for the first time in several years.

He should be moving a little faster to call Changbin, or to demand the location.

Instead the more he considers, the more he’s getting turned on at the fact that Minho’s always, always, been a step ahead of him. Watching Seungmin closer than he could have imagined, tapped into every move.

He realizes Minho can feel his interest, stiffening again against his thigh. Minho smirks immediately and pushes his leg up further, to hear Seungmin shakily breathe through his nose.

“Why,” he tries, resisting grinding down, “Why are you going with this so easily?” Minho arm snakes around his waist and drags him against his sweat-slicked thigh for a few, rough breaths.

When Seungmin shakes with a moan, low and whiny in his throat, Minho reaches his free hand behind him into his pillowcase, and uses the other to flip them both over in one, fluid movement.

Seungmin lands on his back with a soft thud, a dagger against his own throat now. His pulse ticks faster under the sharpened edge, eyes catching to the reflections of light dancing along the walls from the polish.

“Seungminnie, pretty,” he chides. “I kill losers who have more money than they need for fun.”

Minho hikes the blade up further, forcing Seungmin to lift his chin higher.

“I thought I’d have to get rid of you because you’d eventually stop me. I even moved here just to plan it out. All for you, pretty.” The blade slices in then, barely, and Seungmin wants to yell for more. “Turns out, you’re way more fun alive.”

“Hyung,” Seungmin pants, unable to stop himself. “H-hyung. Cut me, make me yours too.”

Minho obliges, slitting the skin below his jaw, just next to an artery that would bleed him dry.

“You’ve been mine,” he says, before throwing the knife to the floor, dipping to kiss the blood sliding down his neck, right up until Seungmin’s falling apart under him again.

When they get to the apartment unit where his friends are, the stranger who opens the door lights up immediately.

“It’s so nice to meet you in person,” he says, cheerful and polite despite the situation behind him. Chan looks dazed out of his mind, half-slumped on the carpet. Jisung looks a little too comfortable with his hands and feet tied though, chatting away with the other roommate. Vaguely, Seungmin recognizes them as the blondes he saw Minho out with one night.

“Hi,” Seungmin says flatly, trying to assess the state of his members.

“I’m Felix!” the guy in front of him chirps again. “Elixir915. And that’s Jeonginnie, INonTop.”

That gets Seungmin’s attention. These were the guys he’d been playing video games with this whole time? He catches Minho’s gaze and regrets it instantly, seeing the self-satisfaction already plastered on his face. The Pikachu bandaid on his forehead barely takes the edge off.

Seungmin goes to the floor and starts untying the ropes around Jisung’s hands. No one makes a move to stop him.

“Thanks dude. They’re on kinda tight, huh?” Jisung’s smiling in a way that sets something unpleasant unfurling in Seungmin’s stomach. Minho squats next to him to help untie his ankles.

Jeongin regards him snarkily from the corner. “I’ve always wanted to say this. You suck at healing, dude. Always hogging the med kits, and then you’re dying without a shotgun up front before any of us.” Felix giggles from where he’s helping Chan drink some water. “You seriously lead these guys? In real fights?”

Seungmin looks at him, stunned. Minho sighs too, but the sound is suspiciously fond.

“This kid’s a brat.”

“Noted,” Seungmin mutters, ego only slightly bruised from the scathing review of his gameplay. He brings his attention back to the last, impressively tied knot on Jisung’s wrist. “Changbin and Hyunjin will be here soon.”

Minho gives him a sidelong glance at that, eyebrows raising. They both know their arrival would make this five versus three. If Chan counted, at least.

It didn’t make sense to try to fight these guys and make enemies though, not when they were this skillful, clearly capable of besting them. Jisung’s skin is still pink as he shakes his hands out.

Seungmin thinks there’s enough incriminating evidence on both sides to keep all of them in check. They’ve all seen each other's faces, know the compromising details on each other’s histories. It would certainly be a while before either side could reveal more secrets or for any hidden agendas to come to light. But for now, Seungmin couldn’t quite let them keep running around freely either.

People could say Seungmin was being smart for keeping them on close watch. Or selfish for not taking more precaution. It doesn’t matter.

Seungmin does what he wants, burns bodies when he’s not supposed to, incurably hedonistic and far above trembling at the idea of consequences when he can stay prepared for them instead. Now, Seungmin wants to know Minho, and moreso, needs Minho to keep knowing every part of him.

If Minho did want to betray him ever, a fight sounded more interesting than anything. He wouldn’t mind having an excuse to rough up the Jeongin kid either.

“We’re getting rid of Cute Killer tonight,” Seungmin says with finality, catching the upturn of Minho’s lips he thinks of kissing a hundred times later. “Then, we’re hiring.”