Chapter Text
The chicken sandwich in that fast food chain was Seonghwa’s favorite, but there was something special about the chicken sandwich in that particular branch, a medium sized corner store near a big university campus, always full during lunch hours on weekdays, but empty now, in the middle of a Wednesday afternoon mid-summer.
The bread was slightly sweet, the breaded chicken was salty and crispy and usually very tender inside. The dough they used to bread it was mixed with spices too which gave it layers of flavor, and a shy tingling to the tongue. The mayonnaise was one of those secret recipes, citric and fresh and fatty, and along with the mild kimchi it was almost perfect. The way to make it perfect was to ask for it without kimchi to go and then filling it with very spicy kimchi at home, which Seonghwa often did.
Their french fries were a hit or miss, sometimes perfectly crispy, on the verge of getting overdone, and sometimes sad and soggy as if they were mashed potatoes that had been shaped into sticks. Today they’re soggy, but with the way Seonghwa is inhaling his sandwich it doesn’t matter much.
The man sitting across from him watches with a mix of disgust and curiosity. He’d arrived right when Seonghwa had his first bite and well, it was a bit hard for Seonghwa to simply not have his mouth stuffed full with the sandwich when it kept existing right in front of him.
“So…” The man starts. He introduced himself as Hongjoong. Other people had introduced themselves with fake names before but Seonghwa believes he’s using his real name. It doesn’t matter. Either way, Hongjoong looks absolutely out of place in that restaurant, he has perfect posture and wears ironed clothes, which makes Seonghwa slightly more confident that he is not a cop, as he’s not particularly preoccupied with trivialities such as blending in. “Are you gonna tell me about the methods?”
But see, now, this is a problem. It’s a problem Seonghwa has had with all but one client — something about getting ready to die makes people absolutely refuse to speak using the codes Seonghwa asks them to.
“What hethods ?” His mouth is full, preventing him from perfectly sounding out every syllable, and now Seonghwa starts shoving the fries in his mouth, one by one, eating them like he’s a paper shredder working overtime.
Hongjoong takes in a deep breath as his eyes avert to the side, like he’s frustrated with the fact the man he’s trying to hire to commit a crime created safety measures to remain out of jail. Posh little guy with an attitude.
“What are the options?” He reformulates, now looking straight ahead, eyes following closely when Seonghwa grabs a new fry to take to his mouth. This one has a little black spot that Seonghwa eats around, leaving it on the corner of the tray.
“Don’t you wanna get something to eat?”
“I’m not hungry.”
He wants it to be quick, and it makes sense. But Seonghwa is in no hurry. He actually enjoys spending as much time as possible with his clients so he can have a better grasp on whether or not they’re in the right state of mind to make such a decision. With Hongjoong, knowing he can easily get on his nerves by stalling adds to the appeal.
“Can you get me another kimchicken combo then?”
With another long sigh and a piercing incredulous look, Hongjoong gets up from his chair and walks over to the counter, coming back a few minutes later with a tray that he puts down in front of Seonghwa once Seonghwa puts the previous one on the empty table beside them.
“I was thinking pills,” Hongjoong says nonchalantly while Seonghwa unwraps his second sandwich. He can feel the paper is hot, the bread is hot, and the chicken is probably gonna be steaming once he takes the first bite. His mouth waters with anticipation, and he takes the first bite, a real mouthful, without acknowledging what Hongjoong said.
“Whoa this is so fucking good,” his eyes roll up for a moment and he melts in his chair, throwing his head back while he alternates between chewing and sucking in air to cool down the bite in his mouth. “Do you want a bite?”
“I wanna get this over with.” His voice carries a weight as if they had been sitting there for two hours stalling instead of barely ten minutes. That’s why Seonghwa likes this place, and likes ordering something to eat, and likes taking his time to eat it — this is not a conversation to be carried hastily. There is no such thing as just getting it over with.
“When I was a kid my dad used to take me to eat fried chicken every Saturday,” Seonghwa says with his mouth still half full, pausing to take a sip of soda and finish chewing so he can swallow. He just says it to waste their time, to make it clear to Hongjoong that they won’t rush. “The place we used to go to had an inflatable castle at the front and I played there after I was done.”
Hongjoong only stares, quietly, no challenge in his eyes. He breathes in slowly, casts his eyes down to watch his interlaced fingers that rest on top of the table. He won’t interrupt Seonghwa to rush him, but he won’t engage either.
“He used to say ‘son, you’re gonna end up throwing up on the castle,’ but he’d let me play there anyway. And I never threw up.”
There’s a proud smile on his lips when he wraps up the story. His audience seems unimpressed – Hongjoong only blinks and waits.
After being done with the story and making it clear to Hongjoong that he would have to wait for them to talk about the topic he wanted, Seonghwa takes a couple more minutes to finish his sandwich, some leftover fries still in their little container for him to snack on from time to time while the conversation unfolds.
“Have you tried before?” Seonghwa asks, finally, after wiping his mouth with a napkin and then thoroughly rubbing it on his fingers in a failed attempt to get rid of the grease.
Hongjoong fills his chest before he starts talking, he moves slowly to readjust his posture on the hard chair of the restaurant. Not in as much of a hurry now, it seemed.
“Twice. One with pills and the other with a blade.” His voice is calm and collected. There aren’t people around in the restaurant to hear them, and the pop songs from a random radio station are played loudly enough that the employees behind the counter wouldn’t be able to hear them, but he speaks quietly anyway.
“What went wrong?”
“I thought you had a no questions asked policy.”
Seonghwa scoffs. He’s not used to his clients getting an attitude during their first meeting. They’re usually nervous and shy more than anything else. Seonghwa appreciates the change.
“Six weeks from now. We’ll talk about options next time.”
“About that…” Hongjoong starts with a firm voice, though he can’t bring himself to confront Seonghwa’s eyes. “Can it be sooner?”
At that, Seonghwa rolls his eyes. He reaches out to grab the soda and take a long sip, just to be theatrical, just to let Hongjoong marinate in his impatience a moment longer.
“Thought you knew the policies.”
Hongjoong takes a deep breath, his shoulders dropping from their high place of pride, and his expression drops as well to reflect his disappointment. Now, he carries in his face the pain that brought him to this breaking point, the one that tightens his chest. Each person who’s had this meeting with Seonghwa carries their own version of that dread.
It’s with a heavy heart that Seonghwa sits across from them, from Hongjoong now, and sips from his flat soda that’s watered down now that the ice has melted. He gets it, to an extent, to the extent you can get it when you were burdened by the same desires once, but not anymore. It’s a distant memory that feels a bit hollow at this point. And although Seonghwa can sympathize, he also… doesn’t. The distance that needs to be kept between himself and the clients is one filled with coldness, some healthy indifference towards those who wish to be no longer.
“Six weeks,” Seonghwa repeats once he runs out of his drink and the slurping becomes just annoying noise with no benefits to the sucker. “Did you bring the money?”