Chapter Text
008. THE INFORMANT
The restaurant was busier than usual tonight.
It had been Jeongin's first few months working here. He hadn’t made it to the kitchens quite yet, but even as just a server Jeongin barely had time to breathe with how many customers they were having.
It wasn’t a bad thing– more work meant less thoughts.
He lets out the first big breath he’s taken today when he finally steps outside, slumping a bit against the door. Just one hour until his shift is over. He sighs and lifts the trash bag to throw in the container, grunting.
He hates taking out the trash. Being a server wasn’t exactly his childhood dream– but if this is what it takes to get to a proper culinary career, to own his own restaurant someday– he’ll have to do it.
Being a server to reach his dream, working in a busy restaurant– it all just meant less time to think about his past.
The container closes with a thud and he stares into the distance, a flash of memories coming up and making him shudder. He’s come far from his past to where he is now. Hopefully he’ll get far enough to forget, someday.
He turns around, hand on the door handle to go back in– but never gets a chance to when he’s yanked back by his collar and thrown into a headlock.
“ Hey– Get off!” He struggles against his attacker’s grip but his hands get tied behind his back, and Jeongin feels his spine freeze when he recognizes the bonds; not rope or handcuffs– magnetic energy buzzes between the metal rings and tethers them together, sending electric shocks when he’s thrown into a van and blindfolded.
He stands stock still when someone tugs his hair back, senses the syringe before the needle breaks his skin, and tries not to tremble in fear when he feels his limbs go slack.
It feels like his past doesn’t want him to forget, after all.
He closes his eyes even though it’s futile, clenches his fists– and prays, begging whatever’s out there that the others haven’t forgotten him.
Because the others are all Jeongin has, now.
002. THE SPIDER
The rooftops of Seoul are always slick after rainfall.
Chan grunts while his boots hit the tiles soundlessly despite the sheen of water on them, nearly having slipped multiple times. He hates going on missions when the weather is bad.
But of course, District 325– The stealthiest security company behind the scenes, known for its worker’s anonymity and ability to go as unnoticed as possible– didn’t care about bad weather or about the time or about anything, really; just about protecting their secrets and containing their experiments.
But this one had been too important for him to stay put. As soon as he heard word of what happened, he was gone, not even waiting for his superior to give him the official orders to get started.
Chan huffs as he sees that he’s nearing his destination. He doesn’t need an official order for this one. He just needs his team back, even if they’ll most likely resist coming back at all– still, he knows this is too pressing. The stakes are too high. His kids will have to agree, there’s no other way.
When he’s finally at the building he needs to be, he scans the floors carefully. It’s a hotel for high profile celebrities; runway models, A-list singers and Oscar winning actors– the kind that requires extensive security that’s hard to get past.
His lips twitch into a smirk when he sees the patrolling guards in the yards, the alarms installed on the windows so no one could get in. Impossible to get past if you don’t know what you’re doing.
But they didn’t call him the District’s shadow for nothing.
A blue glow in one of the windows catches his eye. His smirk turns into something softer. Blue was always Felix’s favorite color.
He blends into the night sky easily and doesn’t make a single sound, scaling down the walls and using his magnetic bracelet to disable the window alarm, the whole thing not even lasting five minutes. Who did these people think he was, really?
(They didn’t know of Chan at all, in fact– but it was still laughable how easy he broke in.)
The air gets warmer as he slips through the window. Blue led lights fill the room while a soft melody plays from the phone on the bed, and Lee Felix is transfixed at his dresser.
Chan doesn’t try to stop it when a warm feeling fills his gut, allowing himself a single moment of comfort at the familiar face.
It’s been three years since he last saw Felix. His hair had grown past his small shoulders, and he’d bleached it to a shocking, fiery blonde. His freckles still shone like stars on his cheeks, and his eyes still held that same warmth of a person who’s seen it all but chose to be kind.
Felix was still stunningly beautiful, Chan shouldn’t be surprised. Felix had made it as a runway model, after all.
“The blonde suits you, I like it.”
For someone who used to work for their district, Felix was certainly very easy to startle. He jumps nearly a foot into the air, and whirls around with a hand on his chest.
He arches a brow. “I see you’ve lost your reflexes.”
“What the fuck are you doing here– how did you get in?! ” He’s nearly yelping, wide eyes flitting over Chan’s frame.
He lets out a dry snort. “How do you think? ”
“You broke into my hotel room!”
“It wasn’t even a break in,” Chan scoffs, moving closer with his arms crossed. “The alarm system was so weak it felt more like an invitation.”
Felix sighs deeply, coming down from the shock while irritation takes its place as he rubs his forehead. “Why are you here, Chris?”
“That’s not a way to speak to me.” He addresses coolly, trying to ignore the conflicting feelings in his chest.
“You’re not my leader anymore.” Felix hisses. “I refer to you however I want. ”
“You were supposed to be our leader!” Felix screamed, full of anguish. “What kind of leader does this– what kind of leader leaves their members for dead?! Look at him!” He gestured to the shaking form in front who’s clutching his ears, who Chan couldn't face without wanting to throw up.
Chan blinks back to the present. He ignores the memory– not now. Not here.
“I will be for this mission.”
It’s so sudden that it startles a shocked laugh out of Felix, the younger standing up to full height with a disbelieving expression. “You cannot be serious right now.”
Chan grits his jaw. “I am.”
Another laugh, this one ice cold. “The fucking nerve you have– breaking in, invading my privacy , and now telling me to go on the missions that I swore off forever? You’re fucking insane, Christopher.”
He rolls his eyes at the full name. Should’ve seen it coming from him. “Trust me, this one’s important. I’m gonna need the full team back–”
“I am never, ” Felix cuts him off sneering, pointing a threatening finger at the older, “ ever, ” he hisses, stalking closer with every word, “ Ever, fucking coming back to that place, you hear me?”
Chan wants to huff, wants to say, Yeah, I hear you, I heard you when you said you hated me and that it was all my fault, but for the sake of everything, he holds it in. He swallows the words of resentment and only arches an unimpressed brow.
“District 325 took everything from me–” He hits Chan on the shoulder before continuing, “my childhood, my family, my fucking spirit– ” He lists them off on his fingers before throwing his hands mid air. “I’ve finally stopped having nightmares! Just because you were stupid enough to stay doesn’t mean we’re that dumb as well–”
Chan can’t take it anymore, catching Felix’s flailing hands and snapping, “They took Jeongin.”
Felix falls deathly still, wrists limp in Chan’s grip. His eyes widen in horror.
“They… what? ”
“The scientists fucking took Jeongin, Lix. District 9 sent us a video of him to announce it.” He swallows the nausea as he talks about it. “He was tied up in their lab– I have to get him back no matter what.”
The use of the singular pronoun didn’t go unnoticed with the younger. “Boss doesn’t know you’re doing this, does he?” He gulps.
Chan grits his teeth and lets his hands go, straightening back up. “I don’t need his opinion on this– Jeongin was under my care.”
Felix only stares. Chan knows him too well to not notice the storm of emotions in his eyes.
“I can’t go back, Channie.” He finally chokes out, tears pooling at the surface. “I can’t… It’ll break me. I have a life now– I’m safe and I’m starting to finally feel okay… going back a second time would be suicide.”
Chan holds the eye contact, searches his eyes for the Felix he used to know, the Felix that would’ve dropped everything to save Jeongin.
He releases a breath, turning around without a word. He hears the quiet sob the younger releases and ignores how it shoots through his chest.
Before he climbs out the window, though, he stops with one foot up the sill, turning his head a fraction to speak, “You know where to find me if you change your mind.”
He’s gone along with the dark clouds before Felix can respond.
015. THE DEMOLITIONIST
Jisung liked his peace. That’s something Chan has always admired about the younger; his ability to set boundaries and ask for silence when he needs it, left alone with his own thoughts.
(Silence was a bit ironic, considering Jisung had always handled the explosives, their demolitions expert; but he was also full of surprises.)
He was the picture perfect scene of dreamy, until he snapped ferociously and you’d realize his sharp eyes had kept track of everything the whole time.
At least, that’s the Jisung Chan used to know.
The producer who stands in front of him now looks different, less fight packed in his body. Tired lines in his face make him look older than he actually is, and there’s an aura of calm around him that makes people leave him alone.
Jisung looks older. Chan ignores the guilt in his heart, knowing it’s from his past.
He watches him quietly from the corner of the studio. Sneaking in wasn’t as hard as he thought– This was his personal recording space, so the window was child’s play– Jisung left the studio door unlocked, and Chan had snuck in during his break and disappeared into the shadows until Jisung was completely alone.
He felt a bit of pride blooming in his chest, watching Jisung writing lyrics. Back at the district, the two had always talked about producing and their love for music. He’s glad at least one of them reached the dream. He always knew the younger had it in him.
“I see you’ve made it as a producer.” He remarked, finally deciding to make his presence known.
Jisung doesn’t startle like Felix. Instead, his entire body tenses up, as if readying for attack upon hearing Chan’s voice.
At least some of them kept their reflexes.
“Do I even need to ask how you broke into my home?”
Chan huffs. “For an idol producer, your windows need better locks– and please, stop leaving your studio door unlocked.”
Jisung let out a long, weary sigh, before finally turning his chair around. “Figured you were bound to show your face one of these days… three years without you seemed too good to be true.”
“You better pray I never see your face again,” Jisung seethed, a hand clutching Chan’s collar despite how hard Changbin was trying to keep them separated, “Or I’ll make sure you carry the reminder every single day of what you did– not that it would do anything, you selfish fucking bastard–”
Right. Chan was going to very professionally ignore that memory, and definitely not let it blindside him at all. Right.
“Ouch,” he says disinterestedly, coming to stand in front of the younger. “Not one part of you that missed your hyung?”
Jisung’s jaw clenches slightly. It’s loaded and not fair for him to ask, he knows– but he can’t help being at least a little bit selfish.
That’s what they all called him after everything anyway.
“It’s not you.” He answers finally, a tad too heavy for the conversation they’re having. “It’s what you stand for– you wouldn’t need to come if it wasn’t bad.”
Chan purses his mouth. So Jisung was still sharp as ever. He shouldn’t have gone soft in his mind. He stays quiet, assessing Jisung’s body language.
“It’s been three years.” He finally concludes.
The other raises an eyebrow. “Indeed– three years since hell. ”
A beat. Chan raises his chin slightly. “I need you for a mission, Jisung.”
He scoffs a laugh, just as disbelieving as Felix. “Did you not just hear me refer to it as hell? ”
Chan holds his stare. “I can’t ask anyone else. No one will get this like we will.”
“Who’s we? ” Jisung cuts, tongue sharp. “There’s no way any of the others agreed, if you even had the courage to ask them.”
The accusation lands hot and has Chan clenching his fists– god, Jisung was still the best at getting under his skin. “I only asked Felix… he wasn’t too happy either.”
“No shit!” Jisung laughed, sounding bitter. “Do you know what that company has done to us? to Felix? to Hyunjin?!”
“I know, Jisung–”
“You don’t! If you actually knew , You would never ask us back! I was institutionalized for months because of the PTSD!”
“I know!” He shouts again. He knows! He hasn’t been able to forget for three years now.
He knows it’s unfair to ask them to come back as well. He knows, but– they got Jeongin. He can’t make the same mistakes a second time, he can’t wait until it’s too late to save him, just like he was too late with saving Hyunjin.
“I know it’s hard, but I really need all of you on this.”
“On what?!” Jisung is getting agitated now, rising up to stand. “Nothing could be big enough for us to relive everything!”
“On finding Jeongin!” He finally snaps, panting.
It gets Jisung to shut up. He frowns, mouth half open in confusion and shock.
“What do you mean finding? ”
“District 9– they took Jeongin. They took him right outside his fucking workplace.” He snarls.
Jisung doesn’t react for the first few seconds. Then, his eyes widen in horror and he chokes on whatever words he wanted to say, falling back into the chair with shaking legs.
“They– Jeongin? They got Jeongin?” He barely manages a whisper, running stressed hands over his face.
“They’re active again, ‘Sung. They snatched him as soon as they got the chance.”
“But why Jeongin?! He left the district, why not me or– or literally anyone else!” He sounds as distressed as Chan inwardly feels, until the older crouches in front of him and takes his frantic hands.
“They haven’t made any demands yet, but I’m not gonna fucking wait around until they do.” He determines, forcing Jisung to look at him. “I need my team on this, ‘Sung… Jeongin needs us. I can’t repeat the same mistakes.”
It’s loaded again– they both know what the same mistakes mean– it’s not fair for Chan to ask, it’s not even fair of him to be here, to invade Jisung’s space like this, but he can’t save Jeongin without them. He needs them, now more than ever.
Jisung looks at him for a long time, sorrow in his eyes. He squeezes Chan’s hand only once, sitting back with a shaky sigh.
“Good luck with finding him.” He whispers. “Please tell me when he’s back to safety.”
Chan backs away and stands up, not letting the rejection get to him– not yet.
He looks at Jisung, really looks; searches for the sharp tongued and impulsive Han Jisung who’d become his demolitions expert, the Jisung who would’ve immediately suggested blowing up District 9 and taking back their member without a second thought.
He clenches his fists minutely; out of sight and gone too quick for anyone to notice, and turns towards the door.
“You know where to find me if you reconsider.”
He’s gone before Jisung can answer.
025. THE COMBATANT
One thing that Minho never gave up on in all his years at the district was dancing.
Even though the days were filled with mission after mission, Chan would hear Minho’s footsteps thundering in the living room when he thought he was asleep way past midnight, rhythmic and powerful along to the beat in his earphones.
He never asked, but he knew the dancing helped him calm his mind. He knew moving his body and focusing on the steps was one of the only things that kept Minho sane in District 325.
(That, and sneaking off to Jisung to do god knows what– but Chan never asked about that one, either. He never really asked Minho anything, now that he thinks about it.)
(Maybe he should’ve been there for them more. Maybe if he was, it wouldn't have ended like it did.)
“Nice work, everyone! Practice the steps with the help of our recordings and if anyone is still out of line next week, I’m using my sneakers as weapons.” Minho threatens playfully from down below, clapping his hands together to signal the end of his class.
His students laugh along as they gather their bags, bidding farewell to their dance teacher and thanking Minho for the snacks he brought once again before exiting.
Chan watches from the trusses silently, crouching and holding onto the metal bars. Only one student remained, an adolescent boy stomping his feet to the music by the mirror in the back.
“Yu, you’re not gonna have any legs left to make it to the cinema.” Minho teases, walking over with his arms crossed. “Aren’t your friends waiting outside?”
Yu huffed, wiping his dark hair away frustratedly. “I know, but hyung– I can’t get this part right! I’ve been practising all week! ”
Minho immediately moves into position to help the younger, and Chan feels a nostalgic warmth at the sight.
“Popping is something that’ll only get better with practice, Yu.” He explains, guiding his shoulders with a gentle hand.
Yu’s face turned a bit sad. “You know I can’t practise at home… My parents would kill me if they knew I’m going to dance practice instead of focusing on university. Sometimes I don’t know if it’s worth risking so much.”
Minho makes eye contact with his student in the mirror, taking a deep breath in before squeezing his shoulder, only once.
“You know… there was a time my caregivers also wouldn’t allow me to dance either. They would’ve seen it as a waste of my time, and honestly, after a while I was getting close to believing it.”
A beat. The room is quiet save for their breathing, air tense.
“How did you deal with it?”
Minho gets a faraway look in his eyes. The sad smile painted on his face is piercing through Chan’s heart.
“I had people.” Minho finally whispers, and Chan has to hold on tight to make sure he doesn’t make a sound. “People who believed in me, who danced with me despite everything… every time I thought it was all futile, their words would come back to me.”
Chan’s lungs constrict. It’s been three years, Minho could’ve met others– he could very well be talking about other people, others who aren’t Chan, aren’t his old teammates–
“ ‘If your heart tells you to dance, no one else should dare to say otherwise .’ One of them had said. It’s been my motivation for years.” Minho finishes in a murmur, eyes still vacantly staring into the mirror.
Chan stops breathing for a moment. It’s been my motivation for years. Minho thought about him, about the words he’d said fleetingly years ago.
Down below the scene continues despite Chan’s shock. Yu shows a timid smile, and a squeeze to Minho’s hand brings him back to the present.
“That’s really nice.” He responds. “I’m glad I have you, and Haru and Moya and the others around me… Do you still have your people, hyung?”
Minho gulps. Chan sees the exact moment his gaze turns from nostalgic to scornful. He opens his mouth, but is interrupted by two boys bursting through the door with urgency and enthusiasm.
“Hyung, the cinema isn’t gonna fucking wa–” They stop abruptly once they see Minho, standing stockstill with wide eyes.
“Minho-ssi, we’re so sorry– Yu was just taking very long and we wanted to check if everything was okay.” The ginger one apologizes immediately, rescinding into a deep bow while his raven haired friend is quick to follow.
Minho shakes his head once, and his eyes are back to the neutral easiness they were at the beginning. “It’s okay, Tomoya. Yu just needed some last minute tips– but he’s all yours now!” He spins his student around and playfully shoves him towards his friends.
The three boys hustle happily and make their exit, but not before Yu sends a grateful smile to his teacher. The door shuts, and Chan is left with only the sound of Minho’s breathing.
(He used to listen to it every night, just to calm his heart down– remind him that everyone was still there, even if they weren’t. He doesn’t know how he went years without it.)
Minho releases a big exhale. He sits against the floor, stares at the opposite mirror.
“You’re lucky I didn’t see you during my class, fuckface.” Minho grumbles, scowling at the mirror in front of him. “Or I would’ve thrown the heaviest thing I could find in hopes that you would fall down.”
Chan snorts, swinging off and landing on his feet. “I would’ve dodged it easily, no offense.”
Minho only scowls harder when he’s in front of him. When he gets up, he’s as tense as he was when they faced the enemies.
“What the hell are you doing here, Bang Chan?” He hisses.
“When did you spot me?”
“When I sat down just now. Don’t avoid my question.”
Chan resists a huff. Still so sharp-tongued.
“I came to see you.” He tries to start it gently, but Minho only scoffs a humourless laugh.
“You didn’t even see me when we shared a dorm, no offense.” He mocks. It doesn’t hurt Chan; he tries to not let it. “Don’t fucking lie to me."
He studies Minho without saying anything, assessing him quietly like he always did. Just like back then, his gaze is still the only one Minho squirms under. It’s slight, lesser than it has ever been– but still there, in the miniscule twitch of his fingers and the way his nostrils flare.
“Have you heard anything from Jisung?” He finally asks, noting the way Minho immediately stiffens at the mention of his name.
“Why the hell would I?” He snaps back, too harsh for him to be in complete control of his emotions.
Chan shrugs, still seemingly unaffected. “He’s a pretty big producer now… figured you may have choreographed one of his idols.”
Minho huffs and starts gathering his equipment, shouldering past Chan on his way to the electronics. “If you fucking insist, ” he bites, unplugging the audio systems. “There's a rookie group about to debut that I’m teaching for.. They’re under Jisung’s label but I haven’t heard shit from him personally.”
He takes off his shoes with a frown, changing them for his normal ones. He doesn’t look at Chan.
“Right… and the others?”
He easily dodges it when Minho tosses a shoe his way.
“Why are you here, Chan? Answer my question and get the fuck out of my studio!”
Chan bites his lip, tries to hold back retorts he might’ve thrown in the past so he doesn’t fall victim to the same faults.
There’s no way around it. He doesn’t know why he keeps making small talk.
“Jeongin got taken.” He finally murmurs. He’s always been straightforward when it comes to his second oldest.
Minho freezes, hands midair to reach for the other shoe as the breath catches in his lungs.
“...What?” He finally hisses, narrowed eyes turning to Chan. “By who? ”
Chan gulps. He clenches his fists at his sides so he doesn’t shake– he refuses to show weakness.
“You know who.”
“How do you know it’s them?!”
“Who else would it be? You think I’d do all of this if I wasn’t sure?”
“Maybe this is just your pathetic attempt at fixing what you ruined–” He snarls, getting up and stalking towards Chan with the shoe in hand threateningly, “–and if it is, it’s sick of you to use Jeongin–”
“Why the fuck would I do that?!” Chan explodes. He’s kept it together until now– but Minho accusing him of something like using Jeongin?!
“I don’t know, Chan!” Minho yells back, smacking down his shoe in anger. “Maybe because you were never honest with me about anything! ”
The accusation is strong enough to make him stumble back physically. He’s never dealt well with this kind of confrontation, and if he doesn’t switch the topic now he’s going to say things he regrets again.
“You wanna know how I know it’s them?” He hisses instead, stalking closer. “Because they sent me a fucking tape, alright? The same kind that they sent of Hyunjin– a video of Jeongin getting tortured.”
Minho clenches his jaw, but Chan sees how his eyes widen a fraction in shock and terror.
“A near replica of Hyunjin’s video.” He hisses again, trying to keep his eyes from getting wet. “Strapped to a chair, half of his clothes off, blindfold on–”
“Why are you telling me this, Chan?!” He interrupts, a hint of panic on his face.
Chan looks at him closely. Looks at his fighter, at the body that dances just as powerfully as it used to punch, at the fists clenched at his side and ready to strike, searching for the person who would’ve bolted and not stopped running until they were sure Jeongin was safe.
“I need you for one last mission, Min.” He murmurs, edging on a plea, silent enough that it’s just between them.
Minho gulps again, looks him in the eyes for the first time since they’ve been face to face, and Chan sees something there– sees his last stray kid, the final puzzle piece to his team, the scared child soldier he used to hold in the early days when everything became too much.
“How long has he been taken?” He whispers.
“About four days– I reckon we have a bit over a week to save him. They haven’t made any demands yet.”
“Why did they even take him?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter– I need to save him. I need your help to save him, Minho.
Minho blinks at him with a frown, and suddenly, the rage and fear into his eyes transform into exhaustion. An exhaustion Chan only saw after missions, a type of exhaustion that had Minho hanging on by a thread, back then. Exhausted from life as it was.
“You realize what they did to us, right?” He whispers, voice as tired as his body. “To all of us, basically since childhood?”
“I know.” They did it to me too, way before any of you joined. He doesn’t say it. His feelings don’t matter after everything that’s happened.
“You realize what Hyunjin went through, because of their orders? Because of what you allowed?”
“A month– you took nearly a fucking month!” Minho’s fury rolled off of him in waves, he shook with the effort to not hurt Chan. “Are we nothing to you?! You always call us your fucking kids– but you merely see us as pawns to your plans, don’t you? This is all because of you!”
He says it to hurt Chan. It works as intended. The memory isn’t new, either.
“I know.” The scar on his back burns. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget what Hyunjin went through.
Minho gulps, and when he blinks a tear falls down his cheek. “Then why are you asking me this? Why are you asking me to come back?”
“Because Jeongin needs you.” I need you. I need all of you back.
Minho looks at him again, long and forlorn. His body is trembling slightly. Chan wants to reach out. He doesn’t, because he never did and he doesn’t think he’s allowed to start now.
“Chan, I swear on my life,” Minho finally shudders, clenching his fists. “If you do not find Jeongin and report back to me that he’s safe and sound, I will kill you myself.”
The rejection is a familiar taste on his tongue now, although that doesn’t make it less bitter.
He bows his head, lets it hang as he blinks. “I swear on my own life, I will not stop until Jeongin is back under my care.”
He doesn’t let Minho talk anymore as he jumps back up, swinging to leave the same way he entered. Before he exits through the top window, though, he casts another glance back, pursing his mouth slightly.
“Our old meeting point hasn’t changed, just so you know.”
It’s an opening; an invitation. He doesn’t stay to see if Minho takes it, and lets the cold air wrap him in an apathetic hug as he exits.
020. THE TECHNOLOGIST
Out of the seven of them, it’s the hardest to keep his feelings at bay with Changbin.
He thinks it’s because of his gentle nature. Even in the midst of the chaos, he’d never blamed Chan for anything, only looked at him with caring eyes that made a lump form in his throat upon seeing it. He only sat with him in his hours of silence, support unwavering.
It’s easier to let his guard down with the ex-medic. Changbin had seen him at his most vulnerable already, anyway. He’d walked in long after the bosses had left, and had been the only member to see the leader barely breathe while staining the concrete red with his blood. He hadn’t asked questions– Changbin never did. He only fixed and held what was broken.
Chan shakes his head, gulps at the unwanted memories, and sets his sights back on the man whose footsteps he’s following without a sound.
Changbin’s back is broader than he remembers. He hadn’t eaten well at the district after Hyunjin’s disappearance, so he’s glad to see the improvement. His gym bag is slung over his shoulder as he weaves through the night sky, one earbud pressed into his ear and the other dangling as his head bobs slightly. He looks calm, at peace.
Chan has been following him from a safe distance ever since he left the sports centre, eyes watching his every move like a hawk. Changbin has settled into a routine pretty well; wake up, work at the infirmary, work out, sleep, repeat– all with an ease to his shoulders that Chan envied the whole week he’s been surveilling him.
Changbin stops in front of a nice house, keys jiggling as he unlocks the door with only a hum to the beat in his ears. Chan’s eyes stray to the top– there seems to be a bathroom window left open enough for him to slip in, and if that doesn’t work he could just make do with unlocking the bedroom ones.
“You know, I’d feel a lot better if you just came in through the front door like everyone else instead of breaking into my newly renovated bathroom."
He jumps at Changbin’s sudden voice. The younger is cocking an eyebrow at him when he looks back, but his grin is teasing. It fills him with more warmth than he usually allows himself to be.
He doesn’t know how to respond, taking the invitation quietly when Changbin holds the door open for him to step through.
They go to the living room. He doesn’t try to make Chan sit because he knows he prefers pacing when he talks. He remembers. Chan ignores the pressure behind his eyes.
“Hi.” He finally swallows, for lack of anything better to stay.
Changbin smiles. It’s tired. It’s fond. “Hi, hyung.”
A gentle touch to the small of his back, and he resists a shiver when the fingers trail up to his neck, right along the path of the past. “How’s your back?”
Shaky hands on his skin, but everything is fuzzy– his lungs barely work, he doesn’t feel anything beside the searing hot pain on his back, the blood seeping through Changbin’s hasty stitches, the phantom feeling of the hits he took; the skin is split down the middle and jagged red, everything hurts, hurts, all he hears are his whimpers and Changbin’s sobs–
He gulps. “It’s been three years, it’s fine.”
“Have you been caring for it properly? Used the salve I gave you?” He worries.
Chan hadn’t touched the healing salve ever since they found Hyunjin. The last time he saw his back in the mirror, the scar had been jagged and an angry red.
“Yeah. It’s fine, Bin– I’ve cared for it.”
Changbin’s eyes are sad. They both know he’s lying. He doesn’t dwell on any aches he feels, and moves away to switch the topic. “How did you know I was behind you?”
Changbin moves to sit in an arm chair, looking up at him with an unreadable expression. “Has there ever been a time I didn’t?”
The corners of Chan’s mouth tug up slightly. “Guess not.”
He hums, playful smirk sliding off his face until it’s turned serious. “What do you need, Channie?”
Chan looks down as he says it. He can’t face him like he faced the others. “I need you to be my tech expert one more time.”
He doesn’t raise his eyes but draws up his shoulders, tension filling the space between them with every second that Changbin is quiet in his response. He observes the carpet while his head is held down, and with a pang he realizes– there’s red roses all over. Hyunjin’s favorite.
“Why?” He finally sighs, only slightly defeated.
“Jeongin.” He answers simply, never having to wind around the topic with the younger. “District 9… It’s the same. Almost the exact same as–”
He can’t utter his name, not in Changbin’s presence. Not when the look of betrayal on Changbin's face is etched into Chan's mind.
He’d failed all of them, even if he sometimes liked to pretend Changbin was the exception.
“I can’t fail again.” He whispers, not trusting his voice to do anything else. “I can’t let them have Jeongin like they took Hyunjin.”
Changbin doesn’t react, and somehow it hurts more than if he lashed out.
“Why Jeongin?”
“I don’t know. I’m not interested in knowing– I just have to get him back.”
He finally dares to meet the eyes of his medic, of his tech guru when he needed to be but much preferred the sterile infirmary– of the only continuous rock he’s held onto for years, of the only person who held his hand after he’d been beaten within an inch for trying to fight for Hyunjin against the bosses. The only one who could track Jeongin’s location and patch him up if– when– they found him.
“Changbin,” He pleads, clenching his hands behind his back. “I need you on this. All of you.”
Changbin’s eyes are soft. Still, Chan doesn’t find in them what he’s looking for.
“Bring him to me when you find him. I’ll take care of him as well.”
It’s not rejection, but it’s not acceptance either. Chan hadn’t expected much else.
He backs away, taking a final breath to say, “If you change your mind, I might start using the salve again.”
It’s light, teasing, because it's allowed to be with him.
Changbin blinks away the wetness in his eyes, gives him a soft look. “You should use it regardless… you don’t deserve to be in pain, hyung.”
Chan doesn’t voice his disagreement, and walks out of the door with the lump still lodged into his throat.
022. THE GUNMAN
He’s not surprised Seungmin made it as a singer.
His voice is loud in the stadium, even backstage, while the singer belts his lyrics and hits all the right notes for his audience, the band on stage creating every melody he needs.
It’s beautiful. It’s haunting. It’s familiar, desolate– reminding him of way back, of when he would go to fetch Seungmin for a mission and the same voice behind closed doors would be singing melodies, quiet and lonely in the too big space he occupied on his own after Hyunjin’s disappearance.
Chan had always made sure to wait by the door for a few seconds, to listen to him for even just a minute before opening. If no one else wanted to listen, they always would. Because they were a family and supported each other.
At least they were, back then. Now, it seems they aren’t needed– if the symphony of fans singing along is anything to go by. He’s happy Seungmin made it. He’s happy so many of his kids made it to their dreams.
Still, somewhere deep inside, he yearns to see the kid he first found; the seventeen year old in training who looked up at him with eyes of admiration instead of indifference, who sang quietly in Chan’s arms when he felt weak and clung to the older for comfort.
He blinks when he hears roaring applause, cheers signaling the end of the show. That’s all in the past– there’s a reason he doesn’t have that anymore. There’s a reason Seungmin is so far away from him, both metaphorically and literally.
He composes himself in the dressing room, clears his throat and merely stares in the mirror, whole body tense like a live wire until he inevitably, finally, hears the door creak open.
Seungmin likes peace and quiet after intense moments. At least that hasn’t changed. He shows up alone, taking off his tie, and freezes halfway when his eyes land on Chan. His hair is much shorter than what Chan remembers. It makes him look older.
They hold the stare; Seungmin’s face is indifferent, but his eyes flit through dozens of emotions– all of which Chan can still identify after all these years.
“So Jisung hadn’t lied.” He’s the first to break the silence, and the words make Chan’s heartbeat raise slightly. “You’re really back.”
Another tense swallow, Seungmin stays exactly where he is and doesn’t move closer.
“I am, yeah.”
Seungmin’s expression closes off. His face goes impassively blank and he averts his eyes, studying Chan’s posture but not his gaze, carefully hiding all of his feelings behind all the layers he’s constructed over the years for the public. For strangers. For Chan.
Seungmin’s eyes betrayed every emotion he felt– Chan could read him like an open book. His fists clenched and shook and rained down on the leader’s chest as he cried and screamed, “You’re supposed to care for us– why is Hyunjin like this?! Were your files that fucking important that it was worth losing Hyunjin over?!”
“How’d you get in?”
Seungmin’s voice brings him back to the present. He sucks in a shallow breath, straightening his spine and ignoring the mind numbing pain in his back.
“Through the back door like everyone else. Duh. ” He’s not gonna betray his feelings if Seungmin won’t, keeping his composure with balled fists on his thighs.
The younger sighs. He squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose like Chan is merely a small bother, finally moving around to shrug off his tie and grab himself a drink. He doesn’t offer one to Chan. His deft fingers move on the cocktail as flawlessly as they did on his past guns, squeezing a lemon like he would a trigger.
“Jisung didn’t say why you showed– said you’d find me soon enough.” He reveals, leant against the table and looking out the window with a glass poised to his lips.
“You still talk to Jisung?”
He snorts. “We’re musicians, of course we talk. I saw Felix a week ago– just because no one talks to you doesn’t mean we all broke contact.”
Okay then.
“Well. Did I find you soon enough for you?” He snipes. He doesn’t know why he doesn’t just say it like every other time; maybe because he was aware of Seungmin and Jeongin’s relationship behind closed doors.
“Didn’t know you were capable of finding someone this soon, actually.” He nonchalantly replies, swirling his glass. It’s a direct attack. Chan takes it like he always does– silently, because he deserves it.
“I have to find someone again.”
He drops it, watching carefully as Seungmin’s entire body tenses up and his glass stills mid air. He takes a breath, and still doesn’t make eye contact as he says,
“Who?”
He can’t say it. He should. He has to. He owes them this.
“Jeongin.”
Seungmin’s glass slips. It shatters on the floor, Seungmin flinches only momentarily and then he finally raises his eyes– and Chan sees it, sees him, sees his attuned gunman who fell in love with his spy, more present than he’s ever been in the last three years.
“Why would they do that?”
He shakes his head minutely. “Could be for the same reason, I don’t know nor do I care.”
Seungmin raises his chin, and he hears the tremble in his voice when he speaks. “How long, Chan? How long will it take you this time?”
He aches on the inside. He doesn’t show it, because he doesn’t have the right to. “A week max. I won’t let the same thing happen– Jeongin is my top priority.”
Seungmin grips the table behind it but his stare doesn’t waver, searching Chan for even an ounce of lying– but he’s not going to find any. His kids have always been his top priority.
“You’re asking for me to come back.” He finally murmurs. “You’re asking for my help.”
Only in front of Seungmin, in front of their biggest voice of reason, does Chan let himself beg.
“Please. I can’t do this without you. Please. ”
Seungmin’s eyes fill the silence with a thousand words they’ve left unsaid. He swallows, shuts his eyes, and when he opens them, it’s like Chan is transported back to the past– because his gunman is in front of him, arms tense to shoot the targets and gaze determined to never miss.
“What do you need me to do?”
019. THE FIELD SPY
Nothing about Hyunjin is the same when Chan finds him again.
It shouldn’t be a surprise when he sees it– all of them changed in some way, and yet Hyunjin’s full one eighty is enough to render him speechless as he looks at the underground boxing match and sees someone he’s supposed to recognize but absolutely doesn’t.
Everything is different. His gentle, soft, kind hearted and quiet spy is gone– in its place stands a broad man filled to the brim with hatred as he punches his opponent strong enough to rival Minho, kicking without restraint and with every bit of vengeance there exists. He’s harsh and rough and angry, slamming the other boxer to the ground in a show of strength and holding him for much longer than necessary.
His knuckles bleed red without any form of protection but Hyunjin doesn’t seem to care, he doesn’t stop the fight until the ref steps in with the announcement that he’s won; only then does he let up, staring at the ceiling with a twisted expression and rough pants. His locks don’t even fall to his shoulders anymore– his head is buzzed and a bright pink, strengthening his sharp features dangerously.
There’s an aura around him as he collects the money from the crowd, a circle of darkness that keeps anyone from interacting as he stomps towards the bar, the scowl never abandoning his face.
It’s not his Hyunjin anymore, and Chan has no one to blame but himself.
The ring continues with other fighters, Hyunjin is left alone at the counter with free shots lining up for him from his admirers. He throws each of them back without a care and doesn’t flinch– his expression doesn’t crunch like it used to, he barely even gives a kick anymore.
His rugged and bloody tanktop hangs off his huge shoulders– he’s broader than Chan remembers, everything about him screams not to be fucked with and maybe there’s a reason everyone’s leaving him alone, Chan definitely should not approach him.
“Never thought I’d see the day you’d cut your hair off.” He remarks, arms crossed right behind the boxer.
Hyunjin goes stiff as a rod, his shoulders square up the same way they did in the ring, and Chan holds his breath– it takes only a second before the younger whirls around, fists raised and coming to swing at Chan.
He barely dodges the initial blow, but Hyunjin isn’t done either– he hops off the barstool and strikes again, this time landing a kick to his stomach that has Chan doubling over in pain and his skull throbs when Hyunjin uppercuts his jaw, but he doesn’t fight back– he lets him have this, have his revenge for everything, lets himself get beat up because it’s the least of what he owes to the younger.
The blood runs down his face, but he doesn’t give a kick; he heaves breath after breath and ignores the bruises blooming on his torso, doesn’t whimper in pain like he wants to when Hyunjin fists his collar and slams his scarred back against the wall.
“Never thought I’d finally get to beat you to a pulp, but here we are.” He mocks, coming close to spit the words onto his face. Where his eyes had been indifferent in the ring they now burn with disgust and hatred, his hands shaking with the harsh grip.
“Yeah?” Chan huffs, croaking the words past his bloody lips, “You having fun? Round this up quick– we need to talk.”
Hyunjin rears back, slams his head against solid rock. Stars dance behind Chan’s eyelids and he feels the blood soak his hair but he only groans.
“Are you done? I have important–”
“I’m not done until you’re dead! ” He barely contains the fury in his voice as he switches positions until he has Chan on the floor, straddling him and making sure he feels how calculated each blow is, how Hyunjin has waited for this moment.
Chan catches the next one and flips them with much more difficulty than he remembers, pinning Hyunjin’s hands under his knees and leaning over him despite the ringing in his ears. “I’d love to indulge you– unfortunately I have business to discuss.”
Hyunjin spits in his face. Of course he does. “Surprised you found me this quick– last time I remember you took your sweet fucking time.”
The sirens are blaring but all he can see is Hyunjin– he's strapped to the chair and he's shaking, he gasps when Chan rips off the blindfold and slashes away the ropes, he's finally here, he looks terrified as his eyes land on Chan, “hyung– hyung, where were you?” He sobs, he crumbles against his chest when he pulls him up, “I've been waiting for so long– I was so scared, hyung– where were you?”
The memory grabs Chan in a chokehold, Hyunjin’s voice is laced with venom but underneath all of that there’s pain, there’s betrayal and there’s so much they’ve left unsaid. He grits his teeth, tightens his grip when the man under him struggles.
“That wasn’t my fault– I had to follow orders,” He barely whispers, but Hyunjin hears it loud and clear and gets impossibly angrier.
“So I was just an order to you?!” He yells, managing to free his hands and claw at Chan’s arms, “Did you even think about me, Chan?! Did you even think about the shit they put me through– the torture I withstood while you were researching your files?! ”
“Of course I did. I thought about you everyday–”
Hyunjin flips them in Chan’s weakness and lands a harsh blow on his chest– directly on his heart, stealing the breath from his lungs. “Don’t fucking lie to me!” He screams, he’s shaking Chan back and forth and he takes it, he takes every punch because it’s deserved, “You never cared about me, I was there for weeks– ”
“I’m sorry– Hyung is so sorry.” He can’t say anything else and it's the first time his composure breaks, he lets the tears fall free as Hyunjin punches everywhere he can reach and Chan doesn’t fight back.
“ Sorry isn’t gonna fix shit!” He can hear the unfiltered emotion in his voice now, how all masks have fallen behind and he’s left with the raw vocals of resentment, each word hitting him worse than Hyunjin’s fists are doing. “Why are you back?! How do you have the nerve to wanna talk after everything, after you left me to rot– "
He’s desperate, both of them are, and Hyunjin’s pain pierces through his heart like a thousand knives that make his insides twist and ache.
“Hyung needs you, Jinnie–” He catches the fist coming towards his face despite his fuzzy mind, he’s forgetting how to talk but he needs to speak, “Jeongin, he’s not– not safe, same thing as yours– I need you to–”
Hyunjin digs a knee into his stomach to cut him off, ripping his arm free– his nails dig into Chan’s shoulders and he’s dragged up, inches from the other’s face, “Will it take you weeks to save him as well or was that just for me?” He laughs, but the sound is harsh and ugly, lacking the warmth it usually had.
“I can’t– I can’t find him without you, need you Jinnie–”
Everything blacks out for a second when Hyunjin slams him back down, and his ears ring when he blinks his blurry eyes open. Hyunjin is right in front– his eyes display a fury, a hatred so deep it settles into Chan’s bones like an anchor and doesn’t let him resist when Hyunjin’s hands wrap around his neck.
He’s out of his mind by now, shaking with anger and spitting the words, “ Now you need me?! Once again only when it’s convenient for you?!”
Chan can’t retort as the grip on his neck tightens; Hyunjin presses him into the floor by his throat– he doesn’t seem to be present, his emotions take the lead to tighten his grip until Chan can’t breathe anymore, until black spots dance in his vision– until he uses the last of his strength to lift his trembling hands, wrapping them around Hyunjin’s wrists.
“It’s okay,” He murmurs, stroking the inside of his wrists, “You can do it– it’s okay, hyung understands.”
Tears hit his skin and he doesn't know who's they are anymore, all he knows is the guilt that claws at his insides as he stares at Hyunjin one last time– his spy, his kid, his broken down soldier that he abandoned unwillingly and now stands above as a shell of who he used to be with his hands around Chan's throat.
He can feel himself slip away, but it's fine– he deserves this. He should've known all along it would be Hyunjin that killed him.
"It's okay,” he whispers again, not flinching when Hyunjin's shoulders quake and he presses down harder. “It's okay… hyung will always love you.”
He feels lightheaded. A calm washes over him, and he distantly wonders if the afterlife would be easier to navigate.
The pressure disappears– and every sound rushes back to Chan in full force as he snaps his eyes open to find Hyunjin towering over him, the ghost of his fingertips still on Chan's throat as he gasps for air.
“Leave.” Hyunjin sneers, he's shaking all over and his hoarse voice betrays the emotions he's feeling. “Don't ever look for me again– you had your chance and wasted it.”
It hurts, everything does. He climbs to his feet despite all the injuries and locks their eyes, gaze unwavering. “You know where to find me.”
“I won't look.” Is the last thing he says, and then he's shouldering past Chan– leaving him behind like they all did.
The bruises on his body are almost enough to drown out the feelings; and as he drags himself back home with pain shooting up every step, he finds himself wishing Hyunjin hadn't let go.
000. The leader.