#bae2019

Chanyeol’s bowtie is suffocating him. It’s been a while since he wore a tux. More specifically, it’s been a while since he wore a tux for a mission, the last time being two years ago when he had work in Vienna that had something to do with an opera.

He’s never taken a liking to fancy things. Luxuries are for people that have money to spend, and Chanyeol wasn’t fortunate enough to grow up like that. Chanyeol’s living a comfortable life now, thanks to his well-paying job, but it’s his choice not to indulge in opulence. Perhaps it’s because old habits die hard, even if those habits were forced upon him. From his pay, he deposits only what he needs into his local account, and the rest he entrusts to the Swiss—he thinks of it as somewhat like a contingency plan.

“Nice tux, Agent Lux,” his partner says through the earpiece. “Oh, shit. Wait. That rhymed.”

Chanyeol tries his best not to roll his eyes, as he isn’t sure if anyone’s watching him right now. “Congratulations,” he replies sarcastically. “Maybe you should change your codename from Ventus to Shakespeare. Why don’t you take it up with the boss? Maybe he’ll listen.”

“Ha ha,” Sehun says, and Chanyeol doesn’t need to see him to know that he’s scowling. He’s been with Sehun for far too long for him not to memorize his partner’s grumpy tendencies.

Chanyeol has scanned the entire party on the first floor but failed to locate his target, so he climbs up the grand staircase to try his luck on the second floor. The whole villa is flooded with a sea of guests donned in gowns and suits and servers flying around while carrying trays of champagne and finger food and whatnot. It baffles Chanyeol how a woman’s twenty-first birthday party is comparable to a state dinner.

“Do you have access to the mansion’s security cameras?” he asks Sehun when he has made it up the stairs.

“Of course.”

“Can you locate her?”

“What do you think I’ve been doing for the last fifteen minutes?” Sehun questions, and that’s that. His partner still seems pretty offended about the Shakespeare jab, so Chanyeol doesn’t say anything else.

Chanyeol weaves himself into the crowd to obscure his search from possible watchful eyes. If a party is this formal, he can only assume that the guestlist is filled with affluent names, which means security must be crawling everywhere.

“I see her,” Sehun says abruptly.

Chanyeol stops in his tracks and looks around. “Where?”

“At the bar opposite the staircase,” his partner replies. “She’s wearing a white halter gown with a gold belt. She has her hair down.”

“Are you sure it’s her?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m looking at her photo in the file given to us. Park Jihyo. Twenty years old… well, twenty-one now. Daughter of Park Eunhye, who’s being investigated by the NIS and us. Do you want me to go on or do you need a refresher on the assignment?” Sehun asks mockingly.

Chanyeol’s eyes immediately fly to the bar that Sehun mentioned, and they land on a certain birthday girl. Bingo. He has finally zeroed in on his target.

“I have eyes on the package,” Chanyeol reports. “I’m going in.”

Chanyeol fixes his suit as he prowls toward his prey for the night. She’s beautiful, he must admit. It’s a shame that she’s the target of this mission. But then again, Chanyeol has never been fond of women.

“She has company,” Sehun says, pertaining to the other woman seated beside Jihyo. “They’re laughing, so I’m assuming she’s a non-hostile. A friend, perhaps.”

Chanyeol already knows that, but says nothing. Of course she’s a non-hostile. The daughter of a billionaire wouldn’t chat with any of her security detail over margaritas at her own party.

“Wanna go through the plan one more time?” his partner asks.

“Locate target, catch her attention, get myself alone with her, locate her phone, install the software,” Chanyeol recites without a sweat. “Easy.”

Luckily, the other seat beside Jihyo is empty. Chanyeol claims that spot and clears his throat, making sure that his entrance is announced and hoping that his target takes the bait.

For good measure, Chanyeol asks the bartender, “A glass of brandy. Neat, please.”

“Would Beauté du Siècle suffice, sir?” the bartender asks with a smile, pronouncing the French perfectly.

“That’s exactly what I’m looking for, actually,” Chanyeol answers. From his peripheral vision, he sees that Jihyo has turned to look at him, seemingly impressed by his taste in spirits. Chanyeol’s lips slightly curl into a smirk, just enough so that his target wouldn’t know that the smug smile is directed at her.

I’ve got her now, Chanyeol says to himself.

The bartender smiles even wider. “Excellent choice, sir. I’ll be right back.” And then he’s off to fetch Chanyeol’s drink at the far end of the bar.

Chanyeol drums his fingers on the polished wooden table and pretends to look around the party while waiting for his brandy—he knows Jihyo is looking at him right now, which is why he’s turning his head around so that she can see his face in full. Chanyeol’s humble in most aspects, but he knows for a fact that his looks can be valued at a million bucks. He has his parents’ genes to thank for that.

“You have expensive taste,” Jihyo remarks. Chanyeol finally lets his eyes fall unto her and notices that she has made her friend leave.

“Target has engaged,” Chanyeol hears his partner say into his earpiece. Indeed, he wants to reply, but he’s a bit preoccupied at the moment.

Chanyeol smirks further. “Well, I want nothing but the best,” he says to his target. He hates how snobbish he sounds right now, but he doesn’t really have a choice. If he gets assigned to a mission, he has to do it, no matter what. Being selective isn’t an option in his line of work.

Jihyo cocks an eyebrow at him and smiles back, finishing the last of her margarita.

The bartender returns with Chanyeol’s drink. “Here you go, sir. A glass of Hennessy Beauté du Siècle, neat, just like you asked,” he says. Chanyeol thanks him and the bartender smiles one last time before he sets off to attend to the other people at the bar, leaving him and his target alone once again.

Chanyeol downs the shot in one swift, clean swig. The alcohol burns in his throat, but he welcomes the fire. College teaches you a thing or two about taking your liquor.

“Impressive,” Sehun compliments him through their line. “And I think I’m not the only one who found that impressive.”

True enough, Jihyo’s eyes are glued to him as he sets down the glass on the table, traveling from his lips down to his throat. Her big round eyes are gleaming with something Chanyeol has yet to figure out—lust, he hopes. He throws her another smile.

“You know how to drink,” she says.

“My family has an interest in fine spirits. Connoisseurs, you might say. I guess it runs in the blood.”

Jihyo flips her hair over her shoulder and sits a bit more straight. She’s devoured the bait now. “I’m sorry, I haven’t properly introduced myself,” she giggles, extending her hand for Chanyeol to shake. “I’m Park—”

“Jihyo,” Chanyeol finishes her sentence for her as he accepts her handshake. “Oh, I know all about you, Ms. Park. You’re the star of the night, after all. Happy birthday.”

“Please. Ms. Park’s my mother. Let’s just stick to first-name basis. Unless, of course, you’re younger than I am.”

“I’m older, actually. Just by a year, don’t worry.”

“In that case… should I roll out the honorifics?” she asks, tilting her head curiously. Suggestively. Chanyeol knows an enticed prey when he sees one.

“Your flirting skills are commendable, Agent Lux, but we’re in a bit of a time crunch here. We don’t have all night,” his partner reminds him through his earpiece, and Chanyeol thinks so too. “Wrap it up.”

Chanyeol sits up straight and clears his throat. “Choi Changmin,” he introduces his cover. “Seunghoon’s my uncle.”

A spark of recognition ignites in Jihyo’s eyes. She just keeps eating all the shit I’m feeding her, Chanyeol thinks. “Ah, the Choi whiskey distillers. I was wondering why I haven’t seen Mr. Choi all night.”

But Chanyeol knows that it’s because Choi Seunghoon never got his invitation. The agency intercepted it so that they could use it as a ticket for one of their agents, in this case, him. It was way too easy, really. The wealthy aren’t as slick as they think they are.

“The clock is ticking, Agent Lux,” Sehun reminds him again.

Chanyeol smiles at his target—it’s his most powerful weapon for the night. “Jihyo, is there some place where we can be alone?” he asks, his tone dripping with undertones.

“As a matter of fact, we do,” she says. Her eyes grow even bigger, and Chanyeol confirms that it was lust swirling in them, after all. Jihyo stands up from her seat, and the second she does, men dressed like normal guests immediately make their way toward her.

Huh. So that’s where her babysitters are, Chanyeol says to himself.

She waves them off, “It’s fine. We’re just going up to my room.”

The bodyguards look at each other. The oldest-looking one, probably the head of her security detail, Chanyeol presumes, says, “We have to check if he’s clean, Ms. Park.” When Jihyo sends him a glare, he adds, “Your mother’s orders. I’m sorry, but we have to insist.”

“Fine,” she concedes, rolling her eyes. “But do it at my door. I don’t want the other guests seeing my guards groping another guest to search for hidden weapons.”

The guard who spoke up nods and then leads the way to Jihyo’s room. Chanyeol is flanked by the other guards, maybe five or six of them, maybe more from behind where he can’t see. He can easily take them on, but he knows that won’t be necessary. There won’t be a fight tonight—not a physical one, at least.

Through his earpiece, Chanyeol can hear his partner clapping and rejoicing. “Good work,” Sehun commends him. “Don’t worry about the earpiece being seen. It’s way too small to be noticed. They’re probably going to search your torso and limbs, anyway.”

Again, Chanyeol’s already aware of that. His partner’s been treating him like a novice all night, he’s noticed. Sehun’s going to get an earful from him when they get back to HQ.

When the check’s over and done with and Chanyeol is finally truly alone with his target, he assesses the room the second he steps inside. The room is as big as a hotel suite, maybe even bigger, but that’s something that Chanyeol already expected.

Just as his eyes begin to take every inch of the bedroom to search for what he’s after, a ringtone cuts through the silence.

Jihyo walks over to the table at the far side of the bed littered with various picture frames, other trinkets, and, more importantly, her phone. Chanyeol doesn’t know who’s on the other line right now, but that’s a trivial matter. What concerns him is how he’s going to snatch the device away from his target.

When the call ends and she finally puts the phone down, Chanyeol immediately makes his way toward her. He then slowly snakes his arms around her waist.

Jihyo gives in. Chanyeol notices this and gradually spins both of them around so that now his back is facing the table. He lifts his right hand off Jihyo’s waist, quickly reaches out behind him to grab the device, and slides it into his back pocket all the while his left hand draws lazy circles on her hip.

Jihyo keens into Chanyeol’s touch and just as she tilts her neck to the side to invite him in, Chanyeol retreats.

“I have to use the bathroom for a second,” he smiles sweetly, mostly for his small accomplishment in redirecting Jihyo’s attention to grab what he came for. But of course, his oblivious target doesn’t know that.

“Okay. It’s just behind the divider,” Jihyo says. She walks toward the bed and sits slowly, crossing her legs. “I’ll be here waiting.”

Chanyeol takes his time, walking as he normally does so that Jihyo doesn’t notice anything amiss. He locks the bathroom door shut once he’s inside. He takes a deep breath and then begins tinkering on his target’s phone.

He opens the browser, switches it to private mode, and then enters an unlisted website whose address is more of a code than a link. Once he’s in, he downloads the software designed to rummage through everything on the phone: text messages, phone calls, e-mails, the works, even those that are encrypted. In this case, specifically any kind of communication between Jihyo and her mother, who’s hot on NIS’ list—hot enough for the operation to be handed over to Chanyeol’s agency. The software is military grade and cannot be detected or removed by anyone other than the person at the other end of Chanyeol’s earpiece.

Sehun may be a handful, but he’s valuable. That, Chanyeol acknowledges.

“Nice work there, Agent Lux. Where’d you learn that from? David Blaine?”

“How did you see that?” Chanyeol asks. The download is at twenty-eight percent. “There aren’t any security cameras in the room. I checked the ceilings first.”

Sehun laughs, the annoying kind that he does when he feels like he has outsmarted Chanyeol. “It’s not on the ceiling. Ah, don’t worry ‘bout it. Let’s just say I managed to sneak in something in that room and that I have eyes on Jihyo right now. And that I’m the best agent ever.”

Chanyeol ignores that last part. The download is at fifty-two percent. Sixty-four. Seventy-one.

“Um, Lux…” Sehun begins to say.

“What?”

“The talking strawberry’s calling.”

“Talking strawberry?” Chanyeol asks, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Who—”

Oh.

That talking strawberry.

Chanyeol sighs and internally scolds himself for not understanding what his partner meant. Ever since Baekhyun dyed his hair pink, Sehun’s been comparing him to the only pink fruit he can think of. And strawberries aren’t even really pink.

Chanyeol pinches the bridge of his nose. He feels like he’s going to have a migraine in the middle of an operation.

He looks at the phone. The download is at eighty-seven percent.

“Don’t answer it,” he orders his partner. “We’re working.”

“You sure about that? ‘Cause the last time we ignored his call, he almost followed you to HQ and I don’t think…”

Fuck. Sehun has a point.

“Okay,” Chanyeol cuts him off. The download is at ninety-five percent. “Put him through the line.”

Suddenly, it’s not Sehun at the other end of the line, but his roommate, who always has impeccable timing.

“Are you forgetting something?” is the first thing that Baekhyun says. No hello, no greetings, no anything. Typical Byun Baekhyun.

“Uh…” Chanyeol replies intelligently.

Baekhyun’s sigh can be heard through the line, and Chanyeol knows that it’s not a good sign if his roommate is sighing that loudly. “It’s Friday,” Baekhyun says.

Fucking Friday. “Ah, movie night,” Chanyeol finally remembers. “Sorry, I… I, uh, got caught in some work. I’ll finish up real quick and head home.”

“Where are you?”

“Um, Itaewon-dong,” he replies. That’s the truth.

“What are you doing there?” Baekhyun demands. Damn, this talking strawberry has a lot of questions.

Chanyeol lets out a soundless curse before replying. “Just some work for the internship,” he says. “You know, for the MOFA.” That’s partly true. “You know, I’ll finish up work faster if we hang up right now.”

The download is complete. Chanyeol knows he’s been in the bathroom for too long and that any moment now, Jihyo’s going to think that something’s wrong and knock on him. Or worse, she might call her guards in.

“You’re right,” Baekhyun finally retreats. “Okay, I’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, bye, see you later,” Chanyeol says as cheerfully as he can. The line beeps once and his partner is back on board.

Sehun clears his throat. “So… movie night, huh?”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m not in the mood.”

“Are you really sure the two of you are just friends because—”

“If you don’t shut up right now I’m going to personally rearrange your limbs after this mission is over,” Chanyeol says. Silence resonates on the other line as Sehun finally drops the topic. Chanyeol slides Jihyo’s phone under his sleeve, ready to place it back on the table like nothing happened. “Give me a visual on the target.”

“Right, right,” his partner scrambles. “Uh, she’s… Oh. Holy shit. She’s, um, ready.”

“Radio silence in fifteen seconds,” Chanyeol orders.

“Roger that.”

“Turn off the camera in the room.”

“Miles ahead of you, Agent Lux,” Sehun replies. “I hope we get off work early tonight.”

Chanyeol takes off his earpiece and his bowtie, and then leaves the bathroom.

 —

 Chanyeol returns home just before midnight. He runs into Mrs. Kwon on the ground floor, who reminds him kindly about the rent. Chanyeol promises to take care of it tomorrow and Mrs. Kwon says okay with a good-natured smile as she always does.

Baekhyun was supposed to pay rent today after he got home from class, but Baekhyun forgets a lot of things that he’s supposed to do.

Chanyeol sighs as he inserts the key to their apartment. “Byun Baekhyun,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

He opens the door with much difficulty because of the rust eating the hinges, and he makes a mental note to call maintenance to have it fixed as it seems like his roommate has no plans of doing so even after Chanyeol has reminded him of it dozens of times.

The TV is on when Chanyeol enters, blaring Dead Poets Society in its “O Captain! My Captain!” scene. Baekhyun is sleeping on the couch with a blanket draped over him, his hands tucked under his cheek like a kid. He has his annoying moments, but he sure looks cute when he’s asleep, Chanyeol must admit.

Chanyeol walks silently into the kitchen so as not to wake his roommate up. He sees that the dish rack is empty and the rice dispenser is untouched, which means Baekhyun hasn’t eaten. Was he waiting for Chanyeol to get home so they could eat together?

Something pokes at Chanyeol’s heart. Guilt, most likely.

And so Chanyeol orders chicken delivery and begins measuring rice to make up for the dinner and movie night he missed. As he’s washing the grains, his roommate stirs from his sleep.

Baekhyun yawns rather loudly as he stretches, blinking away the remnants of sleep in his eyes. He zones out for a few more minutes, as he always does when he has just woken up, before walking into the kitchen to see what Chanyeol is doing.

“When did you get home?” Baekhyun asks in his rough, just-woke-up voice. His eyes still look clouded with sleep, heavy and jaded, and his pink hair is flying in all directions. It’s Chanyeol’s favorite look on him.

“Just a few minutes ago. I was gonna wake you up when the delivery arrives.”

Baekhyun drags his feet out of the kitchen and slumps into their small dining table. He yawns again and closes his eyes. Half-asleep, he asks, “What did you order?”

When the water finally clears, Chanyeol puts the bowl into the cooker and turns it on. “Honey chicken,” he replies, drying his hands on the towel hanging from the fridge door handle.

“I don’t like that. Why’d you order that?”

“It’s your favorite,” Chanyeol deadpans. He takes a seat across Baekhyun while waiting for the rice to cook and the delivery to arrive.

“Yeah, but I’m trying to lose weight and I can’t control myself around those things,” his roommate argues sleepily, pouting as he speaks. Chanyeol can see why Sehun calls him a talking strawberry. “Why did you order delivery, anyway? It’s twelve o’clock.”

“You didn’t eat dinner. Sorry for missing the movie, by the way. How was it?”

Baekhyun sprawls his right arm on the dining table and rests his head on it. “Dunno,” he mumbles. “I don’t remembering anything after the first ten minutes.”

Chanyeol couldn’t help but smile. Baekhyun looks cute when he’s asleep, but he’s even cuter he’s just woken up, trying to fight off the drowsiness that’s trying to pull him under once again.

Baekhyun has been Chanyeol’s roommate since freshman year, and Chanyeol isn’t sure when he started paying attention to even the smallest details about his roommate, like how childlike he gets when he’s roused from sleep.

It just happened, even though it shouldn’t have because Chanyeol has no time to look at someone like that. His line of work demands too much from him—time, energy, secrecy, among other things—so he knows for a fact that a relationship couldn’t possibly fit in there somewhere.

Still, the heart wants what it wants. Now that they’re just one semester away from graduating, Chanyeol is seriously considering doing something stupid, like confessing his feelings. But he has long accepted that he can never have normal relationships, at least while he’s still an agent. The dangers are very real in his job, and he doesn’t want to put Baekhyun through all of that.

“Do you still want to watch the movie?” Chanyeol asks.

“Sure, but… aren’t you tired? You just got back from your internship.”

As a matter of fact, Chanyeol is tired. He’s always tired when he comes back from an assignment—or his ‘internship’, as his roommate calls it. But Baekhyun hasn’t eaten dinner and Chanyeol feels bad for missing movie night and watching a movie at home with one of his favorite people in the world doesn’t sound like a bad thing to do after a tiring night.

“I’m okay,” Chanyeol smiles. “Watching a Robin Williams film is always a good idea.”

After the chicken arrived and the rice is cooked, Chanyeol and Baekhyun eat on the couch with their feet propped up on their small coffee table while Dead Poets Society plays again on the TV, and somewhere in the middle of the film, when their bowls are empty and their stomachs full, Baekhyun begins to play footsie with Chanyeol under their shared blanket.

 —

 The moment his professor asks the class to pass their papers, Chanyeol’s chest feels significantly lighter. Finals are at long last over and done with; finally one more thing off of Chanyeol’s mind.

Chanyeol wants to savor every moment of his shoulders not having to carry any weight—all four hours of it—because by eight this evening, he’ll be burdened with something again, another mission in just a span of a few weeks.

Baekhyun’s last exam doesn’t end until five o’clock. This gives Chanyeol enough time to walk from his department to their favorite spot on campus without rushing himself.

Neutinamu has numerous locations on Seouldae, but Chanyeol’s favorite is the one near the College of Music. For starters, their drinks are decent, but it’s also because it’s where Baekhyun and Chanyeol often hung out after class since freshman year. The café holds many memories, and in six months’ time, there may be no more opportunities to make new ones.

Graduation. That’s another thing that Chanyeol wants to get off of his mind.

On the one hand, graduating means that he’ll have the chance to work without worrying about anything else. Chanyeol isn’t particularly fond of school—who is?—not with the hectic deadlines and critical analysis papers and case studies that come with being a political science major. It’s all just a big distraction to him. On the other hand, graduating also means that he’ll have to move out of Haengun-dong as their lease expires by the end of February. They’ll have to move out of their apartment and Chanyeol doesn’t know what Baekhyun’s plans are after college and he hasn’t asked, mostly because he’s afraid that he’s not going to be a part of it.

Chanyeol’s not worried about finding a new place. Seoul never has a shortage of those, and even in the unlikely event that it does, he can always move to Gyeonggi-do where he can be near his sister.

He’s more worried about Baekhyun. More specifically, not being with Baekhyun. When you’ve lived with someone for four years, it’s inevitable that they will grow on you, and it’s certainly not impossible with a person like Byun Baekhyun.

Sure, he can be an occasional pain in the ass, but Chanyeol couldn’t have wished for a better roommate. Chanyeol takes care of most things at home, and Baekhyun manages to return that care in his own special way—like how Baekhyun immediately knows Chanyeol isn’t in the best of moods just by hearing the way he breathes and immediately makes an effort to make him laugh, or how he remembers that Chanyeol doesn’t like bell peppers in his fried rice when it’s Baekhyun’s turn to cook dinner despite being forgetful of other stuff.

“Chanyeol,” an all too familiar voice says.

Baekhyun’s rectangular smile is the first thing that Chanyeol sees when he looks up and Chanyeol’s heart does this thing that it always does when Baekhyun is in close proximity.

“Hi. How was your exam?” he asks as Baekhyun settles on the seat across from him.

Baekhyun’s features contort into a scowl at Chanyeol's mention of something he’d rather forget. “I hope that old sot dies soon.”

Chanyeol couldn’t help but laugh; he knows that Baekhyun’s pertaining to his Literary Translation professor, Mr. Yoo, and he also knows that Baekhyun doesn’t mean it. He’s used to his roommate’s interesting choice of words when he’s in a bad mood.

Baekhyun casually reaches for Chanyeol’s iced peach tea and takes a generous sip as if he was the one who had bought it. Chanyeol doesn’t mind—he and Baekhyun are way past the stage of asking permission before sharing things.

“Why’d you wait for me here?” Baekhyun asks, nearly finishing the drink that was supposed to be Chanyeol’s.

It takes a while for Chanyeol to say something because he really doesn’t have an answer to that. They weren’t supposed to meet today, but his fingers were texting Baekhyun before he could even stop them.

“I don’t know,” Chanyeol decides to settle on the truth. “I just wanted to see you somewhere that’s not at home, I guess.”

Ever since the semester began to near its end, work just began piling up—both school and espionage related—and the only chance that Chanyeol gets to see Baekhyun is back at their godforsaken apartment.

Baekhyun’s face lights up at what Chanyeol just said, his eyes gleaming mischievously. “In other words, you missed me.”

Well, yeah, that’s another way to put it, Chanyeol wants to say, but of course, he can’t. So instead, he simply rolls his eyes at his roommate, keeping his true feelings to himself—like what he’s been doing for the past four years.

Baekhyun suddenly stands up and extends his arm to Chanyeol, urging him to get up as well.

“Where are we going?” Chanyeol asks as he rises from his seat skeptically.

“Well, you said you missed me, so let’s eat someplace nice.”

“I never said I missed you.”

Baekhyun shakes his head, dismissively waving his hand in front of him. “Same difference,” he insists, and Chanyeol knows he’ll never win when his roommate has made up his mind.

“Fine,” Chanyeol finally agrees. “But I have to clock in at MOFA by eight.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Now it’s Baekhyun’s turn to roll his eyes. “I’m starting to get suspicious of that internship. Well, I’m suspicious of the government in general, anyway.”

Chanyeol just offers a small smile. Oh, you have no idea, he replies in his mind.

 —

 Chanyeol has roughly thirty minutes to spare before his scheduled briefing with his case officer, so he heads to the agent lounge to spend his last moments of peace and quiet with a steaming cup of coffee.

Unfortunately, Luhan has other plans.

“So when did movie night become a thing?” Luhan asks as soon as he sits beside Chanyeol on the couch. So much for peace and quiet.

“It’s been a thing of mankind for quite some time now,” Chanyeol deadpans, taking another sip of his Americano without paying so much as a glance at the annoying newcomer. “For someone who works in intelligence, you don’t seem to exhibit intelligence.”

Luhan ignores the jab and simply laughs. “I meant with Baekhyun,” he says as he leans closer to Chanyeol, adamant to get an answer. Luhan seems to be in a good mood, and when that happens, things don’t usually end nicely for Chanyeol.

While Chanyeol was debating whether or not he should indulge Luhan’s borderline invasive questioning, Sehun enters the lounge, stopping Chanyeol from arriving at a conclusion to his dilemma and—thankfully—distracting Luhan.

Sehun plops down beside Luhan with a sigh. He’s always this lethargic before briefings, which Chanyeol understands. Being an agent isn’t as glamorous as James Bond and Ethan Hunt make it to be. There are no deus ex machina moments in a real operation; the margin of error is paper-thin and even the smallest of fuck-ups can be catastrophic.

“Ah, don’t be sad,” Luhan says in an attempt—a pathetic one at that, in Chanyeol’s opinion—to comfort Sehun. “Look on the bright side: this is our first mission together since our initiation assignment.”

Chanyeol nearly spits out his coffee.

“Well, you do have a po—”

“Wait,” Chanyeol interrupts Sehun. “You’re on the assignment too?”

Luhan’s lips form into a smile. So that’s why he’s in too good of a mood. “Jongdae called me just yesterday, something about a briefing tonight. So I called Sehun to tell him because I was so excited, but it turns out, it’s the same assignment,” he explains, his smile growing wider and wider. “Just like the old days.”

Great, Chanyeol says to himself. Now I have two divas to deal with.

Sehun’s already hard to deal with, and adding Luhan into the equation spells out nothing but a headache for Chanyeol. Maybe that’s why the two of them go so well together.

Defeated, Chanyeol just sighs and finishes his Americano. “Why don’t good things happen to me?” he mumbles under his breath.

Just then, Jongdae bursts into the room, frantic and out of breath, as if he had climbed a dozen flights of stairs. When his eyes fall on the trio, he immediately walks toward them.

Chanyeol has never seen Jongdae like this: hair disheveled, tie loosened, eyes panicked. Whatever’s wrong, Chanyeol’s sure that it’s going to be his problem too.

“The briefing’s at eight o’clock, right?” Sehun asks, glancing at his wrist watch to check if he had lost track of the time.

Jongdae takes a moment to catch his breath before replying. “Director Kim is here.”

Something is definitely wrong.

“Isn’t he supposed to be in Moscow to meet the director of the FSB?” Luhan asks. His smile has disappeared, his brows knitted.

It’s because the director isn’t usually present in case briefings. As a matter of fact, he’s rarely in the office—he’s always flying off to some country to meet other important people in the intelligence industry. When he’s in the country, it’s almost always because something’s awfully wrong, and Jongdae’s expression confirms just that.

“Minister Choi is also here. They’re waiting for you downstairs,” Jongdae adds. That finally gets the trio on their feet. “The mission is more complicated than we thought.”

 —

 Chanyeol has never liked the fourth floor of the MOFA Building in Jongno-gu.

For starters, it’s not four stories above ground. Hidden underneath the edifice that the public sees is the headquarters of the Elite Radical Intelligence Service, or ERIS, a buried intelligence agency of the South Korean government in all sense of the word. Chanyeol basically grew up in this place, and if that’s testament to anything, it’s that he’s been in the industry far too long for someone as young as he is.

The fourth level of the basement, or B4, as they fondly call it, is the most important level of their headquarters. It’s the floor where most of the agency’s important offices are in: the briefing rooms, the director’s office, and Ignis’ office.

Every time Chanyeol goes down to B4 for a briefing, he always passes by the elusive spymaster’s office. Ignis. Even his name is bewildering, like some mystery that no one has even come close to solving. Chanyeol has never seen their spymaster in all his years, and he definitely has a lot of those. Rumors say that no one has really seen Ignis too, with the exception of Director Kim.

But Ignis is the least of Chanyeol’s problems as of the moment.

Minster Choi is the first person Chanyeol sees when he enters the briefing room. The minister’s hands are clasped together on the table, his back straight and stiff against the chair. Gone is the usual smile on his face. Worry lines are prominent on his forehead.

As they file into the room, they are offered a small smile from Director Kim. He looks tired, like he just got off a nine-hour flight, which he probably did.

“Let’s begin,” the minister says when the three agents are seated.

Jongdae hands out case files to Chanyeol and his partners. With a few taps on his tablet, the room’s lights go dim and the screen behind Jongdae lights up, the logo of the agency rotating on the center.

Jongdae clears his throat before he speaks. “As you all know, The Blue House will be hosting a banquet tomorrow at 20:00 to welcome the arrival of Ambassador Zhang from Beijing.” A photo of the ambassador appears on screen. “We’ve received intelligence that there is a plan to assassinate him during the banquet.”

Silence fills the room at Jongdae’s words.

Director Kim stands up from his seat. “At first, we were just asked by the NIS to send our best men to be the ambassador’s special security detail. But after the intelligence report we received this morning, I’m afraid that this assignment is much more than that.”

Chanyeol swallows thickly as he tries his best to hide the trembling of his hands. This is the biggest mission that has been assigned to him so far.

“Does the MSS know?” Luhan asks.

Jongdae and Director Kim exchange a quick glance.

“They haven’t reached out to us,” Jongdae finally answers. “Although I’m pretty sure they were the first to receive the report before anyone else.”

Sehun closes his file case and raises his eyebrows at his case officer. “Then why don’t we reach out to them? Their ambassador’s life is in danger. We can’t just sit here and plan the assignment without their knowledge of the assassination plot.”

“It’s not that simple,” Director Kim begins to say, until his words are cut off when Minister Choi wordlessly stands up and walks toward the front of the room.

Sehun straightens up, and Chanyeol sees him fumbling with his nails underneath the table, a habit he does when he’s embarrassed. Chanyeol knows he means well and that he didn’t mean to question their superiors, but still, Chanyeol thinks Sehun should know better than to say something, especially with the minister in the room.

Minister Choi buttons his suit and runs his palms down through the hem, tidying up nonexistent wrinkles in the fabric. “To refresh everyone’s minds, our relations with Beijing are a bit questionable as of the moment,” he starts, making sure to look at Sehun. Sehun sinks further down his seat, which is a feat for someone with his height. “We can’t just simply share intelligence with them, especially one as sensitive as this. I think everyone in this room would agree that the MSS is one of the world’s most powerful intelligence agencies. Besides, if they want us to know, they would’ve already told us the moment they received the report. There’s no reason for them not to tell us, because, as Agent Oh has pointed out, their ambassador’s life is at stake. That being said, there are many things that can go wrong if we don’t thoroughly think of our actions.”

“They’re watching us,” Director Kim puts it simply. “They’re watching us very closely. If anything goes wrong, they will pin the blame on us, which can catapult Chinese and South Korean relations back as it were in the fifties.”

Minister Choi takes a seat once again, nodding at Jongdae to continue the briefing.

“They can also accuse the Americans of the assassination if it ever succeeds—which we will make sure it doesn’t—since they’re already suspicious of Washington anyway because of the THAAD deployment. The assassination will simply justify them burning Washington to the ground if they choose to do so,” Jongdae explains.

Jongdae taps on his tablet again. The screen switches to various photos of people, some of which Chanyeol recognizes from the summer he worked at Langley, with their names and covers indicted underneath.

“American spies,” Luhan points out. “What do they have to do with all of this?”

“We can’t trust anyone but ourselves in this mission,” Jongdae answers. “We don’t know who’s planning the assassination, but we have ample reason to suspect the Americans as well. If the plan succeeds and the Chinese retaliate—and they will—Washington can use that to legitimize their military presence here, and of course, our… friends at the North will react negatively to that.”

Luhan props his arm on the table and rests his chin on his palm. “So these American agents… we have to keep an eye out for them? In case they’re the assassins?”

“Precisely,” Jongdae confirms.

Chanyeol clears his throat. It’s his first word of the meeting. “If we do anything wrong, it will be like the Korean War all over again.” The room goes incredibly still, as if everyone has stopped breathing. “The Americans will back us, the Chinese have the North’s support. That’s it, right?”

Director Kim looks at Minister Choi and the minister grimly nods.

That’s the only answer Chanyeol needs. “Fantastic,” he says sardonically. “What are our designations?”

 —

 “Looking good, Lux,” Sehun says through the earpiece.

Chanyeol looks at the nearest security camera and gives it the middle finger.  “Shut up. I can’t believe I’m on sniper duty tonight.”

“Well, someone has to be.”

The wind whips at Chanyeol’s face. He crosses his arms in front of him in a useless attempt to shield himself from the cold and he couldn’t help but envy his partners who are probably warm indoors.

But it’s not the cold that’s really bothering Chanyeol. Even if he was inside, he’d still be probably shaking from anxiety because of the gravity of this mission. The three of them—him, Luhan, and Sehun—could be the difference between instigating another war.

Chanyeol takes a deep breath. He has already proven himself to the ERIS countless times, and yet he feels like he has to do it again, that this mission is the one that counts the most among all his other assignments.

“The roof is clear,” Chanyeol says to his partners. “For now, at least. How’s the party, M?”

“Clear. I have eyes on Zulu,” Luhan replies.

“And I have eyes on… well, everyone,” Sehun says. Chanyeol throws another crude gesture at the security camera near him. “I saw that!”

Chanyeol laughs. “I know.”

“Can the two of you please be serious?” Luhan scolds them through the line. “This is not the time to be dicking around.”

“Loosen up, ba—” Sehun stops abruptly. Chanyeol pretends that he didn’t hear Sehun almost call Luhan ‘babe’ over the radio during an assignment. “Loosen up, M. We’re not dicking around, we’re just trying to have a little bit of fun. We’re already nervous as it is.”

Chanyeol hears someone heave a deep breath through the line—Luhan, most likely. Chanyeol can’t really blame him for being too uptight. In a way, he’s right that this isn’t the time to be joking and throwing indiscreet middle fingers at security cameras. Should anything fall out of plan, their careers as agents are on the line, or worse, their lives. God knows that it’s certain there’s going to be at least one body count if the mission fails, and it’s going to be the ambassador.

Chanyeol looks up at the full moon hanging low in the night sky. He’s given up on believing in any higher being up there in the heavens a long time ago, but he feels like the occasion calls for a simple prayer.

Please, he begs at the cold air around him. He doesn’t even know what to say after that, and he hopes that whoever was up there would understand what he’s asking for even with just a single word from him.

“What’s the status now inside?” Chanyeol asks his partners.

“Dinner’s starting,” Luhan replies almost instantly. “He’s seated according to the plan sent to us by HQ.”

The sound of keys clacking follows Luhan’s response, and Chanyeol knows that Sehun’s going to town back at the station. “The interior looks clean,” Sehun announces after some time.

That’s when Chanyeol saw it—a shadow lurking in the dark, blending almost seamlessly into the night. Almost. Then Chanyeol saw the unmistakable silhouette of a sniper, easily twenty-four inches long. Chanyeol whips out his own pistol and shoots at the figure, and by the time he hears his bullet pierce through someone’s flesh, he feels something hot and wet dribbling down his left arm. A bullet had grazed his skin.

Chanyeol barely has time to relay information to his partners and he’s sure that Sehun saw it all anyway, so he leaves his post on the roof and jumps down to the ground to track down the shooter. He hasn’t gone far; Chanyeol made sure that he hit something.

Chanyeol’s lungs are burning despite the cold wind thrashing against his body as he speeds through the woods behind The Blue House. He manages to make out the words his partners are frantically transmitting over the radio: Zulu is safe, Lux is in pursuit, he’s hounding naked, we need to deploy backup immediately.

But Chanyeol couldn’t care less if he’s running further and further away without cover. All that’s in his mind right now is that he’s managed to wound the shooter and that he’s slowed him down.

The forest grows thicker and thicker at Chanyeol’s every step. His vision can only register flashes of moonlight as he zips through the trees, stray branches indiscriminately hitting him, but he hardly feels their thwacks against his skin.

Chanyeol finally slows down when his eyes can no longer make out anything but pitch-black darkness in the middle of the forest. Even though he just ran hundreds and hundreds of yards, he controls the sound of his breathing to nonexistence in order to hear the leaves and twigs crunching under the shooter’s feet.

He runs immediately to his right when he hears an indisputable snap coming from that direction, only to be met with a discarded black bulletproof vest lying on the dirt. A pin on the vest catches what little moonlight it could reflect and gets Chanyeol’s attention. The small metal badge stands out on the black garment with its red-hot color, the emblem shaped like a triangle.

Chanyeol slips the pin in one of his pockets.

“I lost the shooter,” Chanyeol says to his earpiece. “He left a trail for me in the woods north of the complex.”

He kneels on the ground as he waits for help to arrive.

 —

 Chanyeol goes through the same thing after every assignment—receive medical attention if he has acquired wounds, check; get debriefed with his partners by their handler, check; and head to whatever place they call home as if nothing happened, check. The written report was always something for the following day.

When he arrives at their apartment, Baekhyun is boiling ramen in the kitchen. Of course, he immediately notices Chanyeol’s heavily-bandaged left arm and goes through his usual rapid-fire questioning that makes Chanyeol want to drape a pillow over his head.

“It’s just a minor wound,” Chanyeol insists at Baekhyun’s fifth question of what’s underneath the gauze. “I just hit myself… somewhere.”

Baekhyun glares at him as he angrily slurps his noodles. “You say that every time you get yourself wrapped up. You know, I’m starting to get suspicious.”

On any other day, Baekhyun’s statement might have scared Chanyeol. But Chanyeol couldn’t seem to get his mind off the shooter and the breadcrumb he left behind for Chanyeol to find.

Chanyeol takes the pin out of his pocket and twirls it between his fingers, wondering why the shooter bothered to take off his vest and leave the badge on it. Chanyeol’s not stupid; he knows for a fact that the shooter wanted him to find the vest, but the question that’s been giving Chanyeol a migraine is the question why.

“What’s that?” Baekhyun asks as he passes by Chanyeol on the couch. “A souvenir from the MOFA?”

Chanyeol wishes he could say yes. “Just something a friend left behind for me,” he lies. “I’m not sure why it’s in the shape of a triangle, though.”

Baekhyun throws himself on the couch, nearly hitting Chanyeol’s bullet wound as he bounces off the springs. “Maybe your friend… just really likes triangles?”

The ringing of Chanyeol’s phone beats whatever reaction he was about to give his roommate.

Chanyeol’s heartbeat is drumming in his ears as he slowly reaches out for his phone on the coffee table. No one really calls him after an assignment; it’s an unspoken agreement within them at the agency—let agents have their time to themselves after a mission.

And just as he predicted, it’s an unlisted number.

“Aren’t you going to answer it?” Baekhyun asks him, and Chanyeol realizes that he’s been letting his phone ring for far too long.

He finally presses answer.

At first, nothing can be heard at the other end of the line but heavy breathing from the caller. The stirring in Chanyeol’s gut grows wilder in every drag of air he hears through the receiver, and just as he was about to end the call and dismiss the caller as a prankster, they finally speak.

“Nice work at The Blue House tonight, Agent Lux,” the unidentified voice says. Chanyeol’s entire body freezes in fear. No one outside of the agency knows his codename.

“Who is this?” Chanyeol asks, straining to keep his voice straight.

“That doesn’t matter,” the man replies, and for some reason, Chanyeol’s a hundred percent sure that the person he’s talking to right now is the same person he was trying to hunt down the woods earlier this evening. “My identity is not important. The only thing that matters right now is that I know who you are, I know who you work for, and I know how to hurt you.”

Chanyeol feels like his blood has turned to ice.

“Take a good look at your roommate, Agent Lux. His face will be the last you see before the two of you die.”

The line goes dead, Chanyeol finally hears the ticking, he grabs Baekhyun by the arm, and they both jump out of the window before everything behind them explodes.

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