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“Fuck,” Chanyeol cussed, hitting yet another dead-end. He’d tried every possible backdoor method, every possible worm and virus to edge him in. All he needed was one small opening, a little bit of the information to leak out, and he could get the dam bursting. But Suho’s firewalls were impenetrable, and if Chanyeol wasn’t standing on the other side of it, he’d honestly applaud for the man’s ingenuity. Unfortunately, Suho was in the way of Chanyeol’s claim for riches. Defeat didn’t sit well with Chanyeol either.

In the end, it’s a cheapshot that Chanyeol uses to get in. He’d attacked Suho’s servers on the image front, sending spambots to do his job. While Suho’s system was identifying the spambots as non-threatening, Chanyeol slipped in his virus with a similar coding make-up. The moment his Seeker (he liked to name his programmes, getting as affectionate with them as one would a dear pet) got in, he literally jumped for joy, letting out a loud whoop! that shook his tower of crusty bowls. 

His next step had been to download Suho’s programme into the harddrive. Fortunately, his employees had only sought the mainframe, and not the information. They said that as long as they could replicate the system, it’d be fine. The intricacies of how it worked, the customer base… that could be figured out later. Honestly, Chanyeol didn’t give a fuck as long as he could do as they’d requested. He kept his eyes fixed on the download bar, slowly inching from 0 to 100. It’s only when the bar was completely full that he relaxed, wheezing out a contented sigh.

( txt: ) where r u ( txt: ) if your dead pls holler from the afterlife

He sighed, because of course Seon Hye doesn’t reply. They were due for a lunch date (Chanyeol’s treat, since he’d stupidly lost a bet; it didn’t matter because he was determined to bring Seon Hye to the cheapest eatery in the neighbourhood and was even more determined to ignore her complaints).

Of course, their lunch dates never quite ended with just lunch. There were times he’d find himself in places he wouldn’t actually be, had he not been hanging out with Seon Hye. There were times he’d find himself in restricted sections of museums, in the rooftops of several buildings, and there was that one time he’d goaded her into climbing a tree… and well, he wasn’t planning to do that again. With that thought in mind, he texted her again.

He groans, but it comes out sounding more like a dry whisper of nothing, and even that is already exerting too much effort. Chanyeol wants to die. The only consolation he gets is that there’s an extremely warm, presumably naked body tucked under his arm. The stranger smells faintly of sweat and liquor, but his (no boobs, Chanyeol discovers, after a surreptitious grope) companion’s presence is comforting and that’s all Chanyeol cares about at the moment. It’s all Chanyeol can care about, since higher function seems to be unavailable to him at the moment. He presses his nose against the man’s neck and tries to re-evaluate his night. He’d gone out with Zhongren—he’d gone drinking with Zhongren—figuring it was their one week in Las Vegas, and he can afford to make a few mistakes.

“Fucking hell,” he murmurs into the stranger’s skin. It’s only then that his lips brush against a clothed patch. Chanyeol forces his eyes open, only to see a square of white bandage dotted with red from where some sort of wound (?) had clearly opened. Panicked, Chanyeol leans back, wincing when he feels a stabbing pain in his head. From this point of view, a dim memory lights up in his head. Him dragging Zhongren into a tattoo shop, declaring it's time the both of them had their dicks properly named. Him convincing Zhongren into getting a Hello Kitty going down on—

Oh god. Oh fuck. Had they really— was there really— Chanyeol squinted and shifted. He was naked, that's for sure. Which can only mean one thing: he was spooning Zhongren. There were so many things wrong with that picture, that even the knowledge of Zhongren having gotten a ridiculous tattoo couldn't make up for it.