#spdxjunmyeon

Jongin stood over the collapsed body, a smirk etched in his features as he watched the last of the man’s life drain with each ragged breath and drop of blood seeping out around the jagged blade protruding from his chest. He was an insignificant hit in Jongin’s book, but it didn’t prevent the teen from enjoying the task of stripping his mortality from him and sticking around to watch the results of his handiwork play out before his eyes. It was a risky move on his part, loitering around to watch him die when there was a chance someone might have overheard the pained shouts and alerted the authorities but there was method in sticking around; he needed to confirm the kill after all, even though the chances of survival were exceedingly slim since Jongin’s blade had made a happy home in the man’s heart. A weak hand clawed at his pant leg before death claimed its prey, the final exhale of shaky breath alerting Jongin that his efforts were worthwhile. Drawing the knife out of the man’s chest and wiping the excess blood on a clean patch of the man’s shirt, Jongin tucked the blade back into the holster hidden beneath the pant leg of his black jeans and stepped over the cooling corpse at his feet. Disinterested now that the deed was done, Jongin didn’t spare so much as a glance over his shoulder as he slipped out through the window he’d snuck in through, strategically using the fire escape of the apartment building to avoid being caught by the cameras in the elevators and lobby. It was unconventional for him and he wasn’t particularly fond of the grime catching on his gloves as he descended down the ladder, but he had to be extra careful this time around; his last hit had drawn in unwanted attention from the police and media, which subsequently drew attention from his superiors. The tongue lashing and bruises on his skin had helped to drive their words home and he had no intention of doing something that required a second reminder. A few flights down and Jongin’s feet finally reached solid ground. He let go of the ladder and pulled off his gloves, grimacing at the filth on the palms of the smooth surface. They were undoubtedly ruined and soiled, and Jongin had no need for them now that he’d taken care of his hit and they were the only thing remaining that had his DNA to connect him to the murder. He’d long since given up wearing leather gloves, since leather wasn’t flammable and tucking them into inconspicuous dumpsters in neglected alleyways was a little too risky now that his kills had been brought to the attention of law enforcement, and he had adapted the practice of burning whatever evidence he could. Digging a lighter out of his back pocket, Jongin lit the fabric ablaze and let it drop to the ground, watching the gloves become nothing more than a pile of ash. It was easy to scatter it with the toe of his shoe, spreading it and further contaminating it with the unidentifiable sludge coating the ground.