TWO YEARS LATER

"Are you awake?"

Vernon rolled over on his side to look at the boy who had spoken. Taeyong's jaw rested in the cleft of his palm, elbow propped against the headrest, and he was looking right at him with bleary eyes and a soft, sleepy expression which didn't match the rough cadences of his morning voice.

"I'm always awake," Vernon said gruffly, and pulled himself upright into a sitting position on their shared bed. The sheets slid down his bare abdomen as he did, exposing the angry red-and-violet bruise sitting just above his right hipbone. It had been a few days since he'd gotten it, but it still hurt like he'd gotten it yesterday. Vernon threw the sheets off, the jeans feeling tight and constricting around his legs as he moved them to get out of the bed.

"You should stay in a little longer," Taeyong said in a dry voice, not bothering to use up his energy in advice he must have known Vernon wouldn't heed anyway. "Rest up for today."

"No point," Vernon replied. He opened the wardrobe to pull out a random set of clothes before going towards the bathroom. "I'm gonna go take a shower," he said wearily. "Clean off the blood."

"Hansol, no," Taeyong started sadly, pushing himself up on the bed, but he had already slammed the door.

The water was cold when it hit his face, waking up his half-asleep mind. That's how he always was—half-asleep, never fully so. Despite all the running and kicking they had to do, he seldom managed to exhaust himself to the point of sleep, and even when he did, there were nightmares waiting for him at the threshold, always ready to wake him up again. Always lurking.

The water on the white tiled floor was the bathroom was tinted red from the remaining blood. He's managed to clean most of it up the previous night, but he'd been sloppy and tired and had missed a lot of it. No doubt it would have been a lot more if Taeyong hadn't helped clean it off him, armed with the torn t-shirt belonging to the Lee clan associate they'd killed, and an openly sad expression.

Vernon had gone a long time without losing control. The first few months after the death had been impossibly difficult, owing to the freshness of the wound and the distant at which Taeyong had held him. It had taken some time for the redhead to get used to him—to the new him, who lost control so easily and was impossible to reach. Slowly, surely, he had tried to pull Vernon back from the brink of insanity, but sometimes he still felt like he was hanging over the cliff, seconds away from hurtling to the sure death of the little control he had left.

When he got out of the shower, Taeyong was already up and ready, probably having used one of the other bathrooms in the house. Yeeun was there too, and didn't bother glancing up at his entry, being too busy engaged in conversation with the redhead.

The conversation had been too soft to be heard over the loud rush of water in the shower, but even now, Vernon could barely hear it. There was a buzzing in his ears, accompanied by a general lack of concentration which seemed to switch back and forth like an alternating current on its best days. Vernon had lost bits of his defining traits piece by piece over the years—the control had gone first, of course, right off the roof behind her when she fell. Then the calm.

Taeyong's eyes followed his movements with concern as he stepped into the room, glancing over Yeeun's shoulder at the files. "Are you tired?" he asked.

"Not at all," Vernon answered in an offhand manner, eyes not leaving the report. "The shower was pretty refreshing."

One thing he hadn't lost was the ability to lie impeccably.

Taeyong nodded, turning away from him. He could see through little white lies sometimes, but Vernon had yet to meet someone who could see through him like his skin was transparent. The one person who had had ended up dying.

"Where are we hitting?" he asked, shrugging on the jacket. Yeeun lifted the thin white sheets and tapped an manilla envelope beneath it.

"Gwanseong-ri," she answered. "It's all underground talk, but there were witness reports about two people dragging a body out of a car trunk three nights ago. They're using a hideout used by a police informant working under the Winged clan. Hyunjin was the one who found it. Said Baekhyun kept him there for a few days."

"Great," Vernon said flatly. "Just the two of us?"

"Yeah," she replied. "Seems like an easy enough job. The rats are running now that the clan's collapsing, and they're getting sloppy now. Get something to eat, and you can leave before noon. We have backup around in case you need it, I'll send you their contacts."

"Hit and leave?" Taeyong asked. "Or are they important enough to leave behind their bodies as a warning?"

"Oh, they don't deserve warnings," she said, and snapped the folder shut before turning and giving Vernon a narrow-eyed look. "And don't be as trigger-happy as last time. Interrogate them a little before you put metal in their mouth; info is thinning out and they'll be ready to snitch if they think you let them go free."

"You can count on me." Vernon offered her a thin smile before walking out of the room. He pulled the door behind him, but it remained open a sliver, and he could hear Taeyong's agitated voice float out from within.

"It's been seven months since his last episode," the redhead was saying angrily, an anger that was probably directed at Yeeun because of her comment about Vernon being trigger-happy. "You know what that means."

"That the next one's long overdue and could happen at any moment?" There was a pause, during which Vernon could practically hear Taeyong's disapproval. Then Yeeun sighed. "All I mean is that I don't want to be around if he ends up committing mass murder again."

"You think he'll hurt me?" Taeyong's voice was quiet.

"I'm saying he might just."

Vernon turned away and started walking before he could hear any more of the exchange. His brain felt like it was melting inside his skull, like someone had poured hot oil into his veins and now his blood was eating into his heart. He knew he was supposed to feel angry, but he didn't. All he felt was guilt, a crippling guilt and shame that he had kept repressed inside his heart for years.

It wasn't a revelatory conversation. He knew they all thought of him that way, like a timebomb waiting to blow apart and come back together in seconds, only to blow apart again. That wasn't the problem—the problem was that it was true. He was twisted and broken and beaten-down, and this wasn't the kind of field in which you could stroll into therapist's house and demand an appointment.

He made his way to the cabinet by the end of the suite and pulled out a gun, a classic Beretta M9. It wasn't a hulking thing—not too big or too beautiful, but it did the job. Much better than he ever could.

Vernon sensed Taeyong walk in behind him, but he didn't turn. The redhead didn't say anything, but the air between them felt tense, slightly strained like a pulled cloth at the edge of being ripped down the middle. Taeyong said nothing for a few seconds, but Vernon could almost see him bite his lip, think of something sensible to say that wouldn't set the bomb off.

"I think I should go alone," Vernon said, breaking the silence.

Taeyong drew in an audible breath, as if he'd been expecting this. He probably had. "You can't," he said, summoning a deliberate, reasonable voice as if he were talking to a child. "They might have backup, Vernon, and you can't handle—"

"Handle," Vernon echoed under his breath, and Taeyong fell silent. He shifted the weight of the gun between his fingers, experimentally slipping his finger into the trigger guard. "Do you think I can't handle a bit of blood?" he asked evenly, raising the gun into the air. The matte black surface didn't reflect the spare light, consuming it like a black hole. "Don't be scared to answer that. You're right, you know. I can handle the blood but I don't think I can handle spilling it." He laughed dryly, without any mirth. "Yeeun's right. If you let me go alone, you solve both problems."

"Vernon—"

"I could hurt you," he whispered, then whirled, suddenly, the gun held out in front of him. Taeyong looked back, his gaze unwavering despite the length of the barrel pointing at his head. "I could kill you."

Taeyong matched his gaze steadily. Vernon's arm was steady, but his muscles were beginning to shake, like a slow tremor spreading through his nervous system. "You won't."

He cocked the gun. They usually didn't keep their magazines in, but Taehyung did, and this was his gun. "I might."

Taeyong's jaw tightened. He stepped forward defiantly, pressing his forehead to the mouth of the gun. Vernon felt the jolt of the slight movement through the body of the gun, through his arm and down to the core of his chest.

"You won't," Taeyong repeated firmly.

Abruptly, Vernon's shoulders slackened. Taeyong raised his hands, closing them around his hand holding the gun, and slowly lowered it away from his face until it was pointing towards the ground. Vernon was used to the sensation of Taeyong's hands, around his own or caressing his hair, sometimes cleaning red off his skin. Their relationship wasn't sexual, but it was something—intimate. Irreplaceable.

"I've forgotten the sound of her voice, Taeyong," he said hoarsely. Vernon sank to his knees, holding his head in his hands as Taeyong remained standing in front of him. He felt the pressure of a hand on his back, just between his shoulder blades. The touch was reassuring, and searing hot, as if Taeyong's skin was hot enough to burn through his t-shirt to the tattoo on his back, an exact replica of Taeyong's own. "I don't remember how she laughed."

"Me neither," Taeyong whispered, fingers curling inward where his hand rested on Vernon's back.

This wasn't the first time this had happened, but it was the first time he has actually pointed a weapon at him. The redhead had an infinite supply of patience, especially when it came to him, but Vernon couldn't help but think that it was only a matter of time before he fully snapped.

Maybe it was going to happen today.

"Come on," Taeyong said lowly, his voice sounding like tires on gravel. "We have to get going."

──────

The safe house was a small, nondescript house the color of mustard that could have belonged to any respectable middle-class family, but even at first glance Taeyong could tell something was off. The shades were drawn over the window facing the garden, a defined shadow falling over the walkway from the balcony hanging over it. It shouldn't have surprised him, after so many raids and so many similar-looking 'safe' houses burned down by their hands, but he still felt the same chill of anticipation the moment he walked through the open gates.

The driveway led to a small set of stairs leading up to the main door. It was closed, but it didn't matter. They never entered through the main door anyway.

"I'll take the trellis to the west face," Vernon said lowly. He was squinting up at the house, long lashes casting even longer shadows over his cheeks like cell bars. His gaze was alert and calm, which had become a rare sight in the past few years, coming out only during their scheduled raids. An M4 Carbine was expertly held in his hands, positioned to point away from the ground at a steep angle. "You try the garage. Circle back and check the windows if it doesn't work. The house is probably empty right now; better we wait them out inside."

Taeyong nodded, and they split ways. He had popped a lollipop into his mouth out of force of habit back in the car, and now the half-melted candy was still stuck between his tongue and palate. He shifted it between his teeth and crushed it, grinding the lollipop and feeling the flex in his jaw as he did, the pieces feeling like shards of something sharp against his tongue.

He didn't want to be choked to death by a lollipop of all things.

The garage was unlocked and the overhead coiling door gave way easily. The interior wasn't empty like he'd expected, but there was a car parked inside it, a steel-gray Toyota with a rusted number plate. Taeyong looked away to do a quick survey of the interior to make sure he wasn't missing anything, then it hit him. He turned back to the car and took a closer look at the rust. It wasn't limited to the plate like he'd earlier guessed, but there were similar patches of it around the grille and the front of the hood.

Blood.

He straightened. The blood didn't tell him much except that the car had been involved in a hit, probably used to run over someone for an easy kill. It had obviously not been cleaned recently, of which the blood was evidence, and the hit was probably recent. He couldn't smell a rotting carcass in there, unless someone had already disposed of the body, which seemed unlikely.

Something told him that if he opened the hood right now, he'd find the corpse.

Ever since the Butterfly Massacre—which was what the local gangs had dubbed the incident at the opium den, when Vernon had killed every single Lee in residence in cold blood—the clan had fallen into trouble. Even the death of the heir and his closest associates hadn't been enough to completely immobilize it. It was a syndicate, after all, the country's biggest crime organization, and it had layers and layers of command like a house of cards, and they'd only plucked off the cards at the top.

So they'd begun their extermination.

It had started mainly as a way to distract themselves from the gaping hole of loss in their side, though no one would admit to it. The racers and their new allies had spent the past two years trying to dismantle the entire clan by picking off their most important members one by one. Never had such a powerful organization been subject to such a ruthless targeting before, and the underworld had been shaken up by members dropping off and going into hiding—often leading them to the clan's hidden associates and secret spaces. The racers did have an extremely valuable informant, too—Taeyong himself.

The three years he had spent with his brother's clan had reinforced into his memory everything that had helped them catch the rats. Some of the clan members, upon learning of the deaths, had become turncoats in hopes of being spared themselves, but that never worked out for them. If they were caught, they were killed, regardless of whatever happened between those two things.

Lollipop stick still hanging from one corner of his mouth, Taeyong circled the car again. The garage was small, only for one car, and the shelves were bare except for a few bottles of lubricant or oil. The kit was either still in the car, and if the garage hadn't been broken into then neither had the home. If only he could find where the current occupants kept their weapons... It wasn't a necessity, but it would definitely be a huge help.

The small connecting door to the side of the garage seemed locked from the inside, and Taeyong figured it could lead into a separate area instead of the main house, so he started towards the door to go back around the house. He guessed he was breaking another window to get in—not that it was a problem. This place had no neighbors.

A thought caught in his brain, a nagging feeling he couldn't seem to get rid of. Taeyong paused at the door of the garage, and glanced back at the car, his brow furrowed. Small garage...parked car...blood that hadn't been cleaned off yet.

His eyes widened.

"Vernon," he spoke urgently into the microphone, hand tightening around his gun. "Are you there?"

There was a burst of static, then Vernon's voice sounded in his earpiece. "I'm here," he said, sounding confused. "What's up?"

"The car is still in the garage," Taeyong explained in a low voice, eyes flitting around the interior as he turned away and started walking out with slow, careful steps. "There's no other parking space and no single-line tire tracks, so there's no bike. Whoever lives here is still in the house. Don't—"

He faltered at the end of the sentence, attention arrested by the click of a gun behind him. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Taeyong chanted inside his head, unable to believe they had made a rookie mistake, and had left the doors unchecked first. He stood stock-still in the driveway, suddenly hyperaware of the sunrays hitting the back of his throat and how exposed he was, especially with his back turned.

He knew he could still get out of this, but he didn't even know what kind of weapon his attacker was holding. A small gun, from the sound of the click, but what else? Vernon would be here any moment, but there had been two people, and he hadn't gotten a response from the other boy yet.

Then a hand settled on his shoulder, just below the crook of his neck, and his pulse spiked. Distantly, he could hear the sound of Vernon's voice in his earpiece, but his brain was too muddled to make out the words, so it was all static. That touch, Taeyong thought, through layers and layers of incomprehension. He would have moved, twisted the arm back, but he didn't. He felt frozen. The pressure on his skin, the person's hold gentle at the palm and sharp at the fingertips.

He'd know that touch anywhere.

"Hey, Archie," the voice of his attacker whispered in his ear.