Beautiful Crime || DoTae

Chapter Nine

Wednesday, August 31th 2161, 9:58.

Cheongnam, South Korea.

As much as Cheongnam felt like a cage to Taeyong, he couldn't help but feel at home in the warmth of Doyoung's arms. He lay awake, but the younger man was still very much peacefully asleep. It was a peculiar type of blissful ignorance, sleep. Doyoung was most likely entirely unaware of the fact that he was going to wake up hungover from his turmoil the night before. It was a steep price to pay for the temporary thrill of forgetfulness—if he was lucky. If not, he was stuck in his tunnel vision, dissecting the conversation that had ensued. His mind filled with what-if's and what-have's, worrying about what the future held, greatly amplified by the alcohol in his bloodstream.

But like everything in life, blissful ignorance often came crashing down with a splash of reality, and Doyoung was stirred from his slumber as the apartment door rattled on its hinges. Taeyong shot up from the bed, slipped out from under the duvet and pulled the pistol from under the pillow. He made his way toward the door slowly, avoiding the confrontation for as long as he possibly could. He heard Doyoung call for him, his voice tentative and alarmed.

Taeyong kept his back to the wall beside the door upon reaching it, and held his hand over the handle without any intention of opening it. He loaded the pistol and waited, ear to wall in anticipation of whoever was on the other side to either knock again or speak. He didn't have to wait long, as a begrudged sigh erupted from the other side and the visitor knocked again. Taeyong raised the pistol toward the door, not knowing whether his visitor was going to get cocky and open fire.

He took a deep but shaky breath, not wishing to prolong the interaction any longer. "Who the fuck are you, and what do you want?"

"Chief Kwon of the Korean Central Intelligence Agency and Special Agent Lee. We need to speak to you about a matter of great importance," said the older man, though he couldn't detect a single hint of malice in the man's tone. "I suggest you put the gun down before we enter the apartment, Lee Taeyong. We wouldn't want my finger to slip on the trigger of mine."

Taeyong gritted his teeth. He never expected that they'd find out so quickly about his actions in Chinatown, nor that they'd come to their home in order to grill him on the matter. He was cornered, without a single direction to escape unless he wanted to plunge over twenty-five floors to his inevitable death in the back alley below the balcony. He glanced around the apartment, his ears ringing with the sound of his own heartbeat as he threw the pistol down on the couch and slid open the balcony door. He rushed to the edge, feeling a shot of cold run through his body as his bare abdomen made contact with the metal railing. Taeyong peered down below, searching for anything—an armed escort, a police car, a sniper—but found nothing at all.

He heard the click of a key being turned and snapped his head in the direction of the door to find Doyoung unlocking it. Taeyong held his breath as the door swung open and Chief Kwon stepped into the apartment, armed with a Glock 22 and with Minhyung by his side. For a moment, he contemplated vaulting over the balcony's railing and falling to his death.

But he couldn't. He couldn't do that to Doyoung and Minhyung, not while the both of them were looking at him with such tense, betrayed eyes.

"Come inside, Lee Taeyong. I don't want your neighbours to hear what I have to say," said Chief Kwon, staring down the muzzle of his gun at the man stood on the balcony.

"If you're going to kill me, just do it. At least spare me the lecture, I know I fucked up and I'm not going to bother with any excuses," said Taeyong, watching as Chief Kwon gestured to the front door and Minhyung immediately made his way over.

Taeyong was expecting a team of agents or maybe even police to follow, but that wasn't the case. He recognised the man that followed Minhyung into the apartment and closed the door behind them, but he couldn't put his face to a name. He was, however, holding a heavy-duty black briefcase in his hand. Taeyong furrowed his brow. If they were going to kill him, a simple bullet to the head would've worked wonders. Hell, if they wanted him to suffer, they could just shoot him in the arm and watch his consciousness fizzle out like an old candle as his brain was quite literally fried by his own implant—again.