–{ ° } four hour old mostly digested 반반 chicken isn’t on Taemin’s favorite food list. it isn’t even in the top ten, yet here he is trying to swallow back the grossness of it that’s twinged with a metallic twist. the red dripping from his lips and of the tip of his nose painting small splattered stars over the concrete distract briefly from the abhorrent nature of the situation. not only is he dripping in crime scene evidence, but he’s now been found by a stranger and is practically in their hands.
anything they wanted to do, they could.
not usually one to be anxious, the unsettling feeling building in his stomach pairs with the world tipping on its axis and Taemin chokes on his own spit, starting a coughing fit that increasingly sounds more pitiful the longer it goes on. the thought of being found out dances in his head, it taunts him and it makes him whine between coughs. his career really was over- he couldn’t get home, he couldn’t even get up.
but then the other’s voice is seeping past the ringing in his eardrums, he can make it out if he focuses and shuts his eyes tight, fighting to keep back the coughing. his forehead is hovering inches above the ground, trying to stay low and connected to the earth to make sure he didn’t fall. the catch in his throat subsides just as the stranger’s voice lowers. he catches those words, and the person on the other end of that phone seems to understand the tone behind them.
peeking up between his bangs, Taemin manages a blurry look at the other person, trying to make out who they might be, if he knew them, if they knew him. directions are given and the hitman vaguely knows where he is just by listening in. it’s not a frequent location, he’d had to take a few transfers on the train to get where he needed. but there’s a rough sketch in his mind of how long it’d take to get home by car … with another person he’s never met.
squinting, Taemin looks a little taken aback when they make eye contact. he’s definitely not handsome with the way there’s blood paths running down over his nose, down the right side of his face, pooling at the corners of his right eye, but he thinks maybe if he weren’t decorated like this that he’d look.. too similar to the person with their back against the wall. the moment feels like years as he sits there, the feeling of a drip of blood leaving the round of his chin pulling him from the lost look in his eyes.
“ yh - ” it’s a rasp, and it’s a little wet and gross so he clears his throat, looking the other way to spit onto the sidewalk, swallowing hard as he tries to ignore the pounding in his head. it hurts more than he thinks ( and would like to admit ) so his voice is strained, distressed, “ yeah . um , ” a shaky breath, the closing of his eyes as he tries to comprehend words, “ thanks - ” he barely gets it out before he keens in pain, lips parting in a silent cry for help, doubling over and letting his head conk against the sidewalk. perhaps he should just stay quiet, stop trying to act like he’s fine, lay there and try to pacify his poor body that’s been through too much this time.
So he's still dripping blood, still in pain, obviously, but the stranger's words at least offer some reassurance that he won't go dying on Taemin before their ride gets here. He sighs out another big breath, finally relaxing against the wall. It's weird-- he doesn't know this person, even a little bit, isn't sure he wants to, and yet here he is praying that the guy makes it.
"All right. Good." Anyone else suffering this badly, Taemin would try to comfort with a hand on their shoulder, a reassuring pat to whatever uninjured part of them he could reach, something, but he doesn't move from where he sits. Even this compromised, the stranger still feels too daunting for him to be comfortable reaching out. "Hang in there," he says a little awkwardly, not sure if anything he could say would help, but it’s better than saying nothing. He doesn’t know what to do with himself for ten minutes. He registers that he's still holding his phone, and so he unlocks it and takes a closer look at the map. They are still in Gangnam, but way on the outskirts. His own apartment in Seocho is only a little further away than Kwonho is, fifteen minutes tops, and his parents are even closer... and yet, even a ten minute wait feels endless when he's this worried. Finally, he hears the faint sound of tires on pavement approaching and drags his hands down his face with a long, relieved sigh.
He's on his feet by the time the car's close enough that he can make out its familiar lines. And it's good that it really is Kwonho, because if it wasn't he has no idea what he would do-- nothing that'd do any good, probably, because anyone looking for his companion at this point could only mean trouble. An enemy would straight-up kill them both. Even an ally might view Taemin as a witness, and a problem to be taken care of.
The nerves are back with a vengeance now, evidenced in how he hurries Kwonho back to their spot in the alley. He could only pull his car in so close-- they'll have to carry the guy. Kwonho (bless him) doesn't complain, just stoops to hoist the man up from under his arms, while Taemin gets his legs. He's not that heavy-- he's about as skinny as Taemin is, really. But still, it's awkward trying to carry an adult human anywhere, even as a cooperative effort. About halfway it becomes obvious that Kwonho's letting him slip a little, so they have to stop while he hitches the guy up and gets a better grip-- jostling him just enough that it shakes something loose from the inside of his jacket.
Taemin and his friend both go absolutely still, the clattering of metal on concrete ringing loud in the silence. He and Kwonho exchange a long, loaded look, and he can feel his throat closing up as he braces for the inevitable What the fuck have you gotten me into?-- but it doesn't come. After the stunned pause, Kwonho just carries on where they left off, backing the guy up toward the car. And Taemin is overcome with gratitude for what he's always known but never had proven for him quite so explicitly-- that Kwonho is a real friend, the ride-or-die kind.
They have to set him down for a moment to get the door open, then they're carefully settling him into the backseat. Taemin closes the door, and opens the passenger side to get in, but he hesitates. This is either the only thing to do or the stupidest thing he's ever done, he thinks vaguely as he walks back the way they came, shrugging off his sweatshirt as he goes. And when he picks up the gun, he doesn't actually touch it at all-- there's a thick layer of cloth between the metal and his fingerprints, and soon the whole thing's wrapped up into an innocuous-looking bundle, which he tucks on the backseat floor before finally getting in.
"Okay." Breathe. He clicks his seatbelt, and Kwonho does the same, though typically at least one of them would forget until they've been on the road for a few minutes. No one will be giving the cops an excuse to pull them over. Kwonho gets them out of the industrial park, but he slows as they're nearing the main road and turns to Taemin.
He's drawing a blank. They're not even that far from where he lives-- he has no excuse for not knowing this. "Where even is the closest hospital?" he wonders aloud, getting out his phone again to look it up. A search turns up a few options, and he doesn't know one from the other, so he’s soon turning around.
"Hey," he says to the half-conscious stranger bleeding on his friend's seats. "Where should we take you?"
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