art of the kill || chensung

cinq

"If you want to come in, you can. I see we both share social ineptitude." Jisung shocked himself by almost scurrying into the living space. Since when do I scurry?

Two months out of RFN and already forgetting all that you've been taught...

He swallowed, not permitting the wave of shame to wash over him. Everyone had demons. It was one of the only concepts using which he could sympathize with normal people.

"You never told me your name yesterday," spoke up Chenle, then visibly wincing at himself. He must have noticed Jisung thinking.

Jisung looked up, easing his stance. "Han Yoonso."

Chenle nodded, slowly. "So why are you here?

Jisung huffed, realizing himself how fucking stupid this was.

"Breakfast?"

Chenle raised an eyebrow. "We have a cafeteria downstairs."

Jisung held his breath, surprising himself. "I know."

Chenle turned around too late for his small smile to be hidden. "Fair enough. Cereal?"

—

Jisung was really liking this Chinese cereal. He'd seen it nowhere else, and he'd probably never see it again unless he bought it from a Chinese supermarket, which he was definitely considering. It was strange, since pretty much every brand in eastern Asia was spread out evenly in its distribution.

"You're sure you want more?" Chenle watched Jisung more concernedly than the latter would have liked, but no matter. Jisung was focusing on his fourth bowl of cereal.

"It's simply... cinnamon, Yoonso."

"I like cinnamon," said Jisung decidedly, then remembering that he was literally an assassin. He pushed it away and got up, stretching. "I'm going to go use the bathroom. Excuse me."

Chenle nodded, looking a bit distracted. That look was back in his eye. He spooned some more of the cereal into his mouth, almost missing it. For the second time in the last fifteen minutes, Jisung wanted to scurry away.

He stepped into the hallway and sized up the different doors. His gaze fell immediately on the door that had plagued his mind since the day beforehand. He didn't stand there for too long, stepping forward and opening it. Of course, he could always just tell Chenle that he'd thought it was the bathroom.

Then again, he wouldn't need that excuse. Lo and behold, the bathroom. Confused, he stepped in before Chenle could mark him as an idiot.

"You fucking fanatic," muttered Jisung to himself, looking around. "It's a normal..."

It's not normal. It really can't be. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself he hadn't had a bad hunch, but he let himself have a go at searching it anyways.

"Right." He had five minutes before it got weird.

Silently, he pressed his fingers against the tiles and slid his shoes over the polished floor. He looked in the shower. There were many, many conditioners and shampoos that had never been opened, so expensive they may as well have been in containers of silver. The walls were pristine. He scrutinized the shower heads too. Nothing.

Disappointed at the lack of any interesting discoveries, he turned to scoff at the mirror. It was cracked. He looked at it closely, then quickly flushed the toilet in case Chenle was getting suspicious. The break was on one of two sliding mirrors, and it had been made by a fist, definitely. He held his breath, noting that down. The mirrors served the doors to a cabinet above the sink, which was empty. He cringed when the mirrors made a smooth, wooden noise as he pulled them. Turning on the tap to hide any further noise, he closed them and looked around the sink, discovering nothing new.