Jisung left the building as soon as he could. He had sorted out a couple of documents that had been handed to him with an empty smile, and looked down at his plain desk for a few minutes. Then he was heading back home, kicking stones and bumping into as few people as possible. Still, crowds pushed against him and pissed him off. He wanted to kick something. He wanted to kill something.

He had wandered into a café on the way home. He hadn't gone to get any groceries yet so he was just eating whenever he was hungry. One might think it was a waste of money, but he had been provided all the money he could possibly need by NCT, and he wasn't one to live or spend carefully, obviously.

His phone started buzzing upon leaving the shop. Jisung spent ten seconds seriously contemplating the pros and cons of just ignoring it, and then maybe tossing it down the drain. Nevertheless, he did the mature thing and answered it. "Yes?"

"It's Huang."

"Really? Goodbye."

"I take it you found out absolutely nothing? Damn, you're really underwhelming for being a prodigy." Jisung grit his teeth.

"You do realise your ridicule does nothing to me? Why are you even calling me?"

"Your youth makes you liable to betraying the plan or going off it for unrelated issues so I just have to check up on you every day."

"Every day? Youth? That's absolutely ridiculous. It's unnecessary and idiotic. I won't be answering your calls." Jisung took the device in his hands and went to end the call, but the phone suddenly went on speaker, despite him not pressing the button.

"I'll reach you in other ways. I have a job too, Park. Although I might just lessen these little reports to once every three or four days, if you can actually get something fucking done."

The call ended and Jisung fantasized about crushing the phone with his bare hands, even though he didn't have that kind of strength. I'll go to the gym, he thought. When this is over, I'll feel the glass break beneath my fingers.

Nevertheless, this was an immediate problem. And this annoying motherfucker really did know how to inspire progress. Jisung's feet changed course as he found himself plotting a break-in.

He knew it would be simple. He figured that Zhong would be home by about seven, eight, so he had plenty of time to find the house, get what information he could, and leave. He'd be back home by the time Zhong left the office.

He inconspicuously entered the work building and looked around for anyone who might recognize him. He didn't want anyone knowing he'd left then come back. He took some time to scope out where the other interns would be, and any other people who might be easy to talk to. (Sure, anyone was easy to talk to when there was a gun in your hand, but Jisung had left his lovely pistols at home.)

"Hey," said Jisung, bubbly-as-never, leaning against the desk of another intern. She was younger than the others, probably only three or four years older than himself, and she had paid him some amount of interest. She'd be easy to crack and fry for info.

She looked up at him slowly. Definitely.

"Hello. What brings you here?"

Jisung grinned and straightened his papers against his leg. "Well, I wanted to get to know the people here. You see, I'm from Korea, and I don't really know anyone. I kind of just wondered if you'd like to talk."

She smiled in a kind of stifled awe. Fuck, thought Jisung. I'm way too good at this.

"Sure! I mean, is there anything you'd like to talk about?"

"Hm, well..." Jisung grinned down at his shoes. "I'm not good at conversations... Well, I was hoping someone could tell me a bit more about the CEO. You see, I haven't really done much research on him. My coming here was a bit last minute."

She tapped her chin, leaning back in her seat. Jisung stifled a sigh. He really hoped she wouldn't try to chase the friendship. "Well, you'd know the basics, his name, age and stuff — oh!" She leaned forward a little and Jisung listened with bated breath. "Did you know Zhong Chenle's mother died recently? He's — well, he's basically an orphan now. His dad died a few years ago. That's why he owns the company — but everybody knows that."

Jisung cocked his head. An orphan. The head of a company. A child. Loneliness. Leverage, leverage, leverage. He could look as serious as he wanted; Everybody had a weak spot.

"Does everyone know this? About his mom?"

She winced. "Actually, his mother and my mom were good friends." She looked around comically before speaking again. "It's kind of why I'm here."

Okay, thought Jisung, resisting the urge to wrinkle his nose at her. There are people killing themselves for scholarships and job experiences and internships in places like these, but okay. He laughed and ducked his head sheepishly, as if he was the same, somehow.

"Say," said Jisung suddenly, stopping a little to think over how it would best be said in Mandarin. "If he's an orphan, where would he be living? He wouldn't be all by himself in a big house, would he?" Of course he would, he thought, shaking his head. He's basically an adult. What would she know?

"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head. "He lives in the building, I'm pretty sure of that. Moved in here when his mother died."

Jisung stilled in surprise, then slouched when she looked at him strangely. "That's... so sad." She nodded sagely. Jisung wondered exactly who she was.

Jisung picked up his papers after checking his watch. "I've got to go, now. It was so nice meeting you." He paused, cringing inwardly. That entire conversation had been painful.

"Wait, what's your name?" Jisung resisted the urge to let loose a smoothly delivered uppercut.

"Han Yoonso."

He didn't stay long enough to ask her her's.

He went around like that a little longer. Apparently, everyone could warm up to young, pretty people with sweet personalities. He discovered nothing of more interest than what the first person had told him, except that Zhong's bodyguards could not be explained by anyone. They were there for no reason at all. He had never been attacked by rabid fans or haters and his father had been a relatively nice person. The information that his mother didn't have much to do with the company wasn't really anything of too much importance, but he knew that then too.

The guards leered from almost every hallway, as Jisung thought hard. The company had green policies and the workers were well treated — Nothing elicited any protection of this severity. Jisung was interested and pissed, to say the least.

He was noticing it more and more as he wandered around. They were stationed at certain doors, crowded into a few hallways. Some here, loads back there, none over there.

Jisung stopped walking. They were so fucking stupid. He turned around and started narrowing down his route to the places that had the most bodyguards. He followed them like they were trailmix, and they doubled in their numbers as he walked. Tripled, in some places. They were leading him right to Zhong's place, weren't they? 

His suspicions were confirmed when two of them stopped him from entering a certain hallway, shoulders together at the door.

"Why?" Jisung didn't peer, only smiled nervously and waited for an answer.

"You're not authorized," one replied elaborately, her eyes staring straight ahead. She was taller than Jisung by a foot or so.

"O—okay then." Jisung memorized exactly where he was on the way back, went down a floor and looked for the nearest window. He knew he was around twenty floors up above the ground, but wall climbing had always come naturally to him, anyway.

It was a bit windy that high up, but Jisung found the nearest bathroom and squeezed himself out the window with no hesitation. He'd bring death to anyone but himself.

Heart beating steadily from exertion, he hefted himself up onto the windowsill, feet scrabbling at bricks, grabbing onto a jutting decorative piece and jumping up. He continued on similarly (the building's pattern was a bit repetitive) until he was sure he was exactly one floor up. He knew he was at the right place because behind this window were flowers and the back of a picture frame. Somebody lived here. He worked the window open and hopped in carefully, straightening his jacket.

He checked his watch fleetingly. "Okay, I have a good hour before Zhong would really even consider coming ba —" The front door unlocked before him and someone fiddled with the handle.

 Jisung stifled a curse and ran sideways, almost knocking the remote off a coffee table and diving into an open closet. He swung the door shut as the front one opened. He glimpsed someone stumbling into the room.

Oh, for fuck's —

A deep, depressed sigh pierced the silence. Jisung furrowed his eyebrows. The familiar slide of a box followed before a bitter smell filled the flat.

Zhong was... smoking? Smoking... weed?Jisung refrained from sniffing. That was marijuana, all right. 

"Jesus fuck," said Zhong, the regret already in his voice. "I'm a mess." The next drag was so deep it was audible, but mostly because it was pin-drop silent. Jisung was about to find out just how he could hold his breath for. Yes, he didn't want to be caught, but he was also repelled by the smell.

And yet, a rare but familiar feeling tugged at his chest. The fuck — sympathy? Jisung hadn't felt sympathy since...

Jisung frowned at himself and resisted the urge to bat at his own chest. This was the most ridiculous thing that had happened today. Some idiotic part of his brain had revealed itself and it wanted to go comfort his target of assassination.

Zhong continued cussing himself out, but quieted down after a few minutes, and it gave Jisung time to actually consider his options. He could leave the wardrobe right now, strangle Zhong and leave, but the guards had seen him just earlier that day and he had just scaled an entire floor on the outside of the building. Anyone might have seen him and taken some amount of interest. He'd been sure to do it quickly, but there was no escaping that.

He could pretend to be a housekeeper, but he'd have to get out of the wardrobe and into another room before he could waltz into the room and express his apologies (or maybe his concerns). He was also wearing a suit, which wasn't something housekeepers tended to wear. He also didn't even know whether Zhong had a housekeeper.

Actually... Zhong seemed beside himself with frustration, anger, regret and something else, so maybe he wouldn't notice anything. He might just be mortified and let Jisung leave. Jisung would throw a quick, "There's a letter on your bed," or, "I saw a dead rat in the other room." When Zhong went to check, Jisung would bolt out the window. A sound fucking plan. 

Oh, dear god, he was obviously panicking somewhere deep down if that was the only thing he could come up with. Jisung took a deep breath, thinking maybe it would help with his strange anxiety. It didn't. Okay, then he'd stay there until further — 

Someone opened the wardrobe door.

Zhong Chenle stared at him with such a loose, unamused look that Jisung's brain short-circuited, his tongue tasting like corn starch. For the first time in his entire life, at the worst possible moment fate could hand him, he didn't know what to say.

"Who are you?"

"I've come to kill you."

"Very... very well, then?"

"And you're — Wait a second, that's not what you're meant to say."

Jisung stumbled out of the wardrobe hastily, almost trampling Zhong.

"This isn't exactly what it seems to be." Jisung stood up, dragging together the dregs of his dignity and straightening his jacket.

"So you're... not here to kill me?"

Jisung couldn't really compute what was going on. Should he just... shoot him anyway? Had he just compromised the whole operation? Really?

"Ah, I was actually just..." Jisung was finding it increasingly stressful to be the subject to Zhong's dimly bemused haze. "Looking for you." 

Zhong still had the blunt in his hand. "Looking for me?"

Jisung nodded, sure of his act now. "You see... I'm one of the interns." Zhong nodded after a second, and Jisung didn't know whether to feel accomplished that his ongoing plan would work or unflattered that he indeed had gone unnoticed. "You didn't really take notice of any of us," he continued, 'unsure' of himself. "I wanted to somehow get your attention. Although, this went a little far."

Zhong nodded again, but sat down and made no inclination of wanting Jisung to leave, the roll stuck between his fingers and emitting a gentle streak of smoke. Jisung paused, then sat down across from him, his little sniff doing nothing.

"It did go a little far. But," Zhong threw a nervous glance towards a room off to the side of the kitchen. "But I think I'll grant your wish. What exactly were you planning to say to me?"

Jisung found his immediate interest switch to the room Zhong had just looked at and swallowed the creative block in his throat. All in all, he really hadn't expected Zhong to warm up to the invasive yet well-meaning gesture. "I just wanted to tell you what I'm sure everyone else wants to say."

Jisung ruffled his eyebrows, prepping himself to earnestly bullshit. "You're just such an inspiring person. Man, I don't even know how to say this. Ever since you inherited the company, seeing you on TV and hearing your voice ring out over all the aging monologuers —" Does he talk on TV? "It pushed me on. For my studies and degree and in life in general. I would have come to this business to intern anyway but you're the reason I put in so much work and actually got into where I needed to go and needed to be."

Jisung took in a deep breath. "I really, really look up to you. There's something special that you've achieved that I'm striving for. It's not success specifically, but I want it."

He'd made himself sound like a lot of the same kind of people just then, so he boldly advocated the 'Please be my friend!' part by putting his hand on Zhong's shoulder. "Please help me. I need this to be a success."

The effect was almost instantaneous. The skin under Jisung's hand warmed ever so slightly, and Zhong nodded slowly, the corner of his lips quirking up.

"Alright then. You seem like a good person on most accounts." Jisung almost laughed at Zhong's surmising. "What age are you?"

Jisung paused. What age exactly was Yoonso? Oh, right. Basically the same as him. "Eighteen and counting."

Zhong grinned, shaking his head. "I'll drop in from time to time, okay? Tell me anything you need. You can even drop into mine, if it's reasonable. You're welcome."

That's it?

"And since I'm older, you can call me... Chenle-hyung."

Bingo.