Trust Fall [YUNGI]

Skidding

The city of Busan had a particular aura about it. It was close to the coast, which gave it a certain seaside charm. However, the exotic feeling it gave off came from its streets: they were heavy with saline air and laughter, filled with a symphony led by honking cars. Busan was full of surprises. You never knew what would pop up at the end of the next turn.

Except Mingi knew exactly was Busan would offer him next: money, on a silver platter. What awaited him at the end of his next turn was bank theft, money, and then a 10-year aged scotch whiskey.

"I bet you're thinking about whiskey," a voice sing-sang.

Mingi glanced at the man before him from his seat on a sofa. Yunho was sprawled on the floor, back leaning against the wall with his leg thrown over a nearby cardboard box. His elongated form was halfway hidden by supplies. Paintbrushes, scraps of paper and boxes were spread unevenly around him. His foot rested against a radio station which tuned in and out of a faint piece. Chopin's Nocturne.

Both men were cleverly hidden from the police eye, having found an old safe house at the 15th floor of an abandoned building. Having no electricity was one of the place's many perks, forcing them to light their makeshift room using old oil lamps. Mingi knew the sofa he currently sat on must have been crawling with moths some three years ago.

"What are you doing?" He asked for the third time. No matter how prepared he was for Busan, he could never be truly prepared for Yunho's whims and strange fancies.

"What does it look like? Listening to Chopin."

His fingers waved a paintbrush around, skillfully tracing lines over something Mingi couldn't see.

"You're painting something."

"Excellent observation."

"What it is?"

"Your mom."

Yunho raised what he was holding so Mingi could glimpse at it.

"A mask?"

The object had been molded in the shape of a fox's face, with maybe a slight Japanese touch. Its eyes were slanted and tilted upwards, and its ears pointed up. Yunho had adorned it with red lines which curved across the white porcelain surface.

"Looks pretty. Where did you learn to paint like that?"

"Here and there."

Now, Mingi's curiosity was piqued. He'd never learned what Yunho had studied, or what he did as a job before... this. In truth, he knew next nothing about the man.

"I'm serious," he continued, relentless. "What did you do before this?"

"I did your mom," Yunho replied airily without lifting his eyes from the art piece.

Mingi scoffed. That's when Yunho looked up, grinning.

"I wasn't the only one, was I?" He joked. "She get around much?"

Mingi threw a nearby paintbrush at him. "Shut the hell up, smartass." He looked to the skyline outside through a fully windowed wall. The sun was dropping behind the buildings, shedding its last light upon them. The oil lamps around Mingi gleamed a dirtied gold.

"Where did you find the mask?" He finally spoke.

"Lying around the first floor," said Yunho.

"That's disgusting. I hope you washed it."

"Of course I did. Anyway, why d'you think a fancy office building like that would have a weird mask just sitting behind a secretary's desk?" He didn't leave time for Mingi to answer. He often didn't. "I bet the people who worked here were a bunch of kinky motherfuckers. That's a kinky mask, if I ever seen one."