My Client's Former Best Friend | MEANIE/MINWON

Chapter Six.

Mingyu didn’t know what had possessed him to show up at the restaurant. After his stuff had been forcibly moved to Junhui’s house, he’d once more declined the ride offer, saying he’d sleep off his hangover and wander over later. He’d needed to clear his head, which had throbbed from extended mental and physical abuse. He’d lain on his bed between his beloved chemistry texts, but his brain had refused to sleep. Perhaps he’d drank too much. That didn’t seem likely. Perhaps he’d gotten a concussion when he’d face-planted.

  He’d considered calling Junhui and demanding a ride to the hospital, but he’d had no idea where his phone was.

  An unproductive few hours later, Mingyu had dragged himself out of his crackling sheets and set off on the long pilgrimage to Junhui’s mansion. He’d decided to walk as far as he could, determined to refresh himself with some smog-filled air. An hour of that nonsense had convinced him he needed to find Jeon Wonwoo and demand answers from him. It had been a coincidence when, a few blocks later, he’d caught sight of Wonwoo through the window of Miachelli’s. He’d been foolish enough at the time to believe it was luck.

  He had intended to play nice. That was what he told himself. Then the dumb people with their obnoxiously spaced chairs and Wonwoo’s general stuckupishness...well, he might have overreacted a little. But Wonwoo had insulted his film, his beloved, terrible film, and things had gotten out of hand. It was Wonwoo's fault, his snobbish refusal to tell Mingyu the truth. Still, the whole encounter had left Mingyu feeling shitty.

  Things were getting complicated, and the only way Mingyu knew to make sense of them was to write it all down. He grabbed a taxi and pulled his battered, tiny notebook out of his jacket pocket. In it he wrote:

  Jun: Acting strange. Victim of attempted murder. Wants me around. Won’t go to the police because of stupid pig head.

  Minghao: Attempted murderer, apparently. Who knew? Motive? Money.

  Jeon Wonwoo: Hot cold prince (good song title). Supposed media image specialist. Actually has made-up job as undercover celebrity spin doctor.

  Me: Caught up in all this. Very sober.

  It was starting to sound like a Shakespearean comedy. All they needed was a jester.

  Mingyu amended his entry.

  Me: Caught up in all this. Very sober. Fucking jester.

  Perhaps he should start composing bawdy songs to perform at the king’s feast. King Junhui. The first would be “Hot Cold Prince.”

  The taxi pulled up outside Junhui’s mansion not a moment too soon. The house was a Spanish-style villa with a red shingled roof and beige concrete walls. Its grounds took up a city block, with an acre just for the circular tree-lined drive alone. The house danced the line between elegant and ostentatious, the latter often winning. There were rumors that Junhui had bought the mansion from the don of a Spanish mafia clan and that there were bodies buried on the grounds. Junhui had neither confirmed nor denied the rumor, so it was probably true.

  Mingyu sighed at it. It gave him the creeps. He’d always hated staying there, preferring his noisy mess to the silent mausoleum.

  As the taxi pulled away, the front door slammed open. Junhui stood in the doorway, his hair crazed, his brown eyes wild, wearing the same suit as the night before. He didn’t say a word, just stared at Mingyu like he was seeing a ghost. Mingyu had never seen him look so terrible.

  “Jesus Christ, man, are you all right?”

  Junhui still didn’t say anything, but he turned and stumbled into the house, Mingyu trailing behind him.