6. Jack

CHAPTER 6

JACK

S o that just happened.

I'm engaged.

It might only be for a few hours, according to my captor, but I can't help but wonder what kind of damage it will cause to my relationship with Bob and everyone else in here. I mean, it's not like I consented to the engagement.

On the plus side, I learned something new about my partner. He's not a homophobe. Yay!

"Okay," I say, turning to him. "If you say so, I believe you…Seojun."

He gives me the biggest side-eye I've ever seen a person give, and I can barely contain my laughter.

"You caught that, huh?"

"Hard not to."

"Well, you better forget it." He raises his finger in the air as if in warning, but he doesn't look intimidating in the slightest.

"I don't think that's how it works."

He huffs and drops his hand.

"Fuck," he mutters.

"See, I told you Jay Walking sounded fake."

"No shit, Sherlock. What did you expect me to do? Whip out my passport and introduce myself when I'm trying to snoop?"

I clap my hands once, and the sound makes him jump.

"I knew you were an intruder. You need to work on your undercover skills."

He glares at me.

"You're supposed to tell me snooping is wrong. Not give me advice."

I shrug.

"What can I say? I hate seeing people fail. Even when they're being bad."

He winces.

"You're weird, Jack."

"Right back at you, Seojun."

"Don't call me that."

"Bae?"

"Puh-lease. That's a hard pass. I barely even know you."

"So what am I supposed to call you?"

He purses his lips into an O before he frowns.

"Actually, I'd prefer it if you didn't call me at all. Now…" He glances at the computer and the keyboard, and I cock my head.

"Now what?"

"Oh, come on. Don't play stupid. You need to help me."

I cross my arms and raise my eyebrow. "Help a snooper? I don't think so."

"You just said I'm a terrible snooper."

"Still a snooper though."

"Well…you have no choice," he says with way too much whine in his tone. "You have to do as you're told."

I smirk. "Is that a rule or just a kink?"

Seojun Bae blows raspberries, which makes his lips glossier than before, and I can't help but stare at them.

Why are his lips so pretty?

"You wish."

"I wish what?" I ask, still unable to remove my gaze from his mouth.

"Nothing. It's a rule. I'm your boss for now, and you have to do what I ask of you."

That, however, does make me look up.

"My boss?"

"Well, yeah. What do you want me to call myself? Your captor?"

"It's more accurate." I shrug.

"You're intolerable."

"So I'm told."

"You will help me!" He takes a step forward and slaps his hand on the desk. Only I think he does it harder than intended because he immediately winces and shakes the hand as if it's on fire.

"Are you okay? Should I get the first aid?" I try to inspect his hand, but he doesn't let me.

He turns around with a huff.

"I'm not a baby. I'm fine."

"Is it only babies who get hurt?"

I see his shoulders move up and down, despite the heavy fur coat, and once he's taken his deep breath, he spins back around.

"Listen here, Mr. Happy! I'm the Sinister Seomyeong, and you've been signed. So you will do what I ask or face the consequences."

I lean back on my chair and cross my arms.

"What are the consequences exactly?"

His face twists this way and that, lips opening and closing, nose moving side to side before he speaks again.

"I only need to find a couple of people for fuck's sake. Why are you making it so difficult?"

"Because you don't work here, Sinister Seomyeong-slash-Seojun Bae-slash-Jay Walking."

"That's just semantics." He brushes me off as if we're discussing takeout, not my job.

"It's still a federal crime."

"Oh, and abducting and disappearing people isn't? Go to hell with your holier-than-thou attitude."

"Holi—" What is he talking about? "I'm not being holier-than-thou. I would never do that. But why do you think we abduct and disappear people? We don't do that."

He blows raspberries again, but I'm too intrigued by his story to focus on his lips. This time, I look him in the eyes.

"Yeah. Right. And I'm not a supervillain."

"You're not."

Not that I would know, considering we just met, but…he doesn't look or act like a supervillain.

"I—Stop trying to distract me. You people are cruel."

"Says who?" I ask.

"Says me. Why? Are you denying it?"

"Vehemently."

" Vehemently ," he mocks me. "You said it yourself. You're a CREEP."

"Which means I investigate terrible crimes by superabled individuals."

Seojun bends down, bringing his eyes, lips, his whole face right in front of me, and I catch a whiff of citrus that makes me salivate.

I love citrusy scents.

"And what do you do with those superabled criminals?"

"What we do with regular criminals. Lock them up. Put them through trial and let the system take care of them after."

His face contorts this way and that again, but not out of frustration. This time, it's sheer anger, and he's trying to tame it.

"So tell me, Mr. Happy Creep, what crime did my family commit to deserve to be locked up?"

The anger hides more. So much more. It hides pain. So much pain that the person I'm seeing, with the flashy appearance and sharp personality, is obviously a facade. A facade of a kid who's lost something. Or someone. My insides twist in response to him showing me his true colors even though I don't think he realizes he has, or if he does, he simply doesn't care.

"Who…who are they?" I ask. "Who's your family?"

Oh God. Did I help put them away? Am I responsible for his pain?

He breathes in, then out. Once. Twice. Then…

"Hana and Min Bae."

I grimace.

Neither name sounds familiar. And I remember all the criminals I've put behind bars without a shadow of a doubt.

"Wh-what crime did they commit?"

"You tell me, Happy ! Is having powers a crime?"

"I'm confused." I blink and try to readjust in my seat. "They didn't commit a crime?"

"No. I'm the only family member to ever break the law!"

I raise an eyebrow and stare at him.

Does he really think he's such a big bad wolf?

"Then why would I lock them up?"

"Isn't that what you do? What SPAM does?"

Oh…

Oh, he thinks…

"What do you think SPAM does, exactly?"

He narrows his eyes and grimaces.

"Processes and Manages people. Am I going to have to teach you your job?"

"No." I shake my head. "That won't be necessary, but what do you think processing and managing means?"

"I don't know, Jack. But history is full of people and organizations that were all too happy to ‘process' and ‘manage' people."

I jump off my chair, and Seojun jumps on the spot. But when he sees me grab Bob's chair and slide it beside mine, his alertness fades.

"Sit." I pat Bob's chair.

"I'm not a dog. You don't tell me what to do."

"Sit!" I repeat, and like the good, obedient boy he is, he takes the seat.

"I don't know how much you know about SPAM or how much you think you know, but you can forget all of it."

He puffs some air, but I put my hand up and stop him before he rolls his eyes.

"Our job is to investigate instances that may involve superabled people?—"

"And lock them up."

"No," I say, reaching for his hand.

He doesn't pull away, which I take as a good sign.

What I can't interpret, though, is why a tingly warm wave spreads through my body like a tsunami.

Like a tornado passing through a town.

Like a fire scorching through a forest.

It instantly makes me lightheaded and leaves me gasping for air.

"Why does this feel as if I've just had a sex marathon?" I ask him.

Seojun winces and pulls his hand back but doesn't get very far. And he certainly doesn't break the contact.

"Eww. You are a creep!"

I roll my eyes. "You can't tell me you don't feel that."

He glances down at our linked hands, and I catch the tinge of red on his cheeks before it disappears.

"Feel what?"

He pulls away, and both the warmth and lightheadedness vanish. As if they were never there to start with.

Odd.

Very odd indeed.

And if my experience counts for anything, very, extremely supernatural.

"Anyway. What I was trying to say"—I compose myself—"is that we don't lock people up. Not unless they commit a crime. The majority of people we just let them be. And help them out if they need it."

"Help them by digging them six feet under," he says in a very childish manner that I know now is simply deflection.

"No. No digging. No locking up. No nothing. We help them train. Especially if they're worried for their safety and that of others. Although now that you mention it, I did hear about this guy that could only breathe when his face was in the dirt, so they had to bury him to save his life."

Seojun winces.

"So he's just lying there, buried until he dies?"

"I'm pretty sure they helped him build a burrow."

"Is that code for ‘bullet through the head?'"

"Why won't you believe we're not bad people?"

"Because." He pouts.

I watch him for a moment or two. He's quite something to look at. Perfectly smooth skin. Big brown eyes. A touch of eyeliner. Silky hair. A diamond studded droopy earring on one side.

He might be criminally inclined, but he's stunning. No doubt about it.

"Right. I'll show you then," I say and turn to my computer, logging in to access the SPAM database. "What were the names again? Hana and Min? Can you spell those for me?"

Seojun considers me for a long, hard minute before he tells me, and I type the names into the system.

"If we've had any contact with them, no matter how small, they'll be here. SPAM is a lot more paperwork than you think. Like, most of my time is spent reporting and filing what I do when I'm not reporting and filing."

It's actually such a common misconception about SPAM. People watch shows like Fringe , Warehouse 13, or X-Files and think an agent's job is super exciting, dangerous, and fancy.

In truth, it's a drag. For most people, anyway. Personally, I don't mind. Reporting and filing is half the fun. Reports record history, after all.

The computer beeps.

No records found.

"There. See? Nothing?"

"Do you think I was born yesterday?" He side-eyes me again, and I can't help but smile at him.

"No, silly. If you were born yesterday, you'd be a baby."

"Try again. And this time, don't hide anything. I know how you people operate."

I don't think he does, but I decide not to tell him that. I don't think his opinion of me or SPAM will change in the next decade, let alone the next five minutes.

We try again. And again and again and again. He still doesn't believe me. So I just sit with him for the next three hours doing the same thing and expecting different results. But, oh well. You never know with technology, right? It can be as temperamental as people.

"I don't think they're here, buddy," I tell him and look down at my arm.

His signature is still there, as intense as it was a few hours ago.

"Damn it. Now what?" He looks down at my arm too.

"I don't know about you, but I gotta get home." Shuga will go ballistic if I miss her dinner.

"Oh please, you creep. If that's your idea of inviting me into your bed, you've got another think coming." He rolls his eyes and resurrects the harsh expression he had when I first walked in on him.

"Um…I wasn't inviting you to my bed. I just said I need to get home."

"Feel free. I think I'll stay here and try again."

I cock my head to the side and sigh. "Did you forget we can't go more than six feet away from each other?"

He scans me from top to bottom before he grimaces.

"Fine. But no funny business, mister."

"You have my word." I put my hand up, giving him the Scout's honor. "Besides, I'm straight."

"Pfft! That's what they all say." He shoots up and fixes his coat. He must be sweating bullets under there. I have no idea how he can still breathe under all that fur.

"They?" I ask and get up too.

"Straight boys. And then, oops , they're in bed with you. And oops , they want you to suck their cock. And oops , while you're at it, why don't you fuck them up the ass too."

The more he speaks, the more frustrated he gets.

"Sounds like you're talking from experience."

If looks could kill, his would.

"Shut up. Let's go. We've got work to do."

Shut up, I do, and we're heading out of the building when Karen stops us.

"Hold on! Where do you think you're going?"

I almost breathe a sigh of relief. She must have realized Seojun is not supposed to be here and will finally help me.

Although, to be honest, I've been with him for three hours and…well, his company isn't that bad. If you forget about the breaking and entering and this obsession with supervillainy.

"Can I help?" Seojun asks her.

"Where do you think you're going without your shoes, Mr. Inspector?"

Seojun's eyes go wide, and he looks down at his feet. I do the same.

"Oh. Right. Yeah," he says.

"Mortie gave them a good clean for you. They look brand new."

Seojun scoffs.

"They were brand new. Until that brute made me cross this puddle!" He points to the mud in front of the office.

Which would explain why he was traipsing around in socks.

Lord, this guy. He's so funny.

"Hang on. I'll go get them for you."

Karen runs inside and comes out not two seconds later, holding a pair of bright-pink shoes. Because, of course, they're pink.

Seojun takes them from her, and Karen's brows furrow. She looks from Seojun to me, all confused.

"Okay, Karen?" I ask her.

She nods, though I doubt she's good.

"How you doing, Happy?" she asks me before returning inside.

"Hmm. Interesting," Seojun says, watching her back.

"What's interesting?"

"Her. My signature shouldn't have lasted that long, but it seems the effect wore off as soon as she handed my shoes back. That's never happened before."

Is that what's going to happen to me? Am I going to be dazed and confused with no recollection of what happened when his power fades?

"I can't believe you made her clean your shoes," I tell him as he puts them on.

"Hey. I didn't. She offered. Besides, she made Mortie do it."

"Yeah, that tracks. Mortie will do anything Karen asks him."

"Really? He didn't sound too happy."

I shrug. "He's always like that. But he can't say no to Karen. No matter what. Anyway. Let's go." I check my watch one more time and walk away from him.

I cross the puddle when pain shoots all over my body, and I realize he's not following me.

"Why aren't you coming?" I ask him, stepping into the puddle to make the pain stop.

"Are you kidding? After all the hard work Mortie did? They'll get dirty again."

Is this about his shoes again?

I laugh. I can't help it. He's really quite something.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Because you're funny."

He winces.

"I'm not funny. I'm ruthless."

"Yes, dear," I say before walking back to him and lifting him over my shoulder.

The same blazing inferno blasts inside me like the last time I touched him, making my steps heavier as I walk across.

I put him down once we're clear of mud. The inferno snaps.

So. Weird.

"There we go, Princess Bae."

He stares at me with pouty lips, then, as if he remembers himself, grimaces.

"I hate you," he says.

"That's okay." I laugh. "I'll win you over."

His cheeks go red. I'm not sure why. I always win people over. Or, at least, that's how I won my friends over. And Bob, who, up until today, I thought hated me. But no. When he found out I was engaged, he looked too heartbroken for someone who hates me.

"Why do you always smile? It's annoying."

I shrug.

"I can't help it."

He rolls his eyes.

"Why? How is that possible?"

"Because I can't. I was born happy. Haven't cried a day in my life."

"That's sad."

"Maybe. But it's my power, so I can't really control it."

"Your power? What is your power? To be happy?"

I usher us out of the alley and onto the main street so I can hail a cab.

"Pretty much. I always see the positive in everything."

"Really?" He hooks an eyebrow to the skies. "What's the positive about your current predicament?"

A cab stops, and I open the door for him.

"I get to know you," I tell him.