Khaled, as a general rule created by her family, hates the rich, with their sleek dress clothes and perfectly parted hair and fruity martinis. Technically she is rich herself, raking in tons of money from hits, but she wasn’t born rich.
So, receiving an order to kill a very affluent CEO is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because it gives Khaled the chance to drive her vendetta towards the rich. A curse, because she has to blend in with said rich.
Thankfully, Khaled is skilled at such a task, small-talking around in her attempts to get close to aforementioned CEO. Shin Hoseok, if Khaled’s intel is to be trusted. When Khaled sees Hoseok split off from the party and heads upstairs, she carefully excuses herself from the conversation she was in and heads after him. She chucks her champagne flute into a nearby houseplant on the way to free her hands.
Khaled looks around cautiously once she’s upstairs, not wanting to blow her artfully created cover to any one snooping around the second floor. She hears a toilet flush from down the hall and figures that’s where the dearest CEO has gone. ‘A perfect time to strike!’ she thought.
But as Khaled is creeping closer to the bathroom door, waiting for it to open and positions herself strangle, she finds herself with arms around her neck instead.
Khaled is quick to slip the headlock, having being trained in the art of evading attackers who use such tactics. Now free, she whirls to defend herself, and is instead shoved with her back up against a wall easily. Her ankle hits what seems to be a box, and she winces briefly, but she’s got bigger concerns now. There’s an elbow digging into her chest and cool metal beneath her chin, which she recognizes to be a gun.
Her eyes adjust to the lights- of course.
“What,” Khaled deadpans, unable to stop herself.
Hoseok raises his eyebrows in a simple response. “Come on. I could see you coming from a mile away. The last 3 attempts on my life were at least a little better planned, and a whole lot better executed.”
“Apparently not executed well enough,” Khaled points out. Hoseok snorts. “Why do people hate you so much?”
“I’ve got the future of our country’s trade wrapped around my finger,” Hoseok explains, and despite his light, conversational tone, his gun simply presses deeper. “There are lots people who would like for me to suddenly turn up dead. Who was it this time?”
“I, uh,” Khaled flounders for a moment, unsure of what to say, “Uh, I’m not at liberty to say.” “Come on. One of us is leaving here dead tonight.”
He’s got a point. “Ugh.” She groans and gives in “It’s some activism-focused corporation called Ilho Investments or whatever. I guess they’re against with what you’re planning and would like for it to head it a different direction. Could you—“ before she could end her sentence, Hoseok pulls his arm away, making it significantly easier to breathe.
“Ah, I see,” he pauses. “Tell you what, dear. How about you go back to Ilho Investments and tell them that you completely failed, and we forget that this ever happened?”
“Okay, or,” Khaled says swiftly, holding up one hand, ”you give me the gun and I blow your brains out.”
“A very enticing option, indeed,” Hoseok replies sarcastically, nodding. “But… you know, we’re both too pretty to be dead.”
Khaled can’t think of anything to do but stick her tongue out. Hoseok does the same, obviously mocking. She thinks, dimly, that this is definitely the strangest situation she’s ever been in.
“Can I ask you a question, Khaled?” Hoseok asks, suddenly. Khaled nods “Go ahead.”
“Why is your name Khaled? Isn’t that a guy’s name?” Khaled quirks the corner of her lip up,
“It’s a middle name,” she says simply.
She waits a couple more minutes, sees the way Hoseok’s fingers loosens just slightly around the grip of the gun, and then quickly takes his wrist in hand and twists it just so. Hoseok makes some sort of embarrassing squeal, gun dropping and free hand hurrying to pry Khaled’s fingers off.
When Khaled looks at him, she sees tears in Hoseok’s eyes. It’s pathetic, really, but kind of adorable. “I’m going to go,” Khaled says, even though she knows that she’s technically handing the win to Hoseok. “And you’re going to explain to your guests that you accidently locked yourself in the bathroom, and that you had the worst case of diarrhea ever.”
“What about the wrist?” Hoseok asks, and even his voice was quivering. God.
Khaled lets go and Hoseok sucks in a breath, rubbing his wrist gingerly. “Slipped and fell on the bathroom floor, broke it.” Hoseok actually laughs, and his face scrunches up rather cutely. Khaled curls her lip up for lack of having any other way to react.
“Thank, you know, for not killing me.”
“You too. If I were you, I would have killed myself fifteen minutes ago.”
“Probably should have, but hey. Like I said, we’re both too pretty to die.”
Khaled looks at Hoseok for a few more moments. Then she cracks a smile, “guess so.”