idle justice

“are you happy now that my hands are red?” he asks him, acid dripping from his tongue, twists the knife once with a grimace before he pulls his hand away and takes a few steps back, sniffs against the air and swipes his bloodied hand off across the thigh of his jeans.

“and you call me the fucked up one.”

as much as hanjun hates to admit, there’s a part of him that actually likes song moonsoo. it’s a separate entity from the anger, the jealousy, and the amusement, as if underneath all his snarling words and raging anger, he still thoroughly enjoys himself whenever song moonsoo is near. maybe that’s why he continues to wait at the bench, maybe that’s why he keeps playing their game no matter how much song moonsoo infuriates him with the wanton use of his powers.

hanjun likes song moonsoo because he’s apathetic and audacious, uncaring about what others think of him and uncaring of the consequences of his actions. at times, it seems like they’re cut from the same cloth that way, as if their consciences have been burnt away and they’re just the charred remains of a type of failed humanity that should never exist or be allowed to spread. yet here they are, like the bad seeds in a group of wannabe superheroes, and it feels like the only way for them to burn off the aggression and ego is to play amongst themselves until they both collapse from exhaustion. and so at song moonsoo’s words, hanjun’s lips slowly tug into a smile and he says, “show me the best you can do. i’ll take all of it.” and there’s excitement tinging his words, his eyes flaming with challenge. hanjun wants to be exhausted.

or... it could be too soon to say. it’s song fucking moonsoo after all.

song moonsoo calls him a coward and hanjun laughs. “and here’s the pot calling the kettle black.” hanjun knows himself well enough not to take song moonsoo’s bait. he’s proud of his actions, knows that he would never run away from his problems and instead would rather rush headfirst into them. after all, if it meant that he’d be taking a person down with him, he would readily burn himself down with them. one thing’s for sure, hanjun would never hide. “how typical of you,” he adds.

he then scoffs. “you’re hardly getting anything done,” hanjun says, revulsion in his tone. “not when you aren’t doing it yourself. it’s easy to order someone else to do it, isn’t it?” he nearly snarls, bares his teeth at the words. “but all you’re actually doing is moving your fat mouth.” and it’s the truth that it’s something that hanjun loathes, just like the rich businessmen who’ve been desecrating his island for the sake of profits, ordering masses of people to do their dirty work without lifting a finger. private resort after private resort after private resort they’ve built and profited from simply through the power of their words; and hanjun hates it. maybe it’s his work ethic, the way he belongs to the working class, the way hard work has to triumph over nepotism and silver fucking spoons or else there’s nothing to work towards. and song moonsoo’s powers are a true representation of that abuse of power, that the powerful will always exploit the weak, claiming all the credit and reward for someone else’s hard work just because they got a little lucky. even if it’s hypocritical, it’s a power that hanjun strives towards, and it’s the exact reason why hanjun despises his powers. wings and regenerative abilities do nothing for his higher purpose and hanjun is anything but weak. “i’d rather be a bird,” he grunts, “than a puppet of the arc. fuck the arc and whatever use they have of my powers. but it must be nice for you, being prized by them this way. their pretty little puppet. think they’ll ever let you go?” he pats song moonsoo’s cheek.

the tip of the knife digs into hanjun’s stomach and he hardly feels a pinch. “i know you more than you think i do,” he says nonchalantly, hands poised on the handle. “i don’t know, what do you think this is? would you believe me if i said this wasn’t a test? or do you think i’m just lying to you?” he raises his brow but then he grits his teeth just the slightest. it’s a slight tension that he releases almost as quickly as it came. “jealousy has nothing to do with this. learning how to use a gun is meaningless if you don’t personally put it to good use. anyway, a gun is nowhere as satisfying. it takes all the fun away.”

when hanjun feels the piercing protrusion of the metal, he grimaces at the pain and laughs, as if it was startled out of him, as if this was something he genuinely enjoyed. his hands are sliced open and he very obviously feels the pain in his stomach but he ignores them in favour of the grin and joy that takes over his face. “yes, moonsoo, that’s right! learn to get your hands dirty!” he laughs, even as he feels the blood trickling out of his wound which he does nothing to stop. maybe after all the months of the arc trying to test out his regenerative abilities, in afflicting all kinds of bodily harm to him just to test out his limits, song moonsoo’s violence is a welcome change. at the very least, hanjun had the autonomy to decide who could hurt him and amongst the other twenty-five, song moonsoo was the likeliest choice. “but that’s not good enough. if you really want it to hurt, you have to do... this.” hanjun then twists the knife in him and digs in with a finality, intentionally tearing up his insides; and does so in a way he knows hurts the most.

which is why she’s late to her mutually established hang out with hanjun. the class ran long for her and once it technically ended, they had to wait out her bleeding nose and practically throw her into an ice bath once they were sure it had stopped. she opts not to grab anything to eat just yet despite the ache in her stomach; the cafeteria would surely have people in it, too much noise for her current state of mind and thinning patience. instead, she finds herself at their usual hang out spot, hungry and still warm from the aftermath of the day. without a single word, just a small smile and nod in acknowledgement sent hanjun’s way, and with as little grace as she physically can, somi proceeds to practically drop herself onto her self-assigned space.

just to get a little piece of quiet away from civilisation, there are a lot of things hanjun would do. it starts from the bottom, from the way he scours the entire compound, looking for isolated nooks and crannies to lay idle in and revel in its tranquility, to growing out his wings just to fly out to the nearest mountain top to appreciate the scenery, to barricading someone in a room or even drugging them if it meant that he’d be able to get back his tranquility. and so, hanjun is very much a connoisseur of silence and quiet spaces, a protector of his own peace. even though he has yet to kill someone over this issue, with the arc constantly buzzing orders and demands into his ears, he thinks it’s only a matter of time.

despite the annoying flurry and bustle of activity in the arc, one of hanjun’s favourite spots is right in the compound, nestled away from the training and research facilities. the place is in a wide open area, facing an entire wall of glass panels overlooking the park and in a part of the compound that’s vacant and deserted, as if they haven’t yet found a use for it. but he has — and has so for a long while — so he’s seated, leaning back against a pillar as he stares out into the mountains and trees and enjoys the chill of the aircon.

yet, he thinks... there’s something missing. 

like a missing tree in a forest he’s grown accustomed to seeing and can easily map out. or a missing furniture in a room he often frequents and knows the layout of.

like, like...

he then hears footsteps and a figure appears. familiarity strikes him; it’s the light manipulator. 

“hey hanjun, land. and break that finger of yours for me while you’re at it.” moonsoo trades back for the gesture, power still sparking from his tongue, mixed with anger this time, though it’s still mostly contained. he doesn’t feel too bad, hanjun will heal. and even if he couldn’t, moonsoo still probably wouldn’t. he shoves himself upright as he waits for hanjun to complete his little task, catches the other’s chin with his fingers while he’s distracted and yanks his head back and forth a few times before he lets their eyes meet, a slow smile unfurling across his lips before he settles on, “bad dog.”

tiring. 

it’s not a word that exists in hanjun’s vocabulary. 

tiring.

as if it’s an adjective traversing the boundary lines between giving up and losing strength, between weakness and irresolution, and hanjun has never been about that. if anything, he’s pulled himself through everything life had thrown at him and had relentlessly doled out more than double to anyone who thought to disparage him. and in this game with song moonsoo, he won’t give up until he sees song moonsoo broken and on his knees, a payback for all that song moonsoo has whimsically inflicted on him simply through his words. yes, it is a game — he enjoys it. yes, there are no rules — therefore no restrictions. but it’s a twisted desire within him nonetheless, and while he isn’t rushing through it, it’s one that is particularly strong with song moonsoo. again and again, the persuader is able to justify why.

hanjun hears song moonsoo say, “land.” hanjun hears song moonsoo say, “break that finger of yours.” so he grits his teeth and clenches his fists and...

  and…

              and…

he does just that, lost in the haze of his mind. 

when he comes to, it’s to the dull throbbing pain of his finger, his eyes staring into song moonsoo’s. at first, he’s silent, glaring, feeling the way his finger tries to knit itself back to pristine condition. the pain is manageable, low on the list of physical pain he’s experienced in his life. after all, even before he’d manifested his powers, he’d slammed a rock onto his head, intentionally broken his own leg and sliced up his own hand, and a broken finger feels inconsequential in comparison, especially after all the testing the arc’s been making him go through.

but then song moonsoo continues talking, and hanjun’s one push away from plunging over the edge, from grabbing song moonsoo by the neck and choking him. it’s the insinuation that he’s a pet to be kept, controlled, and punished. it’s the insinuation that song moonsoo is his master to please and obey, and the fact that he prizes control so much is an archilles heel that song moonsoo has been aiming at since day one. it’s enraging, yet, hanjun does nothing just yet. he would never give song moonsoo the satisfaction of gaining the upper hand. 

he has to be in control.

so he laughs. it’s harsh and sharp. “is that the best you can do?” he says, because somehow, he expected more from the persuader. to song moonsoo who seem to hold no remorse over his commands or their consequences, having just one broken finger seems harmless. especially when it feels like he could do much worse and not feel a thing, and hanjun wants to know just much he can push at song moonsoo’s limits.

it’s an experiment to satiate his curiosity. how far can song moonsoo go without feeling empathy? if song moonsoo doesn’t even have to lift a finger, is he bolstered from the guilt and remorse when he actually has to? so hanjun sneers, “it must be nice. being able to hide behind your words.” he jerks his face away from song moonsoo’s fingers. “ordering people to do your work for you. you getting nothing done. you’re practically useless.”

“be a doll, and go get them.” he finally settles on. it sounds like a suggestion, but power seeps into his words. the kind that demand attention, demand action. the kind that are almost impossible to evade unless you block out moonsoo’s voice in the first place. “you have wings, I’m sure you’ll be fine.” moonsoo assures him as what appears to be a particularly bitter expression crosses hanjun’s face in reaction. it has moonsoo offering him a careless shrug before collapsing onto the bench next to him, head lolling to watch hanjun as he forces himself through his little task, like he might have been the star of a sitcom moonsoo was bored enough to watch.

sometimes, playing with song moonsoo is a lot like playing with fire. with his forked tongue and shrewd mind, he seems infallible, like a king who acts as if there are no bounds to his powers and that the world is at his feet. his powers of persuasion are dangerous, at his easy disposal whenever he desires it, and the fact that there are no rules to their game just means that he’s able to use them whenever he wants to without regret or sanction. and hanjun is envious, if not jealous, of them. “why? are you that easy to spite?” hanjun challenges, a little quick quirk of a smirk playing at the side of his lips.

if song moonsoo is fire, then hanjun enjoys stoking the flames, to see what pushes song moonsoo into action. to see what agitates him. the more he uses his powers, the more hanjun gets to see where their strengths and limitations lie even if it means temporarily forcing control out of his tightly clenched hands. there has to be sacrifices for the greater good, he has to tell himself, but it doesn’t mean he won’t be bitter about it. so hanjun does things to spite song moonsoo — and a lot of the time, it’s simply for the fun of it — like throwing his cigarette pack into a tree or easily dismissing his words; they both know hanjun’s tongue will grow back anyway, so he snorts at the notion.

and sometimes, hanjun gets burned.

when song moonsoo utters his orders, it is a waging battle within hanjun. as much as he knows of its inevitability, that this was something he’d predicted song moonsoo would do, that hanjun had intentionally encouraged it by provoking him, he fights against it anyway. it’s ingrained in him, the way he refuses to submit to anyone but himself. no one controls him. yet, he feels the way his mind starts to morph, from strong-headed and insistent and recalcitrant to... 

   to...

               to...

moonsoo says, “go get them,” and that is all hanjun wants to do in his life, what he has to do or else he’d die. moonsoo says, “you have wings,” so he lets them grow out, the way they rip through his skin and flimsy grey shirt, a growing weight on his back. he feels the blood trickle down his back, the pain still a throbbing ache, but they’re only secondary to his life purpose.

in almost no time at all, hanjun’s airborne and he flies towards the designated tree. the pack of cigarettes is within easy reach and he frees it from the tangle of the foliage with a bit of shaking and tugging, hand gripping the box tight. he looks at it and he grins. moonsoo would be pleased. with this, his mission is complete and...

   and...

               and...

the grin fades and hanjun feels revulsion.

“i could make you pirouette right now if i wanted to, actually, that might be fun –” moonsoo cuts himself off with a wicked looking grin. “besides, don’t lie. we both know you love me,” and moonsoo says this for the sole reason that he knows hanjun will bristle and glare at the mere suggestion of it. moonsoo’s always found the expression mildly hilarious. he tugs out a pack of smokes immediately after, just to feed to flames of his no doubt building anger. “got a light?”

fiction: "coincidence” is the key word, what with the way he takes special effort to trudge down to that defunct park, settling on that same bench on a set day at a set time every single time since their little game began. hanjun has better places to go if he wants some peace and quiet, and there should be no reason why this particular spot has been a regular hangout for him, but he finds himself returning to it again and again, regardless. it is what it is, and what it is is more than just a quiet sanctuary.

to hanjun, not acknowledging why is part of the game itself.

and that is why when hanjun opens his eyes, it’s no surprise to see song moonsoo staring right down at him, a picture of smugness to hanjun’s blank look. hanjun tilts his head. “you’re not that good of a salesman,” he drawls, even if every part of him is aware of how song moonsoo’s powers work and loathes how he can easily reduce hanjun’s control to ashes if he wants to. even so, hanjun’s intrigued. song moonsoo is both an annoyance and a challenge, someone who manages to niggle under his skin but has blades sharp enough to provide him the thrill of fighting back. he doesn’t quite fit into any of hanjun’s classifications and when song moonsoo acts as if he knows just that, it gets infuriating. and entertaining.

hanjun’s eyes sweep song moonsoo lazily. he keeps track of the persuader’s body language, of any indication that he might use his power at any point during their conversation. hanjun’s posture is relaxed — his legs sprawled open, arms resting at the back of the bench with a slight slouch — but he doesn’t let his guard down, even as signs of irritation leak out of his usual composure at the suggestion of being controlled. “i love you only as much as an infectious sore,” he throws back easily, but then he sees the pack of cigarettes and he’s a spark that goes off. “no,” he answers with a mild saccharine smile, and immediately snatches the pack out of song moonsoo’s hands and flings it towards the trees. the pack flies over the crown of a particularly sturdy tree and eventually perches itself atop it. “but there, i handled the problem for you. no worries.”