What would you know?

Seeing some shit was an understatement, yet the kind of shit Horangi saw as a soldier was the different kind of... weird that was going on in front of his eyes. He was told the mission would be different, but what was like a woman saying she was different. He took his CO's officer for word but different varied in the eye of the beholder. Granted, civilian streets, a solitary subject, and a lack of armed persons was extremely different. It was off in a way which made his knee jump and his fingers drum against his leg like he was itching for a bet, except he hadn't been feeling excited-- more like feeling anxious.

He didn't question his orders. He had paid his due long ago doing things a normal person only saw in fiction and reality would make them sick to their stomach if not their soul. Horangi was used to ruthless missions with nameless targets; this was some kid who looked like he was one step away from either a party of being in a grave. Kim didn't let any of his emotions show except whatever hint of amusement the stranger brought out. He snorted a little and let out a careless shrug.

“ It's in my car but... ”

Gloved hand waved in the air to make his point; like he didn't care whether his help was accepted or rejected. In the kid's shoes he'd be suspicious too. It was only a matter of time, and really, for all his little anxieties, this was getting to be too easy. He felt like a vulture waiting for a rat to die. Thought was becoming something of reality as the so called rat toppled over, and in came the vulture. Shit. He did feel bad, probably more than he should have considering his past. Even before serving he'd done some shady shit except then it had been in the name of degeneracy and desperation.

This was law and order. Following orders; being a good little soldier. Kim's eyes swept the area before he approached the fallen kid and bent down to first, check his pulse, two check that damn eye of his, and three... haul him up and over his shoulder. Kim was shorter but was built for carrying 70lbs of gear in the field. Lifting up the target was no sweat, just bloody. What the fuck happened? Feeling and smelling all the blood made him groan low, so he made sure to carry him gently.

He already had planned on carrying him gently. It was just the depositing him into the back of the van that needed to be handled with care. Balancing him on his shoulder, he opened the back of his van and very slowly set him down. The zipties and gag would have to wait. Kim hopped inside and shut the doors, then began running his hands up and down his body for an assessment. The facility was waiting and prepped with everything to hold a subject, including a doctor and nurse full time on staff.

Caution didn't cost anyone anything (not generally), so at the very least Kim ziptied the kid's ankles together, then took off his own jacket and bundled it as a cradle for the other's head. Who said KorTac operatives weren't kind? He sort of shoved the kid against the side of the van so he wouldn't roll around. Funny he had enough supplies to bind five men and enough supplies to feed an additional five, but he didn't consider straps to keep an unconscious person secured. Horangi glanced at him.

A bit of worry. A bit of curiosity. Made sure he kept breathing before he made his way to the driver's seat. There was a metal barrier between the boot of the van and the driver's seat, so Horangi went the long away around while making sure all doors were locked. From the driver's seat he gave the kid one last look through the rear view mirror before he was. Least the kid would get someone to look him over. Of course that came with a steep price.

With the pat down, there's not much to find. A pack of crushed cigarettes in a front left pocket, a really worn and scratched zippo and a thin leather wallet. The contents within held a state ID, he's local. The photo isn't flattering, there's no smile, and the left eye is white. On the card listed his height at 5'9 or 175.26 cm, eye color, brown. DOB: 04/10/1990 and listed an address that was well over an hour away. Along with it was another identifying card that specified its holder was legally blind, and the agency it belonged too.

Dependent on the length of the drive, Damien might have come too once or twice, but he'd never say anything. At most there might have been a groan from being so uncomfortable, or the chest heaving particularly hard, but otherwise it was a quiet ride. Due to where he had been previously, it was inevitable that the hybrid stunk of more than just blood. Sweat, and sex lingered on pale skin. He was cool and clammy to the touch. Wherever Damien was being taken, it would be the easiest grab and bag the other man had likely ever done.

When they do get to location, Damien is still out of it. Fading in and out of consciousness. The stickiness on the back would have the shirt worn under his jacket stuck to the skin. It would need to be peeled off and underneath were gashes. Huge and gaping, he'd been brutally beaten with some kind of sharp objects or a weaponized flogger. The gaping wounds went almost all the way down the back, clearly indicating repeated abuse.

“I’m not mad at you,” he continued with a long sigh. His fingers tapped once, lightly, against the side of his own cup. “I just…” He stopped, recalibrated, then tried again. “You come in like this…” his hand lifted slightly, gesturing vaguely between them, “Like..like it’s easy. Like staying doesn’t mean anything.” Leo’s mouth pressed into a thin line, that almost smile threatening again before disappearing completely. “And then you leave,” the words trailed off almost too quiet to hear.

What came next, almost didn't feel believable. Leon wasn't mad? Damien was so quiet and so attuned to company you could hear a pin drop. The brows furrow slightly as company went on, gesturing between them and then voicing the point of it all uncertainty about them.

Eye contact falters for a few seconds, but it felt longer. "Um.. don't you like it though? Me coming over?" Anxiety crept over the shoulders, the stomach still shifting in discomfort. "I thought this was what we agreed on? It's comfortable, and safe. Granted you know..." Damien stood, slowly, anxious to close the distance but he didn't want to rush it in case rejection occurred.

Not everyone liked closeness during times of distress, and Damien was one of those people. So, movements were cautious and slow. Stopping periodically to gauge bodily response. "It wasn't my intention to keep coming back, but that just means we work well together."

The truth of it sat heavy in his chest, and Leo swallowed against it. The problem was everything after. The mornings like this one, with sunlight bleeding across the floor and Damien’s laughter tucked into the corners of the room. The way his presence filled spaces Leo had spent years learning to live in alone.

The overthinking began, but he kept composure outwardly for fear on what else that might cause issue with. Much like company, Damien wasn't much better with navigating romance, and while there were too many unknowns about each other, he knew one thing. He kept coming back to Leonardo. Something about them felt safe, and that was very telling for a trauma survivor.

When the details of the mission, his team's new direction, was laid out in front of him it was like swallowing tteokbokki without any sauce. Not the hardest thing to choke down but it was... unpleasant. He was a soldier and perhaps born a soldier, albeit after numerous, numerous fuck-ups, but killing enemies with little discretion was different than a god damn kid with a forked tongue. He had seen a decent amount of Korean gangster with some seriously sick body modifications and this was not it. Horangi wouldn't have been assigned to this if it had been otherwise. Funny how he could see a god damn head explode but that twisted his guts.

That feeling of rice cake choking him resurfaced like some stupid childhood trauma; he was glad the balaclava hid his expression. He hung his sunglasses on the collar of his shirt and kept steady. This was nothing. He had seen the worst out of WORST of humanity from the battlefield and from his own fucking life. One look in the mirror. One look down the barrel of a rifle. One look... into a fucking book of Korean myths. Wasn't exactly humanity was it? Well it made life interesting and Kim was nothing if not an optimist.

A spiced optimist-- and not the kind of man to retract his hand when it was offered. Awfully nice for a killer. One of them? That was a MESSY question and one Horangi didn't answer outright. He was gaining the kid's trust; it was important. He helped the forked tongue Australian to his feet and kept holding him there if he needed it. Eyes met eyes. Kim was far from a tall man but he inclined his head to purposefully catch the creature's gaze. That's what he was, a creature, right? He wouldn't say it out loud just in case...

“ Do you need a water? I got a bottle on me. ”

Kim needed one for himself and then a hard drink. He was going to dreaming about that tongue when his head hit the pillow that night.

It didn't matter if the stranger was taller than him or not, he's trying to look tough, not pathetic and weak after all the body had pushed itself through thanks to good ole hormones. This facade likely didn't fool the man before him. Yet, unyielding to the whole vulnerability front- a quiet, firm gaze is shot toward company. It takes a few minutes, but it somewhat softens after scent let it be known the man wasn't was of them. "You don't look like you have water on you." As if Damien could really see all that well to begin with.

HOW DPR PREPARES FOR A TOUR: