He can’t feel his fingers as he holds a black cigarette to his lips, strikes at his lighter one, two, three times. When it catches, he inhales. Nicotine floods his system and he almost feels good… for a second.
It’s later than he’d like, but it wasn’t like he was going to sleep much anyway. Must be a little after three in the morning. A quick glance at the glowing screen of his phone (a newer purchase: his old flip finally died and it wasn’t like he didn’t have the money to spare) confirms the suspicion. 3:16. He’s supposed to be done by 3:45, so he might be cutting it close, but it’s no skin off his back. The usual team works around him when they have to.
The message icon catches his eye and on a whim, he taps. He doesn’t text much anymore; there’s not a lot of people that want to bother with him. He does have one familiar name saved, though. And the owner is probably still up, despite the hour.
[ MSG: bsj ] need a fuckin vacation
It’s quick - he doesn’t waste any more than a few seconds on it before stowing the whole thing away. Another drag, and then he grinds the end of the cigarette into the brick wall next to him. Just enough to get rid of the embers and put it out, and then he pops open the breast pocket of his jacket, pops it inside.
And then he reaches into the waistband of his pants and pulls out his pistol. It’s hard to see the details in the halflight of the exit door, but he inspects it for detritus and makes sure that it’s loaded. As he pops the cartridge back in, he leans into the door and takes a step inside. While it closes behind him, he taps the brick he’d used to prop it open back into place with his foot.
The whole shebang takes less time than he’d anticipated. The guy begs for his life, sure, but is smart enough to realize that it’s getting him nowhere. He quiets down for the last part - the part where SeLin reads him his list of transgressions and then puts the gun to his skull. The part where he pulls the trigger.
The silence that follows is almost serene. Then the alarm on his phone goes off and he quiets that, too. The walk downstairs is short, interrupted only by a quick nod as a man and woman pass him in the hall. They’re wearing paper booties and gloves, each toting a black backpack over one shoulder.
After he slips back out the door, he lights up again and starts walking. No need to hang around. In a rare moment of thought, he decides to send another message. It’s been such a long time since they’ve had the conversation, he isn’t so sure that his pal will remember it. It’s just a spark of interest, perhaps because of the mess he’s just made.
[ MSG: bsj ] did u call ur fuckin mom yet
He’d been out for hours. Haunting the seediest of Seoul’s backstreets, cutting deals with junkies and murderers and thieves. Just another night, for him. He’s used to it. He’s sick of it. He’d called it quits before he should have, really, but the threat of a disappointed boss has long since lost its sway over him.
The rest of his supply is hidden away, in the bedside drawer that held his own stash, once upon a time. And with it, the stolen army-issued Daewoo 9mm that’s been fired exactly once. And Sungjoon -- Sungjoon who would like nothing more than to never have to think of either of these things again -- he’s restless, smoking his way through a pack of Reds in front of a shitty TV set.
For hours, the only sound in the apartment has been a voice droning on in accented English. Bear Grylls, Sungjoon’s go-to binge-watching choice. The subtitles are off (they make him read, they make him think) so he only understands most of it -- enough that he’s steadily growing his reserve of survival tips, enough that he can lose himself in fantasies of being self-sufficient and utterly alone out in the vast wilderness. He’s so detached from the dreary apartment around him that his phone vibrating comes as a genuine shock. Who would even text him these days? The possibilities are a little unnerving, so when he snatches it up and sees the sender, he sinks back into the cushions with a sigh of relief.
[ MSG: 병신 ] if that ain’t a fucking mood
[ MSG: 병신 ] i’ve needed one for like 5 years
And god, it’s true. The longer he stays trapped in this hopeless cycle (restless sleep and waking only to move a product he craves so badly it chokes the life right out of him) the more intolerable it gets. And there’s no way out, and he knows this, but the closer he gets to the end of his rope the more inclined he is to make one.
The next text is just about the last thing he would’ve expected, but it doesn’t irk him as much as it probably should. Selin is obnoxious, but sometimes -- sometimes it seems like the kid might actually care.
[ MSG: 병신 ] nah... i have no idea how i’d even reach her. she could still be in istanbul, she could’ve gone home, she could be fucking anywhere
[ MSG: 병신 ] my grandma might know...
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