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for her we dedicate dead cherry blossoms,
pullstrings:
He paused, his eyes trailing toward Jungah beside him and watching how she tried to avoid eye contact. Heād need to tell her that she had to look past this further and to hold her head highāthere was no need to showcase fear. Itād only prod their mysterious enemy along. Now, if she listened to him, thatād be another storyā¦
Thatās when Jungah spoke out of turn.
āThere wasnāt a time Iāve ever been that vulnerable before.ā Her thumb and index finger squeezed the stem of the wine glass lightly, a question of how much pressure would it take to break the glass, the support.
(How much more she could break herself.)
āAs a leader of the Kangmulpa, I cannot have that happen again.ā
She had a role to play, and so Junho let her speak. There were some things she had to handle on her own for the eventual day he would no longer be there.
āI cannot have our members thinking we can be attacked so easily, or that weāre afraid.ā The Yoons were too proud to allow that to happen. Jungah was no different in that regard. āFriends or enemies⦠it doesnāt really matter, does it? If it can happen to us, it can happen to you.ā
Junho: Sheās right. You arenāt safe either. The chaos that would ensue if we got pulled into something⦠it wouldnāt be quiet. They can only hide for so long and theyāre aware of itāthey have to be if theyāre willing to make themselves known again. Itād pull you in regardless. Itād be best if we stop this before it gets out of hand and ruins friendships.
soohyun stills, surprised by her sudden outburst of something so personal. whatever happened before the recent disturbance must have left a heavy impression. a trauma, perhaps? sheās only twenty two, really. he wonders if she ever recovered from it, or is in the process. he lets out a low hum of sympathy.Ā
āhmm, do you know what they want? an enemy with an objective is far less dangerous than an enemy without.āĀ
and how he feels about the yoons;
ā...haha,ā soohyun lets out a short lived laugh, ducking his head as he smiles. ah, this old man. soohyunās fingers tap light against his glass, ā...yes,ā at the bottom of the pit they live in, smart allies make good enemies. junho has always been smart. jungah, too, probably. itās expected. āof course. i understand.āĀ
soohyun guides his gaze to jungah before it flickers back to junho.Ā āsince iāve been filled in... iāll look into it immediately. now, if itās okay, iād like to talk to miss jungah alone- if thatās alright.ā getting to know her a little more would help him find something, at least.Ā āit wonāt take too long, i know weāre all very busy people.āĀ
ķ“ź° ģ§ė ź³³ģ¼ė”,
635mph:
Somehow his gaze ends up right back to his each time, held until the other lets go of it. And thereās too much anger there, suppressed and succumbed for brevity. But Juwon knows better, and he knows, (that very much like the Dead, he is impossible to tame).Ā
āģėė¼ź³ ķģģģ.ā Heās talking about the name. āģ“ģ ,ā Soohyun speaks of it as if he possess it, speaking of it until is his, then not, then his again.Ā āģėė¼ź³ ģ.āĀ Yet Soohyun isnāt a liar, and thatās what makes this difficult. He canāt blame this on the lies, and certainly not on the truth. In between the tense glances and brief silences, he finds no good reason to fault his spite; nothing real to find the blame. Soohyunās given him no cause for hate, and yet he stands in front of him, heart-full of it.
He hates the fact that he bought the dream when he sold him one.Ā
āģ ģ“ė¶ķ° ģģ“ ė ė§ģģ ķėė ģģģ“ģ.ā Heās choosing his words wisely, but he still feels like a child in front of him.Ā āź·øė„ ėź°, 묓ģģ“ė¼ė ėź³ ģ¶ģģ ėæģ“ģģ“ģ. ė± ź·øė ķģ“ ģ“ėģ ź° ģ 넼 ģ°¾ģ ģź³ .ā Thereās too much space in between his words, cracks big enough to let him right in.Ā
The glass in front of him empties out again, as soon as itās filled. His fingers around the brim are trying to let go, in an effort to make the smart decision. And yet the alcohol keeps pouring in, just the same way his heart keeps spilling out.Ā āģ ź° ķ ė²ė ėź° ģģ“ ź±°ė넼 ķėģ?āĀ
āė¹ģ°ķ ė°ģ ėģ£ .āĀ
just like how a mother would always look for her first born, soohyunās gaze wavers despite his efforts, his anger, all the resentment heās been nursing instead of the boy he took in years ago, āėź° ėź³ ģ¶ģėė° ģģ 묓리ģė¤, ź·øź±°ģ¼?ā
heād thought knew what juwon as a boy wanted. an orphan with a sister that no one really wanted as much as they did with him. the boy craved affection, someone to fill the void from being thrown away. soohyun had seen what made his eyes light up and what made him cringe away. soohyun had used this to coax juwon into his arms. and yet.Ā
ā...ķģ¬ķ ė. ė, ė ģ²ģė¶ķ° ė§ė ė ź°ģ ģ ģ·Øķ“ģ ģ ė©ėė” ķėķė ź±“ ģģģ§ė§. ģ“ė ź² ėė§ģ¹ ģ¤ ėŖ°ėģ§. ė ģ¢ģ źø°ķ ėģ¹ź±°ģ¼.ā Ā
itās almost as if heās asking him to come back. juwon had come all the way here, after all, after so long. soohyun doesnāt know if he can let go of him as easily as he did like the first time. maybe this time he wonāt run.Ā
āģ¢ź² ė¤, ėź° ģź²Øģ. ģ§ķ¬ ź°ģ¹ź° ģė볓ģ§? ė“ź° ė ķ ģ¤ ģź³ ?ā
soohyun tips his head back along with his glass, emptying the scotch into his mouth before slamming his fist down to the bar counter with it. it fractures, sharp jagged pieces digging into his palm and digging deeper into his skin as tightens his grip around it.Ā āė“ ė¤ķµģ ģ¹ź³ ė ėź±°, ė“ź° ģ©ģķ ź² ź°ģ?āĀ
slowly, soohyun reaches out before laying a hand over juwonās.
ā...ķė²ė§ źø°ķ ė ģ¤ź². ėķķ ė¤ģ ėģģ. ėź° ź°ź³ ģ¶ģź±°, ķź³ ģ¶ģź±°, ė¤ ķ“ģ¤ź². ķ“ģ£¼ź² ķ ź². ģ“ ģøģģ ė ė°ėź² ģź² ķ“ģ¤ź², 주ģģ. ķģ§ė§ ėź° ė ė ź±°ģ ķė¤ė©“,ā
he swipes a thumb over juwonās knuckles, leaving a trail of dark red to dry.Ā
āė¤ģģ ė§ė ė, ė 죽ģ¬ė²ė¦“ź±°ģ¼.ā Ā Ā
ķ“ź° ģ§ė ź³³ģ¼ė”,
635mph:
(He looks for it: the tempest.)Ā
He hadnāt ran away from the house ofĀ Jupiter without expecting hellfire, after all, and yet what followed had been nothing. No wrath, no wind. No single clap of thunder.
āģ§ģ„ģģ ģ§ģ„ė§ķ¼, ģė, ģ“ģ©ė©“ ģ§ģ„ė³“ė¤ ė ķ ź³³ģ¼ė” ėė¦¬ź³ ģģģģ.āĀ Another glass full of whatever goes down, the contents of the cup not nearly close enough to a distraction. When it hits his throat, itās not the alcohol that burns, but the resent residing in between Soohyunās language. He finds himself unable to meet his eyes for a second longer, diverting it to the strangers at the other end of the bar.Ā
(Itād never been the storm, but rather the calm of the eye that slayed him, after all.)Ā
ā⦠ģ ė,ā Thereās a bare, dim reflection casted on the surface of the bar right beneath him. He looks upon himself at Soohyunās question, eyes strangely catching the sight of his hands. He observes the way dirt (āash, blood) stains his palm lines, and fails to respond. His hands (āweapons) fall onto the bar, as he finds no safeguard. Ā
There is war between them, and he is losing. (Still.)Ā
āźø°ėė ģģ“ė¤?ā He doesnāt have it in him to expel the laughter.Ā āź¼ ź·ø ģ ė¤ģ“ ģ ķģ“ ģģė ź±° ź°ģ“ ģźø°ķģė¤ģ.ā Heās talking about the kids, but heās talking about himself, all while trying to hide the slight tremble after each syllable. āķģ ģ“ģ©ģģź² ķģ źø°ėź° ė§ė¤ ģģģ. ė넼 ėŗģ“ź°ė, ėźµ¬ė„¼ 죽ģ“ė. ķģ ģ ė°ģ ģź².āĀ
as the old saying goes, thereās no end to a manās greed. soohyun doesnāt deny the centuries old wisdom, doesnāt deny the blood drenched reality that heās made for himself that heās always dreamt of. he worked for it, he earned it, he deserved it, and he deserves even more.Ā
āģź°,ā
what stands between them is just the bar counter and unspoken resentment. soohyun could just reach out- juwon is only an arm length away, maybe even nearer. a little stretch and he could have a hand around his throat.
āė ź·ø ģ§ģ„ģģ ģģ“ ė ģ ģģ źø°ķ넼 ėģ³ė²ė¦°ź±°ģ¼.ā a king of his hell that he built. soohyun saw what juwon could do, could have done,Ā
should have done.
juwon could have had the world. but of course there was a price to it. soohyun looks into his eyes, once warm now cold. itās almost foreign, but expected. soohyun should feel so bitter about this change.Ā
āė ėģź², ģøģģ ė°ģ³¤ėė°. ėģź² ė¤ķµģ넼 ģ¹ė¤ė.ā
the corners of soohyunās lips curl downwards slightly, finally indicating the anger heās been sugar coating with a smile. he grabs hold of his glass and pauses, as if heās wondering if he should laugh into his drink or at juwonās face.Ā
āė ėŗģ“ź°ź² ģģ“ģ¼ ėŗģ“ź°ģ§,ā thereās no change in inflection of his voice, but thereās just too much anger and poison that he holds towards him that it overflows from the way he speaks, the way he holds his glass, the way he holds juwonās gaze. āģ묓ź²ė ģģė 주ģ ģ ķ ė§ģ“ ė§ė¤?ā
Ā āķģ,ā
soohyun cocks his head, his expression melting into something smug.Ā
Ā āģ§źøģ“ė¼ė ėź° ģėź° 볓ģ§?āĀ
for her we dedicate dead cherry blossoms,
pullstrings:
It wasnāt particularly well known, but it was somewhat of a rumor among the area crime families that something had happened to Jungah. The Kangmulpa refused to talk about it, and the families refused to askāthe wrath of the Kangmulpa that would be thrust upon anyone who messed with the Jewel was not something they wanted to witness.
Jungah was sipping her wine, her gaze having moved from Soohyunās and toward her father, sometimes her glass. It wasnāt her favorite conversation to have. The P.T. knew where she would be and they knew where she currently lived. They were smart and worse, they were quiet.
Junho: And theyāve sent us a little reminder of that incident. I donāt like being toyed with and I certainly donāt care for my family to be toyed with. This is a personal threat by an unknown enemy.
He cast a glance at his daughter who was swirling the contents of her glass, watching the legs of the wine trickle downward. Slowly she looked up at her father who had already turned his focus back on Soohyun as he sat his glass back down.
Junho: An unknown enemy to one is an unknown enemy to us all. Do you see why Iāve called you here now?
now, if he only enjoyed alcohol as he acted like he did. the scotch would make an excellent collection to the bar, or make his office look more impressive if he puts it on display. soohyun laughs lightly, bowing his head before thanking him. Ā
how all very vague, but soohyun doesnāt press further, at least not in front of junho. maybe heād ask jungah about it later on. everyone but the family had talked about it once by now. his employees giving little updates or one of this talkative clients gossiping, soohyun should have expected this meeting to happen. the world they live in is smaller than they think, easier to control but easier to destroy. the kungmulpa doesnāt respond to those who they think are worth it.
so to kim soohyun, this is all very interesting. he almost smiles. almost.Ā
āi see.ā he takes a sip of his whisky so the glass can hide the way his lips quiver from amusement.Ā āiām sorry you had to go through that. it must be an inconvenience.ā though, he doesnāt know who the you is in this situation. so heāll carefully ask-
āiām guessing itās,ā he looks over at jungah and waves a hand towards her direction,Ā āmiss jungah whoās the target here?ā it made sense. it made sense why sheās here and it made sense to target her. hit them where it hurts the most- heād have done it too. soohyun isnāt too interested in the details, and gives jungah even a wider smile.Ā ābut, an enemy of my friend is my enemy too. iād be glad to help, mr. yoon.ā he pauses.
āitās what friends do for each other, isnāt it?ā
with so many enemies made over the years, soohyun doesnāt even know where to start with the who, what, where and whyās. he can understand why they need his help. an outsider whoās on the neutral side unless one player benefits him more than the other.Ā
and for a while now, itās been kangmulpa.Ā
ā...and what kind of threat, may i ask?ā

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ķ“ź° ģ§ė ź³³ģ¼ė”,
635mph:
What heād thought to tuck under his tongue and hide between his bones only stares right back at him, eyes colored in the ire of fire. For a moment, he swears he canāt breathe. Thatās always been the thing about Soohyun, he made your lungs forget the air around you, just like heād remake you into everything but yourself.Ā
He tries to suppress the images, but one word is enough to bring the whole scape back: the genesis of his make down from human to machine. Everything from the damned secrets to the mornings wondering if heād murder his sanity before another killing. (For what? He canāt seem to remember.) Their eyes meet and his body recalls before his mind has a chance to cease the motion.
(The attention. You reveled in the attention.)
āģ“ģ ģėģģ.ā He moves his head back and forth, too well knowing of the gaze focused on his neck. This was always the problem with Soohyun. The obsession with possession.Ā
āģ“ģ ģėģģ. ģģ“.ā He presses his lips into a thin line, the hidden teeth behind holding youth in between. He needs to be mature, everything astray from a child. He puts up this facade all knowing too well that it all deemed useless in front of him. This was always the problem with Soohyun. His eyes got around to wreck havoc at all of his secrets before even he could have a chance to build them up into something half-believable.
His eyes look for a distraction and finds it in the glass now laid before him. āģģ§ė ģ“ ėė¬ģ“ ģ¼ ķģė ź±“ź°ģ?"Ā
And with each word, he finds youth slipping from his grasp.Ā
"ķģ ģź°ģ“ ģ£½ėė” ģ§ėė 죽ėė” ė³ķØģ“ ģė¤.ā
itās obvious that soohyun is displeased by his words, his face doesnāt move except for the raise of a brow. he blinks, letting his lips curl up instead of schooling his expression into something more neutral.Ā
juwon feels like home. but not in the good way. juwon is a place where he can take his shoes off but there are rooms still that he arenāt allowed to enter. juwon hasnāt been under his care long enough to make him fully his. juwon grew up too quickly on his own, a miscalculation. soohyun sees him almost as a,
mistake.
āķ, ź°źµ¬ė¦¬ź° ģ¬ģ±ģ“ģ ģź° ėŖ»ķė¤ ėė.ā
kettle, meet pot. soohyun doesnāt let juwonās glass go empty by filling his glass two thirds full.Ā āė ź·ø ģ§ģ„ź°ź³ ģ§źøģ§źøķź³ ģ§ ė®ģ ź³³ģģ ė²ģ“ėź² ķ“ģ¤ ģģøģź² ķ ė§ģøź°?āĀ
still, juwon has been one of his firsts. strange how first times can do to you; it bubble wraps all anger and resentment with endearment. soohyun believes that although that juwon disappeared without a trace comes into a factor, but that fact that he didnāt search for him plays a big deal when it comes to juwon having survived.Ā
a mistake, yes. but also a token of mercy, a living proof that kim soohyun isnāt the kind of person juwon believes him to be.Ā
āź·øė¦¬ź³ ėė¬ģ“ ģ¼ģ“ė¼ė. ź·øė¼, ė ź¹Øėķź±°ź³ ?ā
itās a question they both have an answer to.
āė“ ģź°ģė ģė ź² ź°ģė°.ā
he bends down to bring an empty glass to the bar table, pouring himself a drink as well.Ā
āź·¼ė° ė§ģ. ė“ź° ź·ø ėŖė ėģ ķź³ ģģė ģ¼, ģ§źøė ķź³ ģģ§. ėķķ źø°ėė ģģ“ė¤ģ“ ģ¼ė§ė ė§ģė°, ė²ė¦“ģė ģģģ? ėźµ¬ģ²ė¼.āĀ
for her we dedicate dead cherry blossoms,
@pullstrings
( music. )
the office is just as heās expected it would be, remained unchanged from his memory of slipping in and out of the headquarter for occasional business and even a more occasional hello. thereās nothing grandiose in the office, maybe except for the painting on the wall besides him and the smell of wood that tells him itās probably imported somewhere from europe. quietly luxurious, he heard one of his clients say once. there is only one, big window, but the source of light comes from the dark orange lights of the glass lamps around the room. the long silk curtains have been shut since his first time here. soohyun canāt help but to wonder what kind of scenery itās hiding.
heās alone, save for the two guards standing by the door and a young woman with a silver tray in her hands, ready to serve whatever drink heād ask her.Ā āyou know, i bartend too,ā he tells her with a smile. soohyun returns his attention to his drink in his hand when she only responds to him with a smile back and nothing else.
and just when the sound of the ceiling fan becomes too loud, the door swings open.Ā
yoon junho enters, followed by his daughter, yoon jungah. soohyun greets them by getting up from his seat, bowing with his gaze following their footsteps until they reach their seats opposite his. he waits until theyāre seating down, dragging his chair back quickly to join them. the glass of cold whisky to help with whatever unease he has remains untouched.
āso,ā
he starts quietly, folding his hands together on the table with his thumbs pressed into each other. nervous no, curious yes- and cautiously so.
alliance built during wars and friendships formed due to mutual enemies hardly last, and soohyunās with kangmulpa is thankfully an exception. their usual interactions are no more tense than a fruit farmer and a customer in a morning market.Ā
but when thereās no business to be discussed and soohyun is called in, he can only stare at them curiously, tilting his head as he looks at jungah straight in the eye.
āsince iām not here from my own request... there must be something that you need from me. am i correct?āĀ
ķ“ź° ģ§ė ź³³ģ¼ė”,
@635mphā
( music. )
thereās no pause; soohyun knows who sits across him, his mind tugging at old memories that still angers him very much so to this day. juwon arrived as a child, and left as a child. heās always been so smart, hardly the type to disappoint, which leads to the question-
must you have betrayed me?Ā
the numbers inked on the nape of the neck are always small, but significant. the tattoo shrinks his- as loosely termed- employees into mere blood and numbers, quiet war machines under his and only his control.Ā
soohyunās eyes searches for the numbers that are no longer there. how bold, to have escaped and unlabelled himself just to walk into his bar. or maybe he just didnāt know. could be a coincidence, could be a strike of luck, or maybe god felt like showing mercy to someone else instead of showing it to juwon.Ā
juwon had been one of his first recruits. a loud little boy with a louder story to tell from the look in his eyes. soohyun had exploited exactly that until, well, he left. ran away. soohyuk had been much kinder back then, as he never tried to force him back. now, he wonders if juwon regrets having left, as sometimes he regrets not holding onto him. juwon had potential.Ā
āģź°,ā
the boy is no longer his. he cannot will not recognise him. soohyun pushes the glass of whiskey forward as ordered.Ā
āģ¤ėė§ģ“ė¤.āĀ
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā WHO IS KIM SOOHYUN?
.

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āClair de Luneā - Claude Debussy
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āsorry ? hah. nice.ā
the boy couldnāt imagine a time in which somebody has apologized to him sincerely, genuinely, with all their being and their heart and their spirit. he could not. nobody with such compassion existed, not even himself. heās a boy that depends upon his own kindness rather than the kindness of others, yet, heās a boy that lies through his teeth even when it makes his jaw ache.Ā
compassion, compassionā God, who the fuck even has that anymore ?
though he stands firm with both his feet planted to the ground, and his spine straightened to show the length of his body, his hands still tremble when they tighten their hold around the straps of his bag. he lets go, chucks them into his pockets. heāll forget about them for the moment. forget about the numbers too. heās started counting in french around a week ago.Ā
tired of repetition, with days that seemed the same but had different names.
he only listens. there isnāt much for him to say. heās only wondering if the devil exists in this manās body, or maybe, heās using the devil as an excuse to live.Ā āhm.ā the boy looks down at his shoes. never at the body. never at the strangerās hands. never at the stranger. he only ever looks at his shoes, his jeans, the split light that spills in between them both but never fills the space that exists amongst them.
āuhā God. I dunno.ā heās looking back up, somewhere behind the strangerās head. jungkook isnāt sure about what he feels anymore. fright ? anxiety ? or perhaps, some stupid bravery, some kind of childish confidence, some alien feeling of relaxation. he doesnāt know. he doesnāt ever seem to know anything.
āI totally donāt knowĀ āem at all. they just stopped me in the street, gave me a list, and said off ya go you damn street rat ! thatās exactly what happened.ā he smiles back, just as any other regular boy would do. itās wide and gummy and shows his teeth.Ā āamazing, yeah ?ā
donāt kill the messenger.
itās a just rule. the boy, if heās telling the truth, should be left a lone. but wooseok doesnāt want to let him go just yet. the boy is the first bread crumb to track down the core problem of all of this. he wonāt hurt him, he hates hurting children anyway
the boy has pretty doe eyes, he notes.
āso,ā wooseok murmurs, for a fleeting moment heās talking to himself again, all mumbles under his breath with a hand on the back of his neck. āthis means youāre not much use to me. ah, ah, this... this is rather unfortunate.ā their leverage on each other does not balance. so what if the boyās caught being the errand boy. in the end, the boy knows nothing. the boy, on the other hand, has witnesses a murder. the leverage does not balance.Ā āare you alone right now? is there someone else coming?ā he asks, eyes following where jungkook is looking.Ā
maybe the boy is lying. maybe he knows something. but wooseok is short on time, he canāt force information out of him when he has more pressing matters to attend to now. he finds all of this distressing, and it shows in the way how wide his eyes are, lips twitching with displeasure. this goes on in silence for a while, before his lips twists into a smile. he moves forward until a hand is on his shoulder, fingers tapping at the nape, semi dried blood smearing onto fabric and exposed skin.
ādo you still have the list? know the name of who stopped you? or where theyāre from? iām just...really at loss here,ā he breathes out a low laugh.Ā āyouāre the only one i know who could help me. right now. all you have to do is answer some questions. truthfully. this isnāt, this isnāt a threat, no. donāt worry, donāt worry at all.ā Ā
a killer grows hungry for the weaponry of its sinful doings. a cold blooded puppet assassin he is, yes, in need of a supplier for the perfection of a crime committed in the dead of the night when screams are but white noise swallowed by sheer darkness and washed away into a river of velvet reflecting the moonlight above. he is, yet again, caught by a puppeteerās strings.
before monochrome hues lies a hand extended, a human greeting. oh, if he had any control over his own body perhaps it wouldnāt have come to the split of second ignoring the latterās palm. he has no choice of his own. heās a shell, empty and simply being used to shed blood and rip to shreds whatever was left of his sanity. thereās no reaction through the blank reflection in his eyes until the request is brought up through words, a measured flick of his gaze towards the other male shifting back the hoodie thrown over his skull. āiād like to have what i came for.ā
the next victim awaits through the streets of a sleeping city and dawn must last long enough to complete the annihilation of his target.Ā ābut i am also interested in the new arrivals. please present them to me.ā the tone of his voice mimics nothing but echo, emptiness and the lack of any fragment of emotion. he comes for one thing and one thing only. it has the young male wondering just what would be of him if met by daylight with the latter when sanity washes over him once more. itād be an intriguing situation to occur.
itās a shame heās a client. wooseok holds a preference for pretty faces, and it shows in the way he watches him, his gaze coveting heavy with curiosity. itād be nice to have him in his collection, locked up and ready to destroy. what a pity, what a waste. wooseok would have put thomas in a good use, if he was his.Ā
of course.Ā he comments mentally as his greeting goes unanswered. his palm is left empty and cold, and wooseok glances down at it before withdrawing with a polite chuckle. no hard feelings.Ā āyes, of course. iāll bring them to you right away. would you like something while you wait? some tea, maybe? iāve prohibited coffee around here recently since some of my little angels found it too anxiety inducing,ā he briefly mentions the young killers in training, his gaze crawling back to the red curtain behind the cashier.Ā ā...anyway, give me a minute.ā
āah ha, i definitely will,ā wooseok almost tilts his head to see if thereās any flicker of interest in thomasā eyes before turning away to retrieve the stored weapons.Ā
heās back with two large black cases in his hands, placing them onto the desk between them as he opens them one by one.Ā āfeel free to check if theyāre okay,ā a simple routine has developed between them after thomasā first visit.Ā āplease do keep in mind you have a month until they have to be returned. theyāre quite high in demand these days. i see that youāre a trend setter, mr. oh.ā
āand these-ā he takes the roman scissors out, sliding a gloved finger across the hooked blade,Ā āshort range, about 18 inches and weighs 5 pounds. you just have to put it over your hand- would you like to try it on?āĀ
in the clemency of a nightmare, this is the superlative meaning of being. this is a sleep-induced coma, called reality by most, and injected with various happenstances that mar his bones with engraved question marks. dreams start growing teeth, the canines being sunken deep fears, for with every up there will be paranoia of downs. with every touch there will be paranoia of loss. itās a habit inflicted by life constellated with the sighs of bloodhounds in his corridors. he will not find mercy in his flesh.
the innermost unease comes with the knowledge that this is temporary. permanence is something that he cannot afford; not when mortality is a gaunt ornament that color kyungsooās existence. and to put it simply, he is scared.
thereās no exit door, but still, he convinces himself otherwise.
sits on a stool of a half-empty ( half-full ) bar. orders his drink. shows his id to ensure that heās not underage.
heās waiting for his drink to come when someone approaches him, asking for his id again. āi showed it to that guy,ā he says, slightly petulant, pointing at the man concocting his drink.
perhaps the black apron around his waist takes away the seriousness in all this, the purple and red neon lights a distraction from the tension. his unhappy surprise stays hidden under his facade, all pearly teeth and red lips strained by a tight smile.
of course, jonginās response is expected. no one wants to die again. wooseok doesnāt know how jongin has managed to survive, slip out of his grasp. one little slip opens up so many questions, each holding a danger of their own that poses as a threat to what wooseok has managed to establish so far. his pride, his life time work.Ā
āid, please.ā he asks again, the smile doesnāt disappear but thereās pressing authority behind his teeth this time. wooseok moves so his body is blocking jonginās way to the exit in case he tries to leave. there will be leaving this time.
āitās just, you look very young. you donāt mind showing it again, do you? my staff is relatively new, so i have to double check everything. just in case.ā
he places a gentle hand onto the table, leaning in a little closer to his customer,Ā ādo you have a problem with that?ā

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@spinecollection // (x)
the spirit of children differ than that of man ā the world can not process the pain of someone who does not understand it, seldom ever deserves it. rather than the throaty rasp of woes and anguish, they place images in her head. after living amongst children for the past couple of years, sheās grown sensitive to the unique messages. she sees the fear and stumble of a fighting spirit, sees the image of two somber faces where her heart blossoms with affection for. their parents, the child misses their parents. she wanders until the connection was vivid, seeing vague depictions of frightening men kidnapping him into the night. childrenās views are less in touch with logic and more connected to a pathos approach. half of it was repressed but she knew too well what had happened.Ā
he appears friendly and it pains her that the thought entered her mind. a lax smile, a vaguely apathetic demeanor, he looked like nothing but a kind uncle telling stories to a child. she looks at the little oneās eyes, sees the distress muting any life from them.Ā
āiāve been here forā¦a while,ā sheās thinking of a way to steal the child back. he doesnāt know it but heās begging her for help in his mind. she must respond. it would be unjust if she were to ignore it. what is stopping her is her lack of a plan for after their successful escape. where were she to bring the child? his parents are more than likely long gone, and she herself has nowhere to go. would it be better to leave him here or subject him to the horrors she face?Ā
āand what about you, sir? do you come here often? who is this, your nephew? he looks awfully hungry and a bit tiredā¦is he okay?āĀ
āstrange. i would have seen you since i come here so often- i donāt forget a pretty face.āĀ
he notes the hesitation in her voice ( smart girl ), and the curve of wooseokās eyes grow thinner as his smile stretches, āi do. i really enjoy the company of children, theyāre so...ā he pauses, the carefully crafted lines of kindness on his face disappearing into the depths of the gentle dips where his lips twitches into a quick frown,Ā ā...easy. to be with, you know. no mind games that grown ups play.ā he rests his head on his palm, elbow on his knee as he looks at her. he wonders what gives his facade away, usually children are easy to lie to. perhaps heās undermining her too much, placing her under the wrong category. thereās a slight shift in the power balance as he starts to reevaluate her. Ā
wooseok places a possessive hand on top of the boyās head- a motion of affection- as he smiles again,Ā āheās fine, just a little shy. iāve befriended him a few weeks back. heās very smart despite how easily scared he gets, but we can work on that. together. no need to worry.ā thereās an unsaid iām taking him with me in the way he skims his fingers across the boyās forehead.
perhaps heās take them both.
āyou ask a lot of questions. youāre very inquisitive, arenāt you? whatās your name?ā wooseok cocks his head, smiling eyes never leaving hers. āiām wooseok, but we might see each other often from now on, so call me uncle, if you prefer.āĀ
@ofkngs
known as a strict stickler for punctuality amongst the tight knitted circle of criminals, it always jars him when his work ethic is compromised. never early, and certainly never late, wooseok comes and go with each tick of the clock. each minute is decided, made with a choice. nothing displeases him more when he has to make last minute alterations to his plans.Ā
heās sitting alone at the entrance of his warehouse, too large for a waiting table and a cashier. the lack of furniture and decoration on the walls make the place look too empty, but what matters is whatās behind the red curtain behind the wooden cashier.
wooseok holds his cup of tea by the rim as he stares out through the window as the figure approaches the store, listening to the old grandfather clock tick in the background.
mmm.
king is early. heās only been here yesterday afternoon, and usually it takes him at least a full day to come back to return the goods. wooseok is careful, getting up when the door opens. king is charming, in his own way, a little off putting from time to time, perhaps. never dull, however.
still.Ā
āyouāre early. has there been any issues with what i provided you with?ā