#*mms

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TW: profanity, weapons, blood/violence mention

he's boiling with embarrassment and anger, face burning with a concoction of emotional turbulence and annoyance. just his luck to screw up the one time it actually kind of mattered.

trying in vain to shake his shoulder from the man’s grasp, he finds that he can’t despite not being weak himself. if only he could reach his arm in a inconspicuous manner so that he could reach the knife concealed within an inner pocket of his jacket.

he wasn’t one for cold blooded murder, but a little foul play and fighting wouldn’t hurt anyone -- at least, not in a fatal way. trying to rid himself of the last few shreds of unease that haunt him, jiwoong decides to go for one final try before resorting to his trump card.

“i didn’t take y'r shit, so why won’t y' just let me go now?”

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“sure y’ did, but ‘t’s not like you’ll arrest me or ‘nything.”

despite his comment, jiwoong tosses the id card back to the older male, his bottom lip jutting out in minor annoyance. it’s not like no one’s told him that before – he’s had all types of people tell him, from hitmen like kaisei to just anyone who knew about his kleptomaniac tendencies. at this rate, he’ll start actually being discreet about it.

although, to be fair, he wasn’t serious this time when he nabbed something off of jeongguk. just wanted a little fun and a little attention, that was all. he was getting bored, anyways – he hasn’t seen the older male in weeks.

“y’r lucky i look up t’you, i normally don’t give things back,” he mumbles, looking away, “finders, keepers.”

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“rebellion 'gainst what, hyung?”

there’s a thoroughly amused expression on jiwoong’s face as he asks, considering whether he should talk louder or not just for the sake of blowing the man’s cover, or ruining whatever the hell he was trying to do.

( he’s probably going to do it, anyways. he’s never been one to care much for the threshold of tolerance others had for him. actually, the lower, the better. )

he’s taken it upon himself to visit yixing without any prior notice, simply knocking on his door. despite normally opting for the window, he’s startled the man enough times and been scolded enough times to the point where it was simply less painful to just enter normally. it’s not fun when you get belittled like a small child instead of getting an annoyed reaction.

and here he was, resting his legs on the coffee table, playing a game on his phone with the sound turned halfway up when the male tells him to pipe down.

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he’s sure that he looks like nothing short of a stray dog, bristling and deeply untrusting. jiwoong was never one to reject a meal, especially a free one ( not that he’d pay for any if he could ), but there’s simply something so unsettling about this man that he can’t place a finger on.

firstly, he didn’t seem like the type to do something like this. jiwoong’s interacted with a lot of people in his life, and he’s always noticed there are specific types of people who buys him food – they either pity him, see something familiar in him, or simply want something out of him.

with this man, he really can’t tell.

“y’re not trying t' poison me, are y'?” glancing from the noodles to the man’s face, jiwoong really wishes he had the ability to see through any morsel of food, because one day, it’s going to be the downfall of him. nevertheless, his face darkens, and his voice takes on a strangely grave tone.

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“actually, m’am, i was – i’m so sorry,” with wide eyes and an apologetic grimace, jiwoong fidgets with his fingers, “you dropped something, and i couldn’t help but chase after you.”

slipping a hand into his jacket pocket to procure a wallet, he holds it out to her with both hands, quivering a little bit, as if hoping she wouldn’t misunderstand.

there really should be a sence of triumph or malevolence when you know you’re pretending to be someone you’re not. all those scenes in movies with manipulative people who want nothing but to harm the people they pretend to be the allies of make them seem like monsters that feel satisfaction from such a moral crime.

but, to be honest? he just feels numb inside. from the moment he saw her at the grocery store with her pretty coat and designer bag, he knew exactly who she was. from the moment he brushed past her to get to the fresh produce section, slipping his fingers into her pocket to grab the wallet, disappearing into a different aisle without a second glance, he knew what his mind was set on.

call it a gut instinct, but the hatred that boils inside him is unmistakable to him and him only. he’d put on as many masks as it takes if it meant he got what he wanted.