Hostage!AU: One of our characters is a criminal, that takes refuge in the other characters house, essentially keeping them hostage. The hostage begins to develop feelings for their capture and helps them evade the police.
Jongdaeâs legs burned as he ran faster and faster, his hair whipping behind him and occasionally hitting him in the face when he chanced a look behind. Were they onto him? Could they see him? He pushed himself even harder, the burn in his calves increasing with every smack of the pavement from his shoes (nothing near fit for running). It wouldnât be long until they caught him, he needed to hide. Quickly, he ran up to the nearest home, bursting through the door and locking it behind him; his hands barely managing to turn the lock before collapsing against the door.
Jongdae threaded his hands through his hair, angrily grabbing fists of it and tugging, trying to fight back the tears that were threatening to fall. It wasnât supposed to go like that. No one was supposed to be there. He had panicked, one hand on the trigger of the gun and one hand practically elbow deep in jewels. He hadnât meant to do something like that, he truly, truly hadnât meant to. But he did. The gun was still in his coat pocket, and there was still blood on his hands. Jongdae hadnât meant to kill the man, he really hadnât.
âOh god. Oh god. Oh dear god no. Â I wasnât- This wasnât supposed to even happen-â He choked on his words, letting them come out in angry short bursts between heavy breaths and watery eyes. God he was scared. He was scared absolutely shitless. The robbery was supposed to be something simple, later in the day, nobody around to see it. A simple get in and get out. But it had gone terribly wrong, so terribly terribly wrong. âI kill-â he couldnât even say it aloud, the mere thought of it making him practically retch. Burying his face in his palms, a miserable sob escaped from the robber, the murderâs, lips. It wasnât supposed to be like this.
---->
Kim Jongdae. Twenty, almost twenty one.
Youngest member of the gang Chil Pa Sung based in Busan.
Caught in a rut at a young age, he entered the gang at the age of 16.
Never has he killed. Beaten, yes. Hurt, yes. But killed? Never.
It had been just like any other time he was assigned a job. Information handed over a thin manila folder by the leader, with a subtle threat to get the job done or suffer the consequences. Jongdae had served the gang well, his young age aiding him and allowing him to hide within crowds, going unnoticed until necessary. This particular case was rather simple. A small jewelry store was in debt, it was his job to go collect. After hours of course. It was normal, something not uncommon in his career.
âYou can do it right?â A long thin hand slid the folder across the table to him, lightly tapping the top of the few scattered papers. Jongdae reached out for the folder, beginning to slide it back into his own lap when the aforementioned hand reached out to grab his own. The fingers wrapping sickeningly around his wrist and gripping tightly, causing the boy to jerk his head up at the leering face. âOr do you need more lessons from your âhyung.ââ With a quick motion, he had brushed the hand off of his own, a glare settled into his eyes. âOf course I can.â
In retrospect, he probably should have been able to tell that something would happen, simply from the leer on the other manâs face. Whenever Jongdae had seen that expression, that disgusting face directed at him, he could tell something was going to happen. Something he probably wouldnât like. The first time he had ever seen that expression was shortly after when he had first joined the gang, the action that followed was deemed as an âinitiation requirement.â Jongdae highly doubted that was the case.
Still new and fresh off the streets, they had only assigned him small tasks, such as making a cup of coffee (no sugars, a little drop of cream) or cleaning the toilets. The boss had made a brief comment about the condition of the closets in his office, leering out of the corner of his eye at the teenager. Jongdae had stepped into the small space to check the âconditionâ of the closet, only to have the door shut tightly behind him, a chair brought up to keep the door locked. He had ended up spending a whole day in the closet with no food nor restroom, at several instances pleading to be let out. It was dehumanizing to say the least.
---->
Crash.
Jongdae looked up from his hands, his eyes still glistening, but now sharply focused on the house around him. There was someone home, and judging from the glass pieces that littered the floor, they were nearby. A wave of panic began to settle into him as he pulled out the gun, back facing the door and the weapon pointed outwards in front of him. He brought up his second hand to steady the other as it shook violently, the gun almost rattling in his own hand. âShow yourself⊠I mean it! I have a gun if you donât and I- Iâm not afraid to use it!â Contradictory to what he had said, Jongdae was scared, very, very scared. The boy practically reeked of fear as he watched the houseâs occupant emerge in front of him, the gun still shaking in his hands and pointed at the emerging occupant.
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jason-ia said: *he follows you and grins brightly, nodding* A trail. Your voice is very distinctive, like the way you see life. *he laughs* Iâm a sound-colour synesthete, though I donât tell that to many people. So keep it a secret, no?
 /takes a break from scanning the streets for 'that one' cafe, turning around to face Jason.  Thank you, that's nice of you to say. /he perks up at the mention of the other's condition, already interested. Are you? Could I... You don't suppose I could ask you a couple of questions about it in the future do you? /he quickly nods. And of course i'll keep it a secret if you want me to.
Sure. A bright orange trail which led me to you. *he smiles and nods* Cafe it is. *rocking forward a little, he waits for you to lead the way, still blinking curiously at your face* [[would it be easier if I replied on the dash?]]
I leave a trail? /he looks behind him, and seeing no trail furrows his eyebrows. shrugging it off, he pulled out his pocketed sunglasses, placing them on before stepping out of the shade of the tree.
We are. *he smiles again, the expression genuine and reaching his eyes* I cannot imagine a world without colour, yet you live it - colour has defined my life... The change of my eyes and the shade of my hair... *he trails off before shaking his head and refocusing on you* You are bright orange, a tone between warm and cool. Shall I... Tell you about red then? Perhaps someplace more comfortable than this street?
Iâm bright orange? /Jongdae wore a small expression of surprise, no one had ever given him a colour before. He smiled, continuing. Thank you. I could buy you something at a cafe nearby if you want to?
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Jongdae. *he tests the word on his tongue and smiles* Blue and orange... Any other colours you would like? We're very different, you and I. *he hums softly, eyes laughing at you* Blue/grey, depending on my mood *he says, gesturing to his eyes* and red. *a hand runs through his hair before disappearing back into his pocket* By-the-by... Jason isn't hard for you to pronounce, is it?
I like all of the colours, each every one; but why donât you tell me about your favourite? Are we that different? {/his mouth creates a small âoâ in realization. Jongdae blinked, studying the other a little more. Ah, so thatâs the shade of grey thatâs red. I forgot.} Itâs easier than some foreign names Iâve run into, but I think I might have gotten lucky this time around.{/Jongdae smiled, quietly remembering his terrible marks in English.}
Brightest orange is your voice in the static white of everyday noise, the trail you painted to lead me here. /he smiles politely and approaches you from behind, hands in pockets as he continues to talk/ It's passion and joy and life, that sensation of dawning rays of light when you turn east to west. The opposite of melancholic blue. /reaching you, he bows his head, hair falling into his eyes/ Do you see black and white or shades of grey? My name is Jason, by the way... You are?
/pausing and tilting his head at the sudden voice, Jongdae wonders who this new voice could be, the descriptions intrigued him. As he spotted the boy now in front of him, Jongdae bowed back, smiling. Itâs nice to meet you Jason, and in answer to your question, I see âall of the above.â /Jongdae offers out a hand. Iâm Kim Jongdae.
//whispers// Blue is the sky at dawn, bright and gleaming oxidisation; it's the melancholic feel of loss and wandering and that spark of heart-stopping electricity that keeps you and I alive when we fall. Blue is oceans and rivers gushing through the open mouths of thoughtless humans and the tingle you get when you touch love. It's the sharpest note of Middle C on a piano, the cut of rain on tin. //anon cause afraid of face-chasing accusations but I loved your concept too much to pass up//
Jongdae tilted his head as the grey face described blue, it had been a while since he heard such a detailed answer for the colour; one that he could feel, and almost envision. The other made it seem like such a strong colour, full of life. Jongdae almost wished he could see it.
