#mi:phoenix

TW FAMILY DEATH, DROWNING, SEASICKNESS

《 WHO ARE YOU? 》

„Who I am?“, he asked surprised.

A serious question. He didn’t even know it himself.

„I don’t quite know what you expected me to be when you first saw me, but I’m surely not that you think. The tattoos make me a little worse than I am“

Lie.

„I have always been an introverted person, actually, and I want to overcome my feelings with this job. I’m a bit on the wrong track and I want to change it now.“

Lie. Partially a Lie.

„I don’t have a job at the moment and I really need the money since I want to keep my apartment. I am very good with children and students of the older age, actually. I studied very long and I am a fast learner, I worked at a high school for my first three years as teacher.“

His lips formed an attractive smile as the lies flowed out of his mouth and he took a folder with a definitely faked, but real-looking curriculum vitae out of his case, pushing it to the dean.

„And? What do you think? Am I the right one for the job?“

《 HOW DID YOU GET HERE? 》

Himchan hadn’t even entered the ship yet and he already felt seasick. The old thing swayed back and forth on the rough waves and he felt his stomach turning upside down immediately. He hated ships, a lot, anyhow since his little sister drowned after jumping over the railing of an old boat his father owned in his earlier childhood.

And the worst was, he never learned how to swim. Which was probably the biggest reason why he was afraid of ships and boats of several sizes, the seemingly endless and dark ocean could simply swallow him.

„Just once. You have to do it just once.“ 

That’s what he told himself very often before taking the final step to enter the swaying ship. 

„Are you alright, Sir?“ Himchan couldn’t talk. The only thing he could do was nod, while pulling his suitcase over the wooden bridge that connected the ship with the mainland.

The island was his only chance to escape, he was a searched criminal after all. He had’t been careful about his last murder, which was doomed to him. With the police at his heels, he barely got out of Seoul.

The otherwise strong man looked almost weak when the ship docked the port of the island. He felt nauseous and a he could feel his whole body aching as he took the first step to enter the saving, solid earth. And only a few hours later, without his tight clothes and in his new, favorite shirt, he opened the door to his new apartment, taking a deep breath and adjusting the gun under his clothes.

TW NSFW, MURDER, BLOOD, DEATH, FAMILY DEATHS, SEXUAL EXPLOITATION OF A MINOR, EATING DISORDERS, ABUSE, KNIVES, VIOLENCE

《 WHO ARE YOU? 》

a shroud of mystery lingers on his lips, and his fingertips, keeping people just far enough away that they’ll never see past the mask he’s painted so beautifully. it’s effortless, how he holds people in his gaze, yet never lets then past his pretty facade, so that they’ll never see the tiny cracks that line the mask he wears, like an old, but beautiful venetian mask. it lures people in, makes then fall for him, for his sweet words, and his gentle touches, the way his eyes glisten under neon lights and he’s drenched in the scent of expensive cologne. he’s an enigma, to most. a mystery some wish they could solve, but so few in his life managed to find a way behind the curtain he’s pulled in front of his life.

on the outside of the curtain stands a man with dangerous friends, who’ll lick the blood of his enemies off his fingertips without a second thought. a man who would watch as you bled to death without even blinking. a man who many believe is a demon in the flesh, his beauty only there to lure in the innocent before he sucks them dry of all purity. he’s a man, to many, who won’t get his own hands dirty, but loves to watch, loves to see the life leave his enemies eyes. he’s a man all about the pleasures of life, yet a man who trusts so few people in this world. there’s a line, for him - a line between friends, and foe, and once that lines been crossed there’s no going back. once his trust is broken, you’re as good as dead to him.

behind the curtain though, crouches a far different person. a boy, small and frail, jumping at the bumps in the night, and the shadows his demons cast before his eyes. this boy knows no one, he’s the man’s biggest secret. he cries for the loss of his mother, for the loss of his sister, and for the loss of himself. he cries as he watches his father’s blood saturate his clothes every night, his hands sticky and red - no matter how many times he washes them, the red won’t go away. he’s plagued by these demons, by the loss of family, and the loss of innocence. but it’s his secret, one he’ll never share. he’ll take this boy to the grave, as the man in front of the curtain leads the way, hiding the scared little boy until his very last breath.

《 HOW DID YOU GET HERE? 》

eating instant ramen for dinner almost every day wasn’t something desirable, but it was reality for ten and his family. the house was always cold, so he and his mother and sister would huddle together under a blanket, cooking on a camping stove. it was all he and his sister knew, so they made the most of it, their toes eventually gained feeling back, in the light of the little fire beneath the pot that their ramen cooked in.

ten didn’t know korean when they first moved there, living in on room in a house on the very edge of seoul. his father called the move a ‘business venture’, that he knew people who would get his business up and running; that soon they’d be rich. somehow, his word turned into reality, and his father’s massage parlour, in the centre of seoul, began to flourish, bringing them in enough money to move out of the damp room, and closer to the centre - somewhere that was warm, where they didn’t need to sleep in their coats.

it went well for a few years, up until ten was fifteen - then, the arguments started. he’d sit with his sister, cuddled up in his bed as they tried to drown out the sound of their parents arguing, voices muffled by the walls separating them, but still loud enough to make ten’s sister cry. ten still remembers the first time he heard it, when his sister had just fallen asleep. the smack of something hitting against something hard, followed by the muffled cry that he recognised as his mother’s voice, followed by crying. a door slammed, and then it was quiet. but the sounds played over and over in ten’s head that night - he was no longer too young to understand what he was hearing, and it made his blood boil.

another year passed, and the arguments got more frequent, until the night ten came home to find the house empty, furniture pushed over and photo frames laying face down on the floor, the glass shattered into pieces around them. the blood on the kitchen floor was enough to bring his lunch back up as his head spun. he called his mother, but her phone went straight to voicemail, as did his sisters. lastly, he called his dad, and the rest of the night remains a blur.

there’d been a break in, his mother and sister both kidnapped. they moved house a week later, ten given no time to mourn, still wondering how, and why, and what they were going to do to try and find them again. they did interviews, pleaded on tv, but nothing came of it. months after the kidnapping and ten hadn’t been the same since. a void had begun to grow in his chest, suspicion clouding his vision, and messing with his mind. he saw threats were there were none, thought he saw his sister on the train tracks one morning on his way to school, just second before the train sped past.

it was six months after their disappearances that his father changed. it started with his hand on the back of ten’s neck, squeezing just a little too hard, until ten flinched away. he’d laugh it off at first, playing it off as father-son jokes. he brought ten to work after school, when ten couldn’t handle being alone at home. a lady who worked at the parlour taught him how to give massages, and he soon took up a part time job. it started out normal - he’d brush his thumbs into wound up muscles, rubbing out knots and kinks until the customer lay limp like a soggy piece of spaghetti, eye hooded with relaxation. until his father told him he’d need trained for the full job, taught to do what all the other masseurs did.

at first, he refused, after watching the woman who’d taught him ‘service’ the man through a hole in the wall. he cried, and screamed, told his father he’d never do it, until the man held a knife to his neck. ‘you’re my son, and you belong to me, so you’ll do as i say. your body isn’t your own, i own it. i made you, and i can unmake you.’ so, only a few weeks later, after sleepless nights and missed meals, ten readied himself for his first night of ‘proper work’.

ten’s life fell into a mist that he simply waded through, as if on autopilot, not really noticing what went on around him, as he’d lost all that made him feel safe, and loved. he no longer knew who he was, or what his purpose was, and simply did as he was told. he went to school, to keep up appearances, distancing himself from friends and falling into a silence that would come to define him in his classmates eyes. he was ten, the boy who looked like he never slept, or ate, and never spoke. he got good grades, but it never meant anything to him, not anymore.

then came the night when it all went wrong. he’d graduated from high school only the month prior, and felt no push to find his own path in life, simply remaining doing what he was doing, until he overheard the phone call. he stood outside his father’s office one night, catching his mother name through the crack in the door as he passed to head to the kitchen. the more he listened, the more sick he felt. the images flashed through his mind of his father ending his mother’s life in the kitchen of their old home, only to be seen by his sister. he learnt that night that searching for them had been futile - they’d died even before they’d left their home, at the hands of ten’s own father.

blood boiled, thrumming behind his eardrums, a beat that set his feet in motion, carrying him to the kitchen. when he returned to his father’s office, he held the largest, sharpest knife they owned, clutched tightly in his shaking fist. the door creaked on it’s hinges as he pushed it open, interrupting his father’s phone call, which he hurriedly hung up upon spotting ten in the doorway. ten’s name was halfway out of his mouth before he saw the knife in ten’s hand, and the dead look in his eyes, tears trailing down his cheeks. ‘you heard’, was all ten heard before he was stood above his father, the man sat with his back against his bookcase, a hand raised to try and defend himself. ‘ten please-’ he begged, but the knife came down to slash across the man’s palm, eliciting a pained cry from him.

something in ten’s blood, in that moment, fizzed, twisting something dark, and hateful in his chest. the smile that crawled onto his lips was anything but happy. it took mere moments for the blood to pool around them, once the knife was drawn across the man’s neck. ten sat and watched as he spluttered, clutching at his throat, before his eyes went blank, staring into nothingness. ten felt nothing.

he left that night, with the contents of his fathers safe in his bag. he didn’t know where he was going, but he walked, and he walked, and he walked, until a man on a country road pulled up beside him in a flashy car. ‘you okay kid?’ they rode for hours, the man not asking about the faint red stains that ten simply couldn’t rid his hands of. it was only when the man jokingly told ten that he looked like he’d seen a ghost that ten broke down, sobbing as if he’d never cried a single tear in his life before.

the man waited, listening to ten confess to everything. ten told him about the kidnapping, the ‘massage’ job he was forced into, the phone call he overheard, that ended with his father’s murder. he expected the man to throw him out his car and call police, expected that this was the end of him - and he’d have accepted it. he didn’t know who he was anymore. but the man didn’t. he reached out, took ten’s hand, and smiled, telling him he knew somewhere ten could find a new family, people to protect him, and help him heal. their journey ended in myeongcho a day later, ten glued to the man’s side, desperate to not be left alone again.

there he found a family, just as the man had said. he learnt to guard himself, and his past, to seek a better life for himself. he built his confidence, and painted the mask he wears today. he went back to school, earned enough money for a nice place, and found himself enjoying life again, even if he had to hide from his demons each and every night. he found solace in companionship, though nowhere near the same as his old job, this time he had a say in how things went, and who he spent his time with, more often than not. he was treated well, well enough to heal to a certain extent.

TW DEATH, MURDER, GUNS

《 WHO ARE YOU? 》

a mess, really. nothing but a pretty face for people to use. “i’m dae, but – you already knew that.” they give a laugh to the person across the room, ducking head down after. i’m a prostitute“i’m a sophomore in college – musical theatre major. and i work as a barista at the, cat cafe? in yeongi? i’m sure you’ve heard of it.” flash of teeth and sparkle of eyes light up the room around them. “i’m glad you had an opening today, this is my one day off.”

《 HOW DID YOU GET HERE? 》

july twenty-fourth, two thousand eighteen. “i have to go out tonight. tempest has eyes on a guys from columbia and wants me and some others to take them out. you can just head over to my place. i’ll be there as soon, baobei. i love you.”

i was in love with him and he asked me to join the gang. i couldn’t say no to him, but i don’t even think i wanted to. blonde knows they can’t share much, the fear of being found out was so much. therapist probably already had ideas of how and why xiaoli was killed. gang violence in their area was no stranger, but there was no reason for them to know dae was apart of it too. hands begin to fidget, puppy eyes falling to focus on their lap.

TW PROSTITUTION, PARENTAL DEATH

《 WHO ARE YOU? 》

“I’m Jinah. But—you can call me Allora.” The woman that faces the interviewers is smug, offhanded and yet strangely alluring. There’s something about her that makes people shiver with anticipation, the eyeliner that accents her beautiful fox-like eyes only emphasises her beauty, the small lift at the corners of her lips mysterious and strange, as though it held some kind of secret behind those cherry red lips. She crosses her legs, hands folding lightly around her waist, and the room holds its breath as those beautiful ruby lips pause, then part. “I work as a bartender at LUMIN8.” Strangely enough, every note of her husky voice captures the attention of everyone in the room, even as she stands before them in a skin tight dress, her curves accented sinfully. Every flicker, sigh and breath of the woman was literally a visage of something akin to a mysterious beauty, as though she would flicker out of existence after stirring one’s senses above and beyond within minutes of her own arrival. “Aren’t you wondering what it would be like to draw a kiss from my lips?” The whisper was soft but sensual, airy and light, the open mouthed kiss that was planted on the corner of one of the male interviewer’s lips causing her to hum lightly as she gave a soft scoff and a smirk, smudging the lipstick print that was left at the corners of the male’s mouth.

“Hm. Let’s say this fairly, love. A fair trade. Information for whatever you’d love to do with me.” She leaves them with an everlasting impression of faint, coy laughter and a lover’s caress trailing her steps as she leaves the door.

《 HOW DID YOU GET HERE? 》

TW FAMILY DEATH, MURDER, SUICIDE ATTEMPT

《 WHO ARE YOU? 》

i’m not anyone. i’m nothing. i’m a ghost of the child i once was, a hollowed out shell. i’m a shivering boy with nowhere to go and no one to trust. i’m someone with regrets in a constant state of mourning. i’m a machine with tunnel vision and no remorse. i’m a murderer, a thief, and a mystery. i’m broken and lost.

no…

i’m fire and passion. i’m a boyfriend, a grandson, and a friend. i’m an artist with a strange sense of humor. i’m a man that’s warmed by the body next to him. i’m someone with a home in a person and a vision for the future. i’m not what i used to be. i feel love and i’ve captured compassion. i’m kim mingyu.

《 HOW DID YOU GET HERE? 》

now that… is a long story.

it all started with a terrible tragedy, as i’ve noticed a lot of these things do. my boyfriend reads aloud enough books for me to realize that my story isn’t so unique. if i’m being honest, it still hurts for me to remember my beginning. i still feel a tightness in my chest and a lump in my throat when i revisit the memory. i can recall exactly the way that her arm draped off the side of the sofa. her body wasn’t as warm as usual and for someone that had been so lively… she was completely drained of life. it was an awfully loud wail for such a small child. i clung to her body as if my desire to bring her back would actually manage to do so. i learned fast that there are some things in life that can never be undone.

i was smarter than anyone gave me credit for. still, i wasn’t as great of a detective as i thought myself to be. there were flaws in what was my truth. i thought i was killing him as revenge… i found out far too late that his death was nothing but murder. he didn’t deserve to die, but i suppose it had to happen. if i could summon him here today, i don’t think he’d tell me that he hates me for what i did… i was small… lost… directionless… i had the mind of a child, even if i couldn’t do what other kids got to do.

i always hated all of the years that she spent in prison when i thought she should have been dead. now, looking back on it, i’m glad that she had to live that way for a while. i took away her freedom and her mindset that she was indestructible. i hope that i broke her down. maybe that’s why she spoke to me the way that she did. i know she was angry. she wanted me dead just as much as i wanted her dead. that house was haunted to me, but i do think about it a lot. i wonder if it was the right call to burn it to the ground. after i healed… would it have been good for me to visit? should i have approached it with a clearer mind? i don’t know. it didn’t matter then, because as far as i was concerned, i was already dead.

killing her didn’t make me feel complete, despite what i had been brainwashed to believe. you know, i wonder why hyunwoo ever took in a child and trained him for revenge anyway. was it actually solely what he said it was? did he teach me everything he knew for my own sake? or… was it truly for him? was revenge not as important as he thought it was? maybe i was the important one. maybe feeling like he had family again is what helped him heal. introducing a teenager to gang life isn’t really the best move, but i think he was blinded by his love for me. he didn’t want to lose me and he wanted to make me strong. he already lost a family, he didn’t want to… lose another son. i didn’t want to lose another father, either, but some things are just out of anyone’s control. i don’t blame myself for his death… not fully. i blame myself for not answering that call. maybe i could have helped him, i don’t know… maybe he would still be here if i’d just been… no. no, i can’t think like that. i’m not the one that wounded him. i still wish that had ended differently.

losing another parent wasn’t a good thing for me. i was already driven by my thirst for vengeance, so my first big job within phoenix was killing the people responsible for his death. i don’t really believe that i was born to be a killer, but this is the hand i’ve been dealt. i’ve killed many people already… there will always be contracts and people that others want dead. the killing won’t stop, so it’s better me than someone else, right? i’ve been trained, i’ve got blood on my hands… it’s too late for me but it doesn’t have to be for someone else.

with that being said, i still think that a lot of people deserve what they get, but i digress.

back to the story, right? my mother died, i killed my father, my stepmother was arrested, i was alone, i was taken in, i was trained, i joined a gang, my new father died. i died a little more, i started killing a little more, and that was that. this is how things went for a while. i was just another member in a gang that i started feeling attached to. they never gave me a reason not to trust them, so i did. they were family.

i met a boy. well, i didn’t really talk to him much at first, but i saw him around. finally, someone my age. i felt like it should matter more than it did. he didn’t like me at first. or, i got the feeling he didn’t. maybe he even resented me. i didn’t know why. i didn’t question it. truthfully, i didn’t care to… until i did. what began as bitterness blossomed into a friendship. it bloomed into having someone that i gave a damn about again. i didn’t understand him, but i don’t think he fully understood me either. well, until it was 3 am on my birthday of 2016. i thought he was in trouble, so you can imagine my surprise when i barged in to see a cake. no one really did things like that for me anymore. i didn’t know how to feel. but, he had a rule. no cake until the next day. that meant i had to stay over. i remember being awkward… anxious… maybe even a little afraid. i didn’t want him to see a part of me that i wasn’t ready for anyone to witness… but i didn’t get my wish, because he saw it. he was there to experience me waking up and tears falling down my face. i hadn’t been held in a while. i didn’t have anyone to lie down with me, noses brushing because of how close we’d been. i slept that night. it was the first time i managed to get some actual rest in a long time.

i got comfortable with him. i started falling for him… it was before i even knew that i was capable of having those feelings. i don’t feel attracted to people under normal circumstances. i have to feel something strong and deep… but our connection was impossible to ignore. i lost sight of what i wanted to do until my grandfather found me. i had no idea i had any family left before i got the call. seeing him ignited that desire once again. i felt like she had to die.

that’s when i rounded up my stepmother and killed her, burning my old home down in the process. prison turned her into more of a bitch than i remembered… that’s saying something. anyway, i already planned on dying by that point. i’d been trying to distance myself from people in my life that might care about me. but… for some reason, after i was home and ready to leave, i felt like i had to call wonwoo. i never told him goodbye, but i said enough to worry him. i told him i loved him. i didn’t confess, i just meant it in a general way, so this wasn’t some wonderful moment where he tells me he loves me, too, and i suddenly find the will to live. no, i uh… i hung up before he could say anything.

i was told the story of how he found me. he called in one of the gang’s medics to help me. next thing i really remember is waking up and feeling dread. i hated that i was alive. still, that didn’t stop wonwoo. he basically lived with me and he… he took care of me. he fed me, bathed me, sent me to bed. all of this took a serious toll on him. every single day that he kept me alive, i fell in love with him more. it’s horrible, i know. i wish i had been stronger then. he helped me, though. i got there. and then one day, after i had taken a shower all on my own, he walked through the door and came over to me to help dry my hair. it was then that i kissed him. i was so scared, but i couldn’t help myself. that’s the day that my life began again.

that’s the story of how i’m here. why i’m alive, why i have a boyfriend, why i feel more than i ever have. that’s why i have a pet dog, why i’m co-owner of a bookstore, why i have dreams and plans. i’ve changed. that’s one thing that is certain. and you know what?

TW PARENTAL DEATH

WHO ARE YOU?

sometimes it is the simplest question that has the most intricate answer.

who are you? who are you not? who do you want to be?

perhaps you will know him in layers. he is jagged edges forcefully attempted to whet smoother. poorly controlled impulses, maybe even more poorly suppressed emotions. sometimes, he exists comfortably in silence. but uppermost, you will know him by charming smiles.

“my name’s bae jiyong.” he isn’t very good with words. there is no follow up, no elaboration. he made it simple: this is who he is. he deems just a name to be enough of an answer, even if it’s barely a beginning.

in truth, he isn’t quite sure if he’s even entirely cognizant of who he is himself. layers upon layers. he, too, needs to dig deeper.

HOW DID YOU GET HERE?

for as long as he remembers, he has always been here. myeongcho is both the past and the present, etched into his skin like a scar, a tattoo, like grime. a graveyard of memories, both buried away and awakened. these linger around him like ghosts.

he pictures mother, whilst she was still there. he doesn’t see her often, but when he does, she is always holding him, her small fingers combing through his hair. it has gotten rather long again, she notices, but father has never been good at cutting it. and he doesn’t trust her enough to hold scissors in her dainty fingers. there is always a tint of fear and disquiet lingering in the air between her and father, an innocent body in the middle, so blissfully unaware of the tension. jiyong is five and if you ask him, this is his favourite place in the whole world.

he sees mother for a day, once a month. sometimes, even less frequently. when he asks father why, the answer is always the same. she is ill, she is tired, she needs time. jiyong is seven and he doesn’t understand.

(time passes. winter after autumn, and he stops asking.)

when he pictures home, it is a house a little too big for two people, and it doesn’t really feel like one. its walls crying with absence. rooms filled with shadows. he finds peace in the backseat of father’s car parked right outside.

he remembers his tenth birthday. father hands him a pair of worn out boxing gloves as a present that are too big for his small hands. remembers how they smell of sweat and tobacco and— so clearly, dad. remembers his hands on his shoulders, his words. he doesn’t wish him a happy birthday.

(“the world is not kind, son. it’s time for you to learn to fend for yourself.” jiyong, holding the gloves close to his chest as if they were something precious, only inclines his head. “okay, daddy.”)

he learns to use his fists as weapons. while father tries to uproot the parts of the boy that are resembling too much of his mother, for sometimes when he looks at him, he sees both his wife’s strengths and weaknesses in him at the same time. and sometimes, he is afraid jiyong might be swimming a little too close to where she had drowned.

jiyong doesn’t remember much of mother anymore. dainty hands, weary eyes. fingers in his hair. father, however, is still the same. as distant as ever— but present nevertheless.

《 WHO ARE YOU? 》

His face was blank, staring at the interviewer’s eyes with nothing on his mind. He hated this kind of question. Who knows how to answer this? “I’m Kim Jongin.” He stated the obvious, knowing not much else to say. “I don’t really have anything interesting to tell you about me.” He said shaking his head slightly, and it showed his lack of ideas of what to say. During this pause, his eyes started to wander around the room, as if looking for the answer. But he knew he could keep thinking for an eternity if he had to come up with something that seemed actually worth both of their time. “I’m lazy.” He gave in, deciding to say anything boring that came to mind. “I can be an easy learner, sometimes not. I’m an introvert, I generally don’t have a lot of words with new people and I’m really bad at this.” He arched his eyebrows, as if asking with sarcasm what the other party thought of this kind of answer, and clearly complaining. He wasn’t normally like this with others, but the whole situation was really weird. It didn’t felt comfortable being there. After so many years having to be cautious of himself, it didn’t feel right to talk about his personality with some stranger. It’s just plain dangerous.

《 HOW DID YOU GET HERE? 》

《 WHO ARE YOU? 》

His face was blank, staring at the interviewer’s eyes with nothing on his mind. He hated this kind of question. Who knows how to answer this? “I’m Kim Jongin.” He stated the obvious, knowing not much else to say. “I don’t really have anything interesting to tell you about me.” He said shaking his head slightly, and it showed his lack of ideas of what to say. During this pause, his eyes started to wander around the room, as if looking for the answer. But he knew he could keep thinking for an eternity if he had to come up with something that seemed actually worth both of their time. “I’m lazy.” He gave in, deciding to say anything boring that came to mind. “I can be an easy learner, sometimes not. I’m an introvert, I generally don’t have a lot of words with new people and I’m really bad at this.” He arched his eyebrows, as if asking with sarcasm what the other party thought of this kind of answer, and clearly complaining. He wasn’t normally like this with others, but the whole situation was really weird. It didn’t felt comfortable being there. After so many years having to be cautious of himself, it didn’t feel right to talk about his personality with some stranger. It’s just plain dangerous.

《 HOW DID YOU GET HERE? 》