#ownheroes

The   demon   tilted   his   head   back,   eyes   lifting   to   the   heavens   as   though   entreating   them   —   not   for   mercy,   but   for   some   sort   of   intervention.   Perhaps   a   prayer   for   patience,   or   the   silent,   desperate   plea   of   one   who   imagines   a   lightning   bolt   splitting   the   earth   beneath   another’s   feet.   If   you   hear   me,   strike   them   down   where   they   stand.   He   dares   some   higher   power   to   intervene,   to   strike   Jinu   down,   to   grant   him   an   escape   from   the   torment   that   refuses   to   loosen   its   grip.   Bargaining   with   some   higher,   crueler   power   to   rid   him   of   the   weight   of   this   past.   But   nothing   comes.   Nothing   ever   does.   And   so   the   memory   clings   —   like   burned   flesh   fused   to   his   skin,   an   old   wound   that   refuses   to   peel   away,   haunting   each   of   his   steps   with   the   stink   of   sorrow   left   too   long   unburied.

It   had   been   so   long   since   last   he’d   thought   of   it,   of   him   (a   lie).   He   had   thought   it   ended.   Had   told   himself   it   was   done,   that   the   flame   had   guttered   out,   cold   and   forgotten.    Yet   here   Jinu   stands,   here   his   voice   coils   into   Ji’s   chest   again,   sweet   and   ruinous.   Why   now,   why   more   heartbreak,   more   ruin?   Ji’s   pace   faltered,   his   gait   slowed   to   a   crawl,   arrested   by   his   own   hesitation.   And   Ji,   foolish   creature   that   he   is,   stops   walking   altogether.   Halts   as   though   tethered   by   invisible   strings,   some   aching,   invisible   bond   that   should   have   long   since   snapped   but   never   did.   Something   broke   in   him,   quiet   and   small,   as   he   realized   how   willingly   he   invited   the   torment.   Why   savor   the   taste   of   a   voice   that   once   brought   him   nothing   but   ruin?   Why   torture   himself   so?    Why   cradle   the   wound   instead   of   letting   it   scar?   Was   he   truly   so   pathetic?

A   sigh   slips   from   his   lips,   soft   and   resigned,   the   sound   of   surrender   disguised   as   breath.   His   gaze   falls,   fingers   worrying   at   the   hem   of   his   shirt   like   the   nervous   fidget   of   a   lover   caught   between   longing   and   loathing.   And   when   he   speaks,   it   is   not   sharp   but   almost   tender,   bitter,   bruised   at   the   edges,   the   words   a   reluctant   gift   of   gentleness,    ❝   Five,   Jinu.   Against   all   reason,   I   will   grant   you   that   much.   ❞

Because   curiosity   gnawed   at   him   still   —   a   morbid   hunger   to   hear,   to   know   what   his   ghost   had   come   to   ask   of   him.   Despite   every   wound,   despite   every   betrayal,   some   part   of   him   still   aches   to   listen.   Still   wants   to   believe.   Still   cannot,   even   now,   quite   let   go.

"Am I your errand boy now? I know I don't pay rent, buuut don't you think that's a little much to ask of your new 'favourite' friend?" He flipped shut a magazine in his hands and sat up from lying down on the couch. Zoey seemed particularly energized today, despite the girls' fully booked schedule. "And why do you need neon lights if you're going in a hot tub?"

she's content to ignore his pouting, her eyes closed instead as she lounges lazily on her armchair. ❛ no one said you were my favorite, ❜ she teases, chuckling lowly to herself. ❛ if i had to rank all my friends, it'd be rumi and mira tied in first, bobby in second, dr. han, our cameraman, and theeeeeeen, ❜ her arm moves to drop to the floor, nearly touching it, ❛ jinu. like all the way down here. ❜

( teasing him is way too easy, she finds. maybe it's just the generational gap, but getting under his skin makes her giggle nonetheless. )

"EXCUSE ME, JINU YOU CAN'T JUST --" the nurse attempts to block his path, her voice sharp with urgency. There hadn't been time to properly explain the situation, not to him. Rumi's barely out of the coma. 48 hours. The haze hasn't lifted. Her head is pounding. And while the team agreed that having familar faces around might help anchor Rumi...that's also the problem.

She doesn't know who he is. When Zoey had gently mentioned how anxious Jinu had been, how he hadn't left the waiting room except to pace the hallway, Rumi had merely blinked with bittersweet confusion in her hazel eyes, then offered her first words since waking with a crack as Mira provides her a cup of ice water: "Who?" A beat and a sip. She swallows. "Who is Jinu?"

Not exactly the response anyone had hoped for. And not a particularly good sign.

This is the reality Jinu's about to walk into...and as expected, a startled Rumi lifts the blanket to cover her otherwise scantily clad figure (that rests in merely a hospital gown). In fear, her eyes scan the familiar patterns, same as her own, and she rapidly shakes her head. "Wait we---we sealed the honmoon..." in a panic she gazes toward her girls for aid. "What's going on??" eyes a-glaze, voice trembling, fist curling over Zoey's petite wrist.

"Jinu, you should go." Mira starts, normally it may seem a bit combative, however, there's a sense of sorrow even behind her own eyes.

@ownheroes cont.

𝐉𝐈𝐍𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄, and Soo-jin refused to ever let him think that he was. Sure, okay. Jinu may have came up with his little plan to help the Demon King regain his strength—and it may have worked better since there was a group of them, rather then just Soo-jin with his solo rap career ( and his little ‘hunts’, as shown by the shrines built from corpses scattered around Seoul ). The only reason why he didn’t shred The Saja Boys to pieces was only because he knew that if he did, Gwi-ma wouldn’t be pleased; and he couldn’t get on the bad side of the only being he cared about.

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐒 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐋 into the front of Jinu’s shirt, pulling him in closely, towering over him as he leaned down to invade his space like a threatening beast that cornered its prey, ready to snap its jaws and end the life of the other.

“You’re lying, now?” His voice comes out; hollowed and void of anything, much different then the mask he usually portrays. His tongue clicks at the roof of his mouth, pupils slitting into fine lines.

“I could kill you right here, if I wanted. You would lead us all into the ground. You are nothing, Jinu. Remember that.”

the tiger's glowing eyes open at the sound of jinu addressing it, head lifting from where it'd been resting on its paws. ears flick as he thinks over jinu's words, a low chuffing sound leaving the back of his throat as he pets it. the mention of the 'hunter girl,' his ears flick and his grin widens slightly. he likes rumi. she's incredibly nice and didn't seem overly horrified by his less than conventional looks. she was a good soul, bright and shining with colors that it was certain that she was blind to. it also knows that she would be amazing for jinu, even if he was too blind to see it. 

she’s been foolish, admittedly. to assume that the portal kept to a pattern, that the people who stepped through it would always arrive during the night, never during daylight hours. and certainly not when a health inspector pays an unexpected visit, walking through to the corridor just as the young man materializes on the fried egg rug. “ oh! god, sorry, i hadn’t realized that a new employee had joined the ranks… although, really, ms. jones, i’m going to have to take this into consideration, given i requested a full list of your staff for the records. “

aisling opens her mouth, then closes it with a smile, alarm fading somewhat in the presence of a beautifully presented lie. “ well, the interview isn’t for another five minutes, but his bus was on time! so i asked him if he’d like to wait in the break room until your inspection was over. but, you’re right, i’m sure he’d love to know if he could be on that employee list for next year! would it be alright if stanley concluded with you? “ a brief nod follows a small and quite pleased smile. but aisling already has a light hand resting on the young man’s arm, hovering really, and guiding him quickly down to the break room again before they can register the friendly wishes of good luck from the inspector.

once they’re safely behind closed doors, she turns around, hands pressed together apologetically. “ i’m sorry, i know you must have a lot of questions. this… historically, this has happened during the night, but i suppose you’re unique! are you alright? do you need to sit down? “

She misses the sound of rain on the tin roof. Back in Gyeonggi, it used to come down hard and fast in the afternoons, warm and steady, like it knew they were there. Like it meant to lull them back into something close to safety. Their little apartment above the dumpling shop didn’t have much...just a leaky faucet and a rusted balcony and two futons always tangled together. But it had him. And it had peace.

New York doesn’t offer all of that.

Their new home harbors Stark-tech smoothness, glass walls humming like they’re alive. But everything smells like bleach and protocol, and Laura's sure Jinu feels like a puzzle piece being jammed into a shape that doesn’t quite match his corners, because that's how she feels. He’s probably not used to so many eyes. Or the weight of old legacies hanging over his head...unlike Laura, the Wolverine, who had tried to hide away her sorrows in Korea, where she'd found him, thankfully. A new home, a new life. Until Sam's call. Despite it all, family matters most. Even ones that aren't sangre -- it runs deeper.

"You hate it," Laura speaks up, sauntering into their bedroom, witnessing his sulk, or what appears to be a sulk. "You liked it better when the world wasn't watching, me too." she sighs, shrugging off her leather jacket. She's a bit different here, less soft, more rigid, full of discomfort - she knows he can tell. Always on edge.