(for socksmin) Hiraeth
For: socksmin
Title: Hiraeth
Genre: angst
Rating: NC-17
Side Pairings (if any): Kaibaek, Chansoo
Warnings: [Click to view]broken!kaisoo, mentions of abuse of drugs and alcohol, slight rough language, general angst
Word Count: 3,876 words
Summary: Jongin is selfish. But maybe Kyungsoo isn't generous enough to keep letting the other use him.
Author's Note: I know it's like not any of the plots but I had no inspiration for it ugh I'm so sorry ;;; but but I kinda saw broken kadi and angst and I was like- let's write some shit !! So yeah :)Post-mortem: This is shitty- I apologize :<
Jongin likes the January air. It's crisp, chilly- biting and tasting of Seoul city’s smoke flavoured weather. Blonde bangs fan over his hooded, plastic surgery induced double lidded eyes. His lips crack and sting every time he wets it, but the pain is nice, so he keeps doing it. The snow hasn't stopped falling yet- if anything, the flakes simply fall harder, gathering everywhere from the rooftops to in between strands of hair.
It's cold, and he decides this is one of the days where he would visit his warmth.
Jongin’s Giorgio Armani’s click against the worn and cracked pavement. He continues walking on, even when his ripped skinnies and ironed white dress shirt layered under soft cotton sweaters attract the attention of the residents. They either gawk, or throw him a disgusted look before slamming their doors and windows shut. He doesn't belong here. But his angel awaits him. So he ducks his head, shoulders squaring as his footsteps pick up in pace.
He walks on, past a point where his toes curl from the cold inside his shoes and his lips are numb enough to press themselves shut. The building that he reaches is a worn one- the kind that no one will live in because of how likely it is for the tiled roof to collapse on their heads. Jongin doesn't care. He has long stopped caring, anyways.
The outside of the house barely gives away what goes on inside, and Jongin no longer stands at the entrance to gape at the stark contrast. Fumed smoke meets his nose and lips, and his body warms up enough for him to remove his winter coat and have him part his lips. The walls are ratty- worn down and dirty, the floor had puddles of dried liquid something that he'd rather not think about. He burrows on. The expensive soles of his shoes clap against the creaky wood, and Jongin knows the owner of this house knows he has a visitor coming in.
It barely takes three seconds before the tan male is pressed against the walls, grime and dirt sticking to cashmere as a gun is pressed against his lips. Jongin parts his tiers readily, barrel cold and heavy against his tongue. He hears a husky chuckle somewhere to his left. A shiver travels down his spine at the delicious sound, abs contracting at the need that rolls down his body at that simple sound.
“I see you came.” hot licks of air on the shell of his ear makes Jongin positively shiver in delight, lips tightly wrapping around the metal of the gun, a choked moan sounding in the back of his throat.
The other male retracts his gun in time to hear Jongin sputter out a half assed answer, fingers clawing at the filth covered walls behind him desperately.
“H-how could I not- I missed you,” he breathes, and a pleased rumble erupts in the second male's chest. “It didn't seem so when you paraded around with your boyfriend in the streets,” comes the reply instead, and Jongin is shocked still for a moment before he pulls away from the gun barrel, breathless and chest tightening painfully. That was a forbidden topic, and Jongin knows that the red head knows that.
But he can't exactly blame his affair for that either. It was his fault, anyways.
“Kyungsoo-” he whimpers, nails digging into the woods behind begins his back.
The male standing before him barely flinches. His wine red bangs fall over his eyes carelessly- so effortless yet still so fucking alluring. He is dressed in an all black outfit, as always, and as always Jongin finds himself unconsciously drooling over the thin fabric of a wife beater that stretches over Kyungsoo’s chest. Even with the bitter question hanging in the air, yes.
They've already established it between them that no problem can come in between Jongin’s fascination for Kyungsoo’s body- many years ago.
“Doesn't mean I have to like it.” he hears the red head’s voice somewhere near his left ear, but he can't focus. His eyes are too busy trailing up the mandala patterns that decorate Kyungsoo’s bulging biceps, veins showing up on the skin in the most tantalizing ways.
“You deserve a punishment, Jongin.”
“Kyungsoo it was for a tv show and I had to act for them-” Jongin’s breath hitches. He knows how ruthless Kyungsoo’s punishments can be. “Please, I didn't do it with my free will, I didn't meant it please- “ he's begging. He knows, and he's pathetic for it. So pathetic.
Kyungsoo growls, tugging away the clothes that hide the taller male's neck. “Then explain this.” an indigo bruise stands out proudly against Jongin’s skin. He knows he's fucked.
“I was drunk.” It's a meek answer, a lame attempt, but he came here to be gathered in Kyungsoo’s arms and to have assurance that the other is still his. Not for the other to interrogate his life outside the four crumbling walls of this haunted house.
“How stupid do you think I am?” Kyungsoo’s voice always reminded Jongin of soft, melting chocolate, but now it sounds cold. Bitter and brittle. He doesn't like it.
“How much longer are you going to lie to yourself?” The words are soft, but hit home hard. Jongin staggers back even though Kyungsoo isn't advancing. Throat constricting, chest tightening. Palms clammy as his breath labours.
“K-kyungsoo-” he begins, but is never given a chance to present his case. It's all lies; even Kyungsoo knows Jongin's filled with nothing but bullshit, and it never leaves his lips because the other snatches the chance away from him. “You're greedy.” he starts, the barrel of his silver gun glinting as it passes the dim lights.
Jongin’s lip was bleeding. He tastes copper and rust on his tongue, yet continues to worry the delicate flesh as Kyungsoo rustles around for a lighter. He guesses that the redhead is angry. Is he angry? Fresh herbal smoke wafts over his senses, blinding his thoughts for a second.
Weed. It's been so long since he smoked one. Saliva pools in his mouth at the mere memory of the high cannabis gave him.
Jongin didn't mind if he had to beg for it, but Kyungsoo beats him to it by slotting his open mouth over his. It's not new. The weird tension and unsaid words were, though. Jongin desperately wishes that Kyungsoo will drop it.
But he also forgets to consider Kyungsoo’s persistence. “Choose.” his soft, plump lips are grazing against his shell. It was a plea, laced among hints of anger and command. Jongin doesn't recognise it, as always.
“I can't.” He can. He's lying. So much lying.
---
Once upon a time, every syllable hurt. Every lie stung like a million needles. Every excuse pricked at his skin and made him forget how to breathe at night.
He wonders when alcohol began numbing it. Drugs when it wasn't enough and Baekhyun when he was most desperate to forget the expression Kyungsoo wore as he requested for them to stay hidden. Still, Kyungsoo said yes. He said yes. Yes began acting as his lifeline. As long as Kyungsoo agrees, nothing is wrong.
But now he said no, didn't he?
Jongin thinks back to the memory of him meeting Baekhyun for the first time. Was it when he was getting flowers for Kyungsoo’s graduation? Yes, he thinks it's then. Hallyu pop star, Byun Baekhyun. “It's my life dream to meet you!” a small bouquet of roses extended, boyfriend's congratulatory name card discarded in the nearest alley.
He doesn't remember attending Kyungsoo’s graduation, but remembers his forgiving smile when Jongin returns with empty hands at three in the morning, smelling like expensive perfume.
7 months of leaving Kyungsoo’s side cold so that he can warm up Baekhyun’s expensive water bed. 7 months of whispering love into plump lips but enjoying escapades with refined wine and exploring fingers after. He thought Kyungsoo would never find out.
Lost in the haze of every high Baekhyun offered, Jongin began to forget the sole something that he once labelled as happiness.
“I'm going to stay in my friend's house for the weekend.” fidgeting, fingers tugging on the hem of his brand new sweater. “Sehun?” Kyungsoo asks calmly, back still turned to his boyfriend as skilled hands chop onions for the chicken.
For a minute, Jongin thinks of saying the truth. The thought ends up staying a thought, as always. “Mhmmm,” he affirms instead. An ecstatic smile blooming on his pink lips at how he gets to have his idol all to himself, he fails to notice Kyungsoo’s back tensing, nor the eerie silence that falls over the room when his movements abruptly cease.
Jongin falls into Baekhyun’s bed, naked and panting, whilst Chanyeol introduces Kyungsoo to the wonders of underground ring fighting.
“Whatever it is that makes you this angry, it's good. Let it happen more.” Kyungsoo felt like punching Chanyeol’s silver capped tooth out. But it wasn't his fault. That sleazy bastard thought Kyungsoo was a good investment.
Kyungsoo was an awfully amazing investment. Dangerous too. Chanyeol learns it the hard way when Kyungsoo really does punch out his now gold capped tooth.
Whilst Kyungsoo punches his way through the club fighters, Jongin, oblivious to it all, enjoys himself in luxury and drowns in the attention of his teenage dream. Was he wrong? He doesn't know. He just understands that it feels good.
Heroin has that kind of effect on people, they said.
“Come with me, Jongin. I'll give you the world. Just take my hand.” Baekhyun wasn't begging, but he was pretty hopeful. Carefully manicured pianist hands extended out in invitation. Jongin always remembered to express his fascination for them. So dainty. Fragile. Pretty.
“Of course.”
---
Soundlessly, Jongin begins disappearing off Kyungsoo’s house. Plaid shirts and white washed jeans in exchange of silk tops and leather skinnies. High school friends left behind in exchange of celebrity teens. The wonderful life before a camera lens instead of his cracked bedroom mirror. There was no pretending he was a model. He was Kim Jongin, the supermodel. Change became the only constant in his life, at that point.
“Go blond, Jongin. It'll look good with your tan complexion.”
“How do you like the name Kai, Jongin? Don't you think it suits you?”
“You need to work out more, your photographer is complaining about the slight chubbiness on your cheeks.”
Too much. It was too much.
Away from the veil of high alcohol and drugs put him in, pushed into the centre of ruthlessness in the circus they call the entertainment industry overnight, it was too much.
So he ran.
“Kyungsoo-” Jongin watches quietly, lips gaping as his ex lover cleans the sole of his muddy boots with a pocket knife, dressed in nothing but his boots and black cargos.
Fucking hell.
Kyungsoo was different that night. Rougher, harder and definitely possessive. Jongin traces new scars and inks on his pale skin as the redhead works on ruining and marking what's his. For the first time, Kyungsoo doesn't bother worshipping Jongin’s body. He hurts instead. He carves his initials into honey skin with rough bites and bruising black and blue grip. Such colourful art he made. Though, also for the first time, Jongin doesn't whisper his name as a desperate prayer as Kyungsoo’s ruthless movements stutter.
“Baek-” Kyungsoo freezes, realisation dousing over like a bucket of cold water over his head. Jongin doesn't even notice.
Kyungsoo wakes up to a cold bed.
---
“Stop this, Kyungsoo. You haven't stopped drinking since like 5 hours ago.” ask Chanyeol now why he was trying to pacify the said drunken and possibly heartbroken man, he'd have said it was because of business. Bad signs, if a fighter was gonna wallow in self pity. It was gonna make him weak. A wimp.
Then why did it hurt under his ribs when he saw Kyungsoo’s tear stricken face?
Kyungsoo began fighting harder, drinking longer. Every time Jongin dropped by, Chanyeol knew Kyungsoo will not be stepping out of the bar until he's shitfaced enough to vomit all over himself. Chanyeol convinces himself that it's the only reason why he sticks around Kyungsoo outside the ring. Keeping his source of income alive. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Don't touch me.” Kyungsoo has always been a quiet drunk. The taller, not expecting such a stern request from the redhead blinks as he stays still, holding Kyungsoo’s form close to his side with an arm around his own shoulders and a hand squeezing the fighter’s hips. Not exactly the wisest move with a suddenly passive-aggressive Kyungsoo, but hey, no one said that Chanyeol was wise.
Kyungsoo looks up. “Let go before I make sure you have no more teeth to cap.” glazed eyes or not, Kyungsoo was scary. He knew that enough to let go in three seconds flat. The shortest stumbles, and Chanyeol has half a mind to catch him but the other beats him to it by clinging to the nearest thing his hands can grasp- Chanyeol’s lanky arms, that is.
In the middle of wondering whether he should wait until Kyungsoo sobers up or tie him up and force him home, Chanyeol is surprised to hear small mumblings interrupt his reverie.
“....Kyungsoo?”
“Kiss me.” his eyes definitely were not glazed. Under the streetlights, the taller could see the once warm brown reflected off the yellow lights. The fighter was serious, wasn't he? A million thoughts push at his spinning mind, but none make sense. Chanyeol wants to yell at them to shut up.
“Kiss me, Chanyeol. One time. Just kiss me.” was it a plea? Was it a command? It looked the same to Chanyeol at that moment.
Kyungsoo had no idea what came over him. In a sudden flash of clarity, he sees Chanyeol leaning in, eyes closed gently. He should be pushing him away. Maybe land a punch on his face and tell him to fuck off.
Then why was he kissing him instead?
Maybe he was in need of comfort.
Maybe he was lonely.
Or maybe he was just resentful.
It certainly did seem like he didn't want to remember it when Chanyeol ends up with a broken nose the next day when he tried to ask about the kiss. Stupid asshole.
---
Jongin stands in the corner, not close enough to a wall for him to lean on, but close enough. Kyungsoo had herb scented smoke wafting out his lips, eyes trained on the snowflakes piling up on his front porch. He thinks of cleaning it, then dismisses the thought the same way it came. Leg perched across the narrow ledge of his window, thigh muscles rigid as they balance him on the wooden beam precariously.
“Where did I go wrong?”
The question startles Jongin. Kyungsoo was still looking outside. They both stay mum.
“Where did I lack enough for you to slip through?” now Kyungsoo stares straight at him, and Jongin wants to disappear into one of the gloomy shadows decorating the walls.
“It was just the money and fame, wasn't it?” a short, ragged chuckle. Some more smoke. The crackling of burning paper and weed. Jongin should have said something. He should have reassured Kyungsoo, should have attempted to snatch back what was his. Kyungsoo was his. He should have tried to fix his mistakes, because he was the sole reason for it all. As usual, he doesn't- like the classic coward he is.
“I saw you with Sehun last week. You both seemed happy.” He wanted to seem bitter, but who was he really? Wasn't he also the same one who left his lov- no no, ex in the dark and made love to his idol?
“Yeah. He got engaged.”
“With who?”
Kyungsoo’s smirk was undeniable. Mocking, silently laughing at him. “Wasn't he your best friend?” Jongin has no choice but to stay quiet this time. Silence envelops them both like the layers of snow that was sprinkling on outside. He really didn't like being this vulnerable to Kyungsoo. Since when did the other ask questions? Did Kyungsoo not want him anymore?
Jongin was an infinitely selfish person. He wanted the good of both sides, fame and love fuelling his greed as he looks up at his lover with renewed determination.
“What about that tall guy? He's always leaving when I come over.”
Wrong choice of words, Kim Jongin.
“What makes you think you have the right to question my activities outside of this, Mr. Kai?”
So cold. A stab of ice that makes Jongin flinch and look down. Kyungsoo was right. He didn't deserve to ask, didn't he? Kyungsoo is right. He always is.
...no he isn't. Kyungsoo was still his. He wasn't gonna allow some lanky limbed asshole snatch Kyungsoo away from him. No way he's going to let his 10 year old relationship fade away just like that. No way he's going to let go. No way he's going to stop being selfish.
“Because I love you. Because I'm your lover, and I deserve to know.” so indignant. So confident.
But with a gun stuffing his mouth? With Kyungsoo standing over him, eyes dark with emotions so dark and a stark contrast to the gentle person he fell for? Not so much. “The media, your family, friends, along with the entire world, seems to think not, Mr. Kai.”
There was a dangerous edge to Kyungsoo’s voice that Jongin thought he'll never hear from the redhead. Hatred? Shock paints his eyes in reds and blacks. He almost thought he was seeing a stranger. Just how much did his Kyungsoo change in the time where he was gone?
“Maybe it's time I start thinking the same way too.”
They say when shock wears off, the place will never be left empty. Panic began settling in the void shock left. “W-hat?” he croaks, and Kyungsoo laughs at how vulnerable the cold prince, supermodel Kai was in his hold. It sounded heartless, sending a shock of chills down Jongin’s spine.
“You know what's the most humiliating thing a person can ever experience?” he presses pressed the tip of his gun barrel until Jongin began choking and gagging around the metal.
Kyungsoo hums. “Being labelled a dirty secret.” Jongin freezes. “So carelessly cheated on.” the redhead’s eyes glaze over with rage. The pendaflour lighting over Kyungsoo’s head began casting a halo around his fiery crimson hair. He looked ethereal. Hellish. As if an avenging death angel was rising from his own mortal ashes.
“You thought I didn't know, didn't you? Did you feel accomplished when you managed to sneak out and whore yourself to him behind my back? Filthy slut.”
“I knew.” Jongin stops moving. Eyes thrown open, tearing up almost on autopilot. What an actor. Kyungsoo’s index begins caressing the trigger almost fondly. “I endured until I couldn't stand. I kept quiet until the seams of my lips began tearing. I clenched my fists until they went numb.” the gun is pulled out of Jongin’s mouth harshly, metal bruising the ribbed roof of the model’s mouth.
“You know why I'm telling you everything, Kai?” dragging the mouth of his weapon down his solar plexus, stopping to count along his left ribs. Jongin feels his heart pounding in anticipation and fear.
“I want you to suffer.”
When Kyungsoo looks up, Jongin was trying to curl into himself, tears endless as small sniffles tore through the heavy air in the house. “If any inch of the Jongin I loved lives in there, he'll suffer.” Kyungsoo tilts his head, pressing the metal machine in the gaps of Jongin’s ribs. He gasps, but never stops the other.
“Go back to where you belong, Kai.” before Jongin can blink, Kyungsoo is up, walking towards the door quietly. Right before leaving, the redhead looks back one last time. “Kai.” he calls, and Jongin looks up eagerly. “You're not allowed to pull the trigger.”
Kyungsoo leaves, even when he's the one telling Jongin to go home. The supermodel feels something hard and cold pressing against his thigh, and when he looks down his blood runs cold.
Glinting evilly under the harsh yellow lights, was Kyungsoo’s silver gun in Jongin’s lap.
---
Leaving without his coat was a bad idea. But at least Jongin didn't see the way his lip trembled pathetically, waiting for the love of his life to call him back. Jongin didn't, as always.
Shivering pale fingers wrap around his last stick of cannabis, struggling to light the end up under the harsh winds. He gets it on the 9th time.
He didn't know where his destination was, but he knows for sure that Chanyeol’s rundown apartment was just a short stop. “Let me in.” he bangs on the cheap wooden door, fingers numb and stiff from the cold.
“Coming coming okay calm the fuck- oh,” was Chanyeol’s very smart response. He was wrapped in nothing but jeans, belt unbuckled and shirtless as he gapes at Kyungsoo on his doorstep.
“So are you gonna let me in by today?”
“Oh shit. Yeah. Yeah, sure. Come in.” he steps aside, allowing Kyungsoo’s shivering form into his warm home. The fighter sighs, palms rubbing some much needed heat into his snow pale skin. Chanyeol blinks dumbly.
“So. I'm leaving.” Kyungsoo was never one to beat around the bush, but even Chanyeol had to stagger a little at the news. “What, why?” he questions a little too panickedly for someone who only makes money out of Kyungsoo.
“Because I want to?” the redhead turns to flash his manager of all sorts an inquisitive look, and Chanyeol clears his throat. “Okay.”
“You got hot chocolate?”
“Yeah. I'll heat some up.”
“Mmm.”
It was quiet save for the gas hissing from the stove, and by the time the drink was made Kyungsoo was comfortably hugging a pillow and making himself at home on Chanyeol’s couch. It felt domestic. Kyungsoo wasn't sure what he was going to feel about that.
“Thanks.” Kyungsoo replies curtly, placing the mug on his lower lip for his first sip.
“I'm coming with you.”
Chanyeol found out that hot chocolate against his bare abdomen was not a sweet feeling, after all.
“Whatever. Do whatever you want.” Kyungsoo mumbles, tugging the spare blanket Chanyeol gave him whilst making himself comfortable on the tallers couch. Chanyeol smiles quietly, but doesn't show it as he simply nods before heading into his room to pack up.
Nobody decided on Kyungsoo sleeping over. Not Chanyeol, not Kyungsoo. It just happened.
---
Kyungsoo clenches his fists at the sight of the one person he doesn't want to see behind his lids, pressing the barrel of his gun against their temple, pulling the trigger- No. No no no no no! “No!” he pants, eyes wild and frantic as they take in the unfamiliar surrounding.
“Kyungsoo?” a baritone voice snaps him out of reverie, and the sense of familiarity blinds coherence for a minute as he fists Chanyeol’s shirt to pull himself onto the taller’s chest.
Chanyeol doesn't move until Kyungsoo really falls asleep, fingers kneading through his thick locks in hopes of putting the small man at ease.
There it was. That familiar ache under his chest.
“I'll heal you, Kyungsoo. Promise.”
I promise.
-END-
Title: Hiraeth
Genre: angst
Rating: NC-17
Side Pairings (if any): Kaibaek, Chansoo
Warnings: [Click to view]broken!kaisoo, mentions of abuse of drugs and alcohol, slight rough language, general angst
Word Count: 3,876 words
Summary: Jongin is selfish. But maybe Kyungsoo isn't generous enough to keep letting the other use him.
Author's Note: I know it's like not any of the plots but I had no inspiration for it ugh I'm so sorry ;;; but but I kinda saw broken kadi and angst and I was like- let's write some shit !! So yeah :)Post-mortem: This is shitty- I apologize :<
Jongin likes the January air. It's crisp, chilly- biting and tasting of Seoul city’s smoke flavoured weather. Blonde bangs fan over his hooded, plastic surgery induced double lidded eyes. His lips crack and sting every time he wets it, but the pain is nice, so he keeps doing it. The snow hasn't stopped falling yet- if anything, the flakes simply fall harder, gathering everywhere from the rooftops to in between strands of hair.
It's cold, and he decides this is one of the days where he would visit his warmth.
Jongin’s Giorgio Armani’s click against the worn and cracked pavement. He continues walking on, even when his ripped skinnies and ironed white dress shirt layered under soft cotton sweaters attract the attention of the residents. They either gawk, or throw him a disgusted look before slamming their doors and windows shut. He doesn't belong here. But his angel awaits him. So he ducks his head, shoulders squaring as his footsteps pick up in pace.
He walks on, past a point where his toes curl from the cold inside his shoes and his lips are numb enough to press themselves shut. The building that he reaches is a worn one- the kind that no one will live in because of how likely it is for the tiled roof to collapse on their heads. Jongin doesn't care. He has long stopped caring, anyways.
The outside of the house barely gives away what goes on inside, and Jongin no longer stands at the entrance to gape at the stark contrast. Fumed smoke meets his nose and lips, and his body warms up enough for him to remove his winter coat and have him part his lips. The walls are ratty- worn down and dirty, the floor had puddles of dried liquid something that he'd rather not think about. He burrows on. The expensive soles of his shoes clap against the creaky wood, and Jongin knows the owner of this house knows he has a visitor coming in.
It barely takes three seconds before the tan male is pressed against the walls, grime and dirt sticking to cashmere as a gun is pressed against his lips. Jongin parts his tiers readily, barrel cold and heavy against his tongue. He hears a husky chuckle somewhere to his left. A shiver travels down his spine at the delicious sound, abs contracting at the need that rolls down his body at that simple sound.
“I see you came.” hot licks of air on the shell of his ear makes Jongin positively shiver in delight, lips tightly wrapping around the metal of the gun, a choked moan sounding in the back of his throat.
The other male retracts his gun in time to hear Jongin sputter out a half assed answer, fingers clawing at the filth covered walls behind him desperately.
“H-how could I not- I missed you,” he breathes, and a pleased rumble erupts in the second male's chest. “It didn't seem so when you paraded around with your boyfriend in the streets,” comes the reply instead, and Jongin is shocked still for a moment before he pulls away from the gun barrel, breathless and chest tightening painfully. That was a forbidden topic, and Jongin knows that the red head knows that.
But he can't exactly blame his affair for that either. It was his fault, anyways.
“Kyungsoo-” he whimpers, nails digging into the woods behind begins his back.
The male standing before him barely flinches. His wine red bangs fall over his eyes carelessly- so effortless yet still so fucking alluring. He is dressed in an all black outfit, as always, and as always Jongin finds himself unconsciously drooling over the thin fabric of a wife beater that stretches over Kyungsoo’s chest. Even with the bitter question hanging in the air, yes.
They've already established it between them that no problem can come in between Jongin’s fascination for Kyungsoo’s body- many years ago.
“Doesn't mean I have to like it.” he hears the red head’s voice somewhere near his left ear, but he can't focus. His eyes are too busy trailing up the mandala patterns that decorate Kyungsoo’s bulging biceps, veins showing up on the skin in the most tantalizing ways.
“You deserve a punishment, Jongin.”
“Kyungsoo it was for a tv show and I had to act for them-” Jongin’s breath hitches. He knows how ruthless Kyungsoo’s punishments can be. “Please, I didn't do it with my free will, I didn't meant it please- “ he's begging. He knows, and he's pathetic for it. So pathetic.
Kyungsoo growls, tugging away the clothes that hide the taller male's neck. “Then explain this.” an indigo bruise stands out proudly against Jongin’s skin. He knows he's fucked.
“I was drunk.” It's a meek answer, a lame attempt, but he came here to be gathered in Kyungsoo’s arms and to have assurance that the other is still his. Not for the other to interrogate his life outside the four crumbling walls of this haunted house.
“How stupid do you think I am?” Kyungsoo’s voice always reminded Jongin of soft, melting chocolate, but now it sounds cold. Bitter and brittle. He doesn't like it.
“How much longer are you going to lie to yourself?” The words are soft, but hit home hard. Jongin staggers back even though Kyungsoo isn't advancing. Throat constricting, chest tightening. Palms clammy as his breath labours.
“K-kyungsoo-” he begins, but is never given a chance to present his case. It's all lies; even Kyungsoo knows Jongin's filled with nothing but bullshit, and it never leaves his lips because the other snatches the chance away from him. “You're greedy.” he starts, the barrel of his silver gun glinting as it passes the dim lights.
Jongin’s lip was bleeding. He tastes copper and rust on his tongue, yet continues to worry the delicate flesh as Kyungsoo rustles around for a lighter. He guesses that the redhead is angry. Is he angry? Fresh herbal smoke wafts over his senses, blinding his thoughts for a second.
Weed. It's been so long since he smoked one. Saliva pools in his mouth at the mere memory of the high cannabis gave him.
Jongin didn't mind if he had to beg for it, but Kyungsoo beats him to it by slotting his open mouth over his. It's not new. The weird tension and unsaid words were, though. Jongin desperately wishes that Kyungsoo will drop it.
But he also forgets to consider Kyungsoo’s persistence. “Choose.” his soft, plump lips are grazing against his shell. It was a plea, laced among hints of anger and command. Jongin doesn't recognise it, as always.
“I can't.” He can. He's lying. So much lying.
---
Once upon a time, every syllable hurt. Every lie stung like a million needles. Every excuse pricked at his skin and made him forget how to breathe at night.
He wonders when alcohol began numbing it. Drugs when it wasn't enough and Baekhyun when he was most desperate to forget the expression Kyungsoo wore as he requested for them to stay hidden. Still, Kyungsoo said yes. He said yes. Yes began acting as his lifeline. As long as Kyungsoo agrees, nothing is wrong.
But now he said no, didn't he?
Jongin thinks back to the memory of him meeting Baekhyun for the first time. Was it when he was getting flowers for Kyungsoo’s graduation? Yes, he thinks it's then. Hallyu pop star, Byun Baekhyun. “It's my life dream to meet you!” a small bouquet of roses extended, boyfriend's congratulatory name card discarded in the nearest alley.
He doesn't remember attending Kyungsoo’s graduation, but remembers his forgiving smile when Jongin returns with empty hands at three in the morning, smelling like expensive perfume.
7 months of leaving Kyungsoo’s side cold so that he can warm up Baekhyun’s expensive water bed. 7 months of whispering love into plump lips but enjoying escapades with refined wine and exploring fingers after. He thought Kyungsoo would never find out.
Lost in the haze of every high Baekhyun offered, Jongin began to forget the sole something that he once labelled as happiness.
“I'm going to stay in my friend's house for the weekend.” fidgeting, fingers tugging on the hem of his brand new sweater. “Sehun?” Kyungsoo asks calmly, back still turned to his boyfriend as skilled hands chop onions for the chicken.
For a minute, Jongin thinks of saying the truth. The thought ends up staying a thought, as always. “Mhmmm,” he affirms instead. An ecstatic smile blooming on his pink lips at how he gets to have his idol all to himself, he fails to notice Kyungsoo’s back tensing, nor the eerie silence that falls over the room when his movements abruptly cease.
Jongin falls into Baekhyun’s bed, naked and panting, whilst Chanyeol introduces Kyungsoo to the wonders of underground ring fighting.
“Whatever it is that makes you this angry, it's good. Let it happen more.” Kyungsoo felt like punching Chanyeol’s silver capped tooth out. But it wasn't his fault. That sleazy bastard thought Kyungsoo was a good investment.
Kyungsoo was an awfully amazing investment. Dangerous too. Chanyeol learns it the hard way when Kyungsoo really does punch out his now gold capped tooth.
Whilst Kyungsoo punches his way through the club fighters, Jongin, oblivious to it all, enjoys himself in luxury and drowns in the attention of his teenage dream. Was he wrong? He doesn't know. He just understands that it feels good.
Heroin has that kind of effect on people, they said.
“Come with me, Jongin. I'll give you the world. Just take my hand.” Baekhyun wasn't begging, but he was pretty hopeful. Carefully manicured pianist hands extended out in invitation. Jongin always remembered to express his fascination for them. So dainty. Fragile. Pretty.
“Of course.”
---
Soundlessly, Jongin begins disappearing off Kyungsoo’s house. Plaid shirts and white washed jeans in exchange of silk tops and leather skinnies. High school friends left behind in exchange of celebrity teens. The wonderful life before a camera lens instead of his cracked bedroom mirror. There was no pretending he was a model. He was Kim Jongin, the supermodel. Change became the only constant in his life, at that point.
“Go blond, Jongin. It'll look good with your tan complexion.”
“How do you like the name Kai, Jongin? Don't you think it suits you?”
“You need to work out more, your photographer is complaining about the slight chubbiness on your cheeks.”
Too much. It was too much.
Away from the veil of high alcohol and drugs put him in, pushed into the centre of ruthlessness in the circus they call the entertainment industry overnight, it was too much.
So he ran.
“Kyungsoo-” Jongin watches quietly, lips gaping as his ex lover cleans the sole of his muddy boots with a pocket knife, dressed in nothing but his boots and black cargos.
Fucking hell.
Kyungsoo was different that night. Rougher, harder and definitely possessive. Jongin traces new scars and inks on his pale skin as the redhead works on ruining and marking what's his. For the first time, Kyungsoo doesn't bother worshipping Jongin’s body. He hurts instead. He carves his initials into honey skin with rough bites and bruising black and blue grip. Such colourful art he made. Though, also for the first time, Jongin doesn't whisper his name as a desperate prayer as Kyungsoo’s ruthless movements stutter.
“Baek-” Kyungsoo freezes, realisation dousing over like a bucket of cold water over his head. Jongin doesn't even notice.
Kyungsoo wakes up to a cold bed.
---
“Stop this, Kyungsoo. You haven't stopped drinking since like 5 hours ago.” ask Chanyeol now why he was trying to pacify the said drunken and possibly heartbroken man, he'd have said it was because of business. Bad signs, if a fighter was gonna wallow in self pity. It was gonna make him weak. A wimp.
Then why did it hurt under his ribs when he saw Kyungsoo’s tear stricken face?
Kyungsoo began fighting harder, drinking longer. Every time Jongin dropped by, Chanyeol knew Kyungsoo will not be stepping out of the bar until he's shitfaced enough to vomit all over himself. Chanyeol convinces himself that it's the only reason why he sticks around Kyungsoo outside the ring. Keeping his source of income alive. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Don't touch me.” Kyungsoo has always been a quiet drunk. The taller, not expecting such a stern request from the redhead blinks as he stays still, holding Kyungsoo’s form close to his side with an arm around his own shoulders and a hand squeezing the fighter’s hips. Not exactly the wisest move with a suddenly passive-aggressive Kyungsoo, but hey, no one said that Chanyeol was wise.
Kyungsoo looks up. “Let go before I make sure you have no more teeth to cap.” glazed eyes or not, Kyungsoo was scary. He knew that enough to let go in three seconds flat. The shortest stumbles, and Chanyeol has half a mind to catch him but the other beats him to it by clinging to the nearest thing his hands can grasp- Chanyeol’s lanky arms, that is.
In the middle of wondering whether he should wait until Kyungsoo sobers up or tie him up and force him home, Chanyeol is surprised to hear small mumblings interrupt his reverie.
“....Kyungsoo?”
“Kiss me.” his eyes definitely were not glazed. Under the streetlights, the taller could see the once warm brown reflected off the yellow lights. The fighter was serious, wasn't he? A million thoughts push at his spinning mind, but none make sense. Chanyeol wants to yell at them to shut up.
“Kiss me, Chanyeol. One time. Just kiss me.” was it a plea? Was it a command? It looked the same to Chanyeol at that moment.
Kyungsoo had no idea what came over him. In a sudden flash of clarity, he sees Chanyeol leaning in, eyes closed gently. He should be pushing him away. Maybe land a punch on his face and tell him to fuck off.
Then why was he kissing him instead?
Maybe he was in need of comfort.
Maybe he was lonely.
Or maybe he was just resentful.
It certainly did seem like he didn't want to remember it when Chanyeol ends up with a broken nose the next day when he tried to ask about the kiss. Stupid asshole.
---
Jongin stands in the corner, not close enough to a wall for him to lean on, but close enough. Kyungsoo had herb scented smoke wafting out his lips, eyes trained on the snowflakes piling up on his front porch. He thinks of cleaning it, then dismisses the thought the same way it came. Leg perched across the narrow ledge of his window, thigh muscles rigid as they balance him on the wooden beam precariously.
“Where did I go wrong?”
The question startles Jongin. Kyungsoo was still looking outside. They both stay mum.
“Where did I lack enough for you to slip through?” now Kyungsoo stares straight at him, and Jongin wants to disappear into one of the gloomy shadows decorating the walls.
“It was just the money and fame, wasn't it?” a short, ragged chuckle. Some more smoke. The crackling of burning paper and weed. Jongin should have said something. He should have reassured Kyungsoo, should have attempted to snatch back what was his. Kyungsoo was his. He should have tried to fix his mistakes, because he was the sole reason for it all. As usual, he doesn't- like the classic coward he is.
“I saw you with Sehun last week. You both seemed happy.” He wanted to seem bitter, but who was he really? Wasn't he also the same one who left his lov- no no, ex in the dark and made love to his idol?
“Yeah. He got engaged.”
“With who?”
Kyungsoo’s smirk was undeniable. Mocking, silently laughing at him. “Wasn't he your best friend?” Jongin has no choice but to stay quiet this time. Silence envelops them both like the layers of snow that was sprinkling on outside. He really didn't like being this vulnerable to Kyungsoo. Since when did the other ask questions? Did Kyungsoo not want him anymore?
Jongin was an infinitely selfish person. He wanted the good of both sides, fame and love fuelling his greed as he looks up at his lover with renewed determination.
“What about that tall guy? He's always leaving when I come over.”
Wrong choice of words, Kim Jongin.
“What makes you think you have the right to question my activities outside of this, Mr. Kai?”
So cold. A stab of ice that makes Jongin flinch and look down. Kyungsoo was right. He didn't deserve to ask, didn't he? Kyungsoo is right. He always is.
...no he isn't. Kyungsoo was still his. He wasn't gonna allow some lanky limbed asshole snatch Kyungsoo away from him. No way he's going to let his 10 year old relationship fade away just like that. No way he's going to let go. No way he's going to stop being selfish.
“Because I love you. Because I'm your lover, and I deserve to know.” so indignant. So confident.
But with a gun stuffing his mouth? With Kyungsoo standing over him, eyes dark with emotions so dark and a stark contrast to the gentle person he fell for? Not so much. “The media, your family, friends, along with the entire world, seems to think not, Mr. Kai.”
There was a dangerous edge to Kyungsoo’s voice that Jongin thought he'll never hear from the redhead. Hatred? Shock paints his eyes in reds and blacks. He almost thought he was seeing a stranger. Just how much did his Kyungsoo change in the time where he was gone?
“Maybe it's time I start thinking the same way too.”
They say when shock wears off, the place will never be left empty. Panic began settling in the void shock left. “W-hat?” he croaks, and Kyungsoo laughs at how vulnerable the cold prince, supermodel Kai was in his hold. It sounded heartless, sending a shock of chills down Jongin’s spine.
“You know what's the most humiliating thing a person can ever experience?” he presses pressed the tip of his gun barrel until Jongin began choking and gagging around the metal.
Kyungsoo hums. “Being labelled a dirty secret.” Jongin freezes. “So carelessly cheated on.” the redhead’s eyes glaze over with rage. The pendaflour lighting over Kyungsoo’s head began casting a halo around his fiery crimson hair. He looked ethereal. Hellish. As if an avenging death angel was rising from his own mortal ashes.
“You thought I didn't know, didn't you? Did you feel accomplished when you managed to sneak out and whore yourself to him behind my back? Filthy slut.”
“I knew.” Jongin stops moving. Eyes thrown open, tearing up almost on autopilot. What an actor. Kyungsoo’s index begins caressing the trigger almost fondly. “I endured until I couldn't stand. I kept quiet until the seams of my lips began tearing. I clenched my fists until they went numb.” the gun is pulled out of Jongin’s mouth harshly, metal bruising the ribbed roof of the model’s mouth.
“You know why I'm telling you everything, Kai?” dragging the mouth of his weapon down his solar plexus, stopping to count along his left ribs. Jongin feels his heart pounding in anticipation and fear.
“I want you to suffer.”
When Kyungsoo looks up, Jongin was trying to curl into himself, tears endless as small sniffles tore through the heavy air in the house. “If any inch of the Jongin I loved lives in there, he'll suffer.” Kyungsoo tilts his head, pressing the metal machine in the gaps of Jongin’s ribs. He gasps, but never stops the other.
“Go back to where you belong, Kai.” before Jongin can blink, Kyungsoo is up, walking towards the door quietly. Right before leaving, the redhead looks back one last time. “Kai.” he calls, and Jongin looks up eagerly. “You're not allowed to pull the trigger.”
Kyungsoo leaves, even when he's the one telling Jongin to go home. The supermodel feels something hard and cold pressing against his thigh, and when he looks down his blood runs cold.
Glinting evilly under the harsh yellow lights, was Kyungsoo’s silver gun in Jongin’s lap.
---
Leaving without his coat was a bad idea. But at least Jongin didn't see the way his lip trembled pathetically, waiting for the love of his life to call him back. Jongin didn't, as always.
Shivering pale fingers wrap around his last stick of cannabis, struggling to light the end up under the harsh winds. He gets it on the 9th time.
He didn't know where his destination was, but he knows for sure that Chanyeol’s rundown apartment was just a short stop. “Let me in.” he bangs on the cheap wooden door, fingers numb and stiff from the cold.
“Coming coming okay calm the fuck- oh,” was Chanyeol’s very smart response. He was wrapped in nothing but jeans, belt unbuckled and shirtless as he gapes at Kyungsoo on his doorstep.
“So are you gonna let me in by today?”
“Oh shit. Yeah. Yeah, sure. Come in.” he steps aside, allowing Kyungsoo’s shivering form into his warm home. The fighter sighs, palms rubbing some much needed heat into his snow pale skin. Chanyeol blinks dumbly.
“So. I'm leaving.” Kyungsoo was never one to beat around the bush, but even Chanyeol had to stagger a little at the news. “What, why?” he questions a little too panickedly for someone who only makes money out of Kyungsoo.
“Because I want to?” the redhead turns to flash his manager of all sorts an inquisitive look, and Chanyeol clears his throat. “Okay.”
“You got hot chocolate?”
“Yeah. I'll heat some up.”
“Mmm.”
It was quiet save for the gas hissing from the stove, and by the time the drink was made Kyungsoo was comfortably hugging a pillow and making himself at home on Chanyeol’s couch. It felt domestic. Kyungsoo wasn't sure what he was going to feel about that.
“Thanks.” Kyungsoo replies curtly, placing the mug on his lower lip for his first sip.
“I'm coming with you.”
Chanyeol found out that hot chocolate against his bare abdomen was not a sweet feeling, after all.
“Whatever. Do whatever you want.” Kyungsoo mumbles, tugging the spare blanket Chanyeol gave him whilst making himself comfortable on the tallers couch. Chanyeol smiles quietly, but doesn't show it as he simply nods before heading into his room to pack up.
Nobody decided on Kyungsoo sleeping over. Not Chanyeol, not Kyungsoo. It just happened.
---
Kyungsoo clenches his fists at the sight of the one person he doesn't want to see behind his lids, pressing the barrel of his gun against their temple, pulling the trigger- No. No no no no no! “No!” he pants, eyes wild and frantic as they take in the unfamiliar surrounding.
“Kyungsoo?” a baritone voice snaps him out of reverie, and the sense of familiarity blinds coherence for a minute as he fists Chanyeol’s shirt to pull himself onto the taller’s chest.
Chanyeol doesn't move until Kyungsoo really falls asleep, fingers kneading through his thick locks in hopes of putting the small man at ease.
There it was. That familiar ache under his chest.
“I'll heal you, Kyungsoo. Promise.”
I promise.
-END-