Super Junior (AU); The Difference Between Pawns and Kings; [4/__ ]
Title: The Difference Between Pawns and Kings [4/__ ]
Fandom: Super Junior
Chapter Pairings: HanChul
Word Count: 1866
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Overall Summary: he secluded world of South Korea has decayed and it's largest city, Seoul, has fractioned into two seperate halves: the kings and the pawns. Society is different; life is different. People struggle to survive in both worlds, either smothered by the rules of the city or the despair of the slums. The lucky ones managing to balance between the two extreems watch their friends suffer or survive, take or be taken. Still, life churns on, and no matter what hand you have been dealt, you must play the game.
Chapter Summary: Hankyung makes his appearance! (CAMEOOOO~~ MONTAAAAGE~~)
Genre: AU
A/N: Again with the sucky chapter summaries, but ive given up caring XD id rather have a crappy summary than give stuff away. and that summary is pretty accurate lol, hankyung is just everywhere in this chapter. Uhhh okay, a/n, a/n. uhm, well, Im not sure how i feel about this chapter. I still am having a difficulty with frilly writing so kill me for that, but i wrote this like, wednesday? i had some extra time. Yeah i know i said i wouldnt post this week and that i was on hiatus, but hey, whaddaya know, midterms are over and suddenly i seem a lot free..er. >.> well anyways, i just...dont know if this is good or not. -__-;; i cant seem to find a current standard to stick to and at least this forces me to write a little and you know, not go months without writing. so if later i look back on this and go D: well, at least ill have written something. i also need to cut down on my a/ns. and I LOVE VARIETY SHOWS AND STUPID SHOWS LIKE GOOD DADDY THEY COMPLETE MY LIFEEEE. and seriously, whos excited for 3jib? because i know im practically peeing my pants over it, idk about you guys.
[1] [2] [3]
For the second time in an hour, the man in the chair feels his nose break with a sickening crunch. He winces and lets his head follow the blow, but he stays quiet. He doesn't have anything to say anyway. Even if he did, they wouldn't understand him. They’d just hit him again, and they’re already doing that. No need to provoke them further.
The chair is kicked over and his shoulder meets the dusty floor of the concrete, breaking his fall before the side of his head does. Again, he stays silent. One of the man kicks his black shoes in the dust near his face half-heartedly. His face remains blank, uninterested. The punishment is over. He feels his hands lifted and a blade slipped between them, sawing at the ropes around his wrists. Slowly, the others file out of the room, some lighting cigarettes, some talking in low, bored tones, stretching their arms above their heads lazily. He just stays where he is, not bothered enough to pick himself off the floor and dust off his simple grey hoodie and worn jeans.
“-I wonder why, he’s never missed a target before,”
“-just a Chinese kid who doesn’t talk. Maybe he’s just stupid-“
“Whatever, does it even matter? If he misses again tomorrow-“
When the voices face and the warehouse is empty, Hankyung stands up and picks the rickety wooden chair up off the floor, standing it upright again. He neatly coils what’s left of the rope on the floor onto the seat and runs his hands lightly down his front, brushing off the dirt and smearing the few spots of blood into the fabric. He rolls his shoulders, once, twice, before folding his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie and walking out of the room.
He knows what will happen if he misses again. And he doesn’t intend to.
***
Hankyung crouches on a roof half a mile away and his heart is still pounding. He’s staring off in the direction of the penthouse, fingers absentmindedly running over the small slip of paper in his pocket with the address scrawled across it. As his breathing calms, he uncoils himself and sits on the edge of the concrete roofing, dangling his bare feet over the side, his shoes lying forgotten behind him. A breeze ruffles his hair lightly and he closes his eyes, breathing in the smell.
They’re like fire in the back of his mind. Those eyes. So clear, so bright, so…unafraid?
Hankyung doesn't know what was it that made him stop. He has a conscience, yes, but ever since the Decline, ever since he was picked up off the streets in the worst part of town and offered this…job, well. When he’s on an assignment, its gone. Beaten out of him by what they called trainers, as if it was necessary. He wasn't exactly an amateur. Twenty years of martial arts and private combat training with the top teachers in Shanghai. Compared to these common thugs, he was gold.
They knew it, though. They knew that when he walked, he was silent. That if you felt a chill on your spine, he was behind you. They knew he could stop breathing, practically stop his heart from beating if he had to, could do anything for a mission if he was asked and provided with proper information as to why the targets deserved to die. And they used it. For everything from the lowliest punks on the street, to the more frequent, demanding jobs of infiltrating headquarters and slitting the throat of the greasiest industry pigs and dirtiest mob bosses.
But Hankyung didn’t question these hits. In a way, it was his way of fighting back, taking revenge. These Marks were what cost him and all the others in this stinking city everything. These Marks were smears on society, only adding to the danger of the slums and the corruption of the city. He held out hope that perhaps, just maybe they had started out as decent people, but the fact was that most of them hadn’t. And those that had had lost any shred of innocence and morality they started out with. He didn’t question these Marks. He didn’t question it because it was his job. Just his job.
But this time was different. The thin frame in the bed had been unreadable. Hankyung should have killed him the moment he locked on him, ready, but instinct made him hesitate. And then he had woken up, freezing him in his spot. Kill him now, his training urged, whispering in the back of his mind. No, he had thought. Not yet. And then the man had turned towards him, and there was no fear on his face. It was terribly, beautifully blank. As if he had known he would find him there.
But there was something in his eyes. Something caught Hankyung in the chest and made his pulse race. A spark, a fever he hadn’t seen since months before the Decline even started. Hadn’t seen it in anyone and hadn’t felt it in himself.
Life.
There was life there. That was what he wanted, what he craved for. What half the people in this desolate, God-forsaken world craved for. And he was being told to take that away, rob it from the one person who seemed to have managed to hold onto it all.
He leans his head back, closing his eyes against the endless navy sky, clouds making ripples in the inky air. A breeze runs in between his bare toes and through his hair. He lets himself get carried away on it, if only for a moment, before he will have to pull himself back into reality and climb back down.
***
Heechul was surprised to wake up without the cold sweat on his forehead and taste of fear on his lips he had grown accustomed to after night after night of the same nightmare. He was not, however, surprised to turn his head to the side and see the stranger from the night before, in the exact same position as last time. Crouched and ready on the windowsill, thin blade clasped in his-
“Where’s the knife?” Heechul asked calmly.
“Back pocket,” the stranger shrugged.
Heechul nodded, still too sore to do much of anything else, let alone run away. There was a short silence as each regarded the other.
“How long have you been here?”
“Only a few minutes.”
“Ah,” said Heechul, nodding. “How long have you been here?”
“…Longer than that.” Hankyung conceeded simply. He cocked to his head to the side, looking at Heechul with an unreadable expression on his face. His tone had been light, but also heavily guarded. Heechul could decipher that all too well.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Why are you asking so many questions?” the man countered, suspicious and a little intrigued. Still, his mouth was quirked up at the corners, amused.
“Why aren’t I dead yet?” Heechul retorted without hesitation. A tense silence followed his words.
The man let out a short breath of a laugh and unfolded his legs, sitting down on the windowsill and leaning back on his hands casually, dangling his legs over into the room. He still watched Heechul carefully with that same expression, caught between amused and unsure, curious and wary, head cocked to the side, brown eyes locked on his.
“Hankyung. My name is Hankyung.”
“Do you know my-“
“Kim Heechul,” Hankyung interrupted, a quick, cheeky grin spreading across his face before it disappeared as if it was never really there. His eyes sparkled at the other, a hint of the fleeting smile and something a little more sinister, more mischievous. “I always know the names.”
Heechul’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly with his smirk, and something shifted in his features. “Good boy,” he said, patronizingly. Hankyung didn't flinch at the slight. “At least you know the names of the people you’re sent to kill.”
Hankyung looked down, surveying his feet as he swung them lightly over the carpet. Heechul watched him, curious. Another short silence, before Hankyung opened his mouth again. “Why am I supposed to kill you?”
Heechul let out a soft snort as the other looked up at him. “Does it matter?”
“The report was very vague. It wasn't telling something,” Hankyung said, his brow creasing in the middle.
Heechul raised his eyebrows at him. Hankyung sighed.
“I always ask for a reason, and they give me a small report on Marks. But this time, something was off.” He remembered the thin red folder, with a single sheet of paper clipped to the inside. It had the least information of any hit he’d had before. Something was wrong. There were always lists, long or short, ranging from the pettiest things to all minor and major crimes committed over time by big bosses, rivals, rising competition, and even on the smallest, most insignificant of Marks. Not this time. All that was there was a name, an address, a list of living relations, blood or otherwise, and a single note at the bottom.
PERSONAL.
Hankyung had figured from the tense, expectant glares from the on-looking members and the challenging stare of the manager that had delivered the profile to him that this meant ‘don't ask’. So he didn't. Not them, at least. But there was still something important missing.
Heechul didn’t answer at first. His eyes snapped away from Hankyung and he stared at the wall opposite him, a shadow flicking over his face. Hankyung watched as his eyes darkened in anger, his thin hands clenching white by his side.
“…A life for a life, isn’t that right?” Heechul finally said bitterly, quietly, almost to himself as he looked down at the comforter over his chest. “Not that I have one anymore, they've taken it all already-“ he added under his breath. He wasn't sure if Hankyung had caught it, but whether he did or not, it didn't matter. He was a Mark, not a pity case. It didn't matter and it wouldn't stop Hankyung from reaching into his back pocket. He was just a Mark to him.
Heechul let his hands relax, and the fingers on his right hand brushed lightly against the warm wrist of Siwon next to him, not entirely on accident. Hankyung couldn't see, but his eyes watched as Siwon snuffled lightly and rolled over in his sleep.
“Oh, I don't believe that,” Hankyung said lightly, climbing back onto the windowsill. Apparently he had heard. He paused, feet cool in the open air. He could feel Heechul’s eyes on his back, and part of him reveled in having those eyes on him. Part of it made his stomach drop. His thin t-shirt suddenly felt too thin for the night air.
He turned around and looked at Heechul from where he stood in the open window. Heechul looked unabashedly back.
“Will you be here tomorrow?”
Hankyung looked at him hard for a long time. Heechul stared back, straight into his eyes, and for the first time in both nights, he couldn't see any answers in them. For the first time, they were cold.
“No.”
Fandom: Super Junior
Chapter Pairings: HanChul
Word Count: 1866
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Overall Summary: he secluded world of South Korea has decayed and it's largest city, Seoul, has fractioned into two seperate halves: the kings and the pawns. Society is different; life is different. People struggle to survive in both worlds, either smothered by the rules of the city or the despair of the slums. The lucky ones managing to balance between the two extreems watch their friends suffer or survive, take or be taken. Still, life churns on, and no matter what hand you have been dealt, you must play the game.
Chapter Summary: Hankyung makes his appearance! (CAMEOOOO~~ MONTAAAAGE~~)
Genre: AU
A/N: Again with the sucky chapter summaries, but ive given up caring XD id rather have a crappy summary than give stuff away. and that summary is pretty accurate lol, hankyung is just everywhere in this chapter. Uhhh okay, a/n, a/n. uhm, well, Im not sure how i feel about this chapter. I still am having a difficulty with frilly writing so kill me for that, but i wrote this like, wednesday? i had some extra time. Yeah i know i said i wouldnt post this week and that i was on hiatus, but hey, whaddaya know, midterms are over and suddenly i seem a lot free..er. >.> well anyways, i just...dont know if this is good or not. -__-;; i cant seem to find a current standard to stick to and at least this forces me to write a little and you know, not go months without writing. so if later i look back on this and go D: well, at least ill have written something. i also need to cut down on my a/ns. and I LOVE VARIETY SHOWS AND STUPID SHOWS LIKE GOOD DADDY THEY COMPLETE MY LIFEEEE. and seriously, whos excited for 3jib? because i know im practically peeing my pants over it, idk about you guys.
[1] [2] [3]
For the second time in an hour, the man in the chair feels his nose break with a sickening crunch. He winces and lets his head follow the blow, but he stays quiet. He doesn't have anything to say anyway. Even if he did, they wouldn't understand him. They’d just hit him again, and they’re already doing that. No need to provoke them further.
The chair is kicked over and his shoulder meets the dusty floor of the concrete, breaking his fall before the side of his head does. Again, he stays silent. One of the man kicks his black shoes in the dust near his face half-heartedly. His face remains blank, uninterested. The punishment is over. He feels his hands lifted and a blade slipped between them, sawing at the ropes around his wrists. Slowly, the others file out of the room, some lighting cigarettes, some talking in low, bored tones, stretching their arms above their heads lazily. He just stays where he is, not bothered enough to pick himself off the floor and dust off his simple grey hoodie and worn jeans.
“-I wonder why, he’s never missed a target before,”
“-just a Chinese kid who doesn’t talk. Maybe he’s just stupid-“
“Whatever, does it even matter? If he misses again tomorrow-“
When the voices face and the warehouse is empty, Hankyung stands up and picks the rickety wooden chair up off the floor, standing it upright again. He neatly coils what’s left of the rope on the floor onto the seat and runs his hands lightly down his front, brushing off the dirt and smearing the few spots of blood into the fabric. He rolls his shoulders, once, twice, before folding his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie and walking out of the room.
He knows what will happen if he misses again. And he doesn’t intend to.
***
Hankyung crouches on a roof half a mile away and his heart is still pounding. He’s staring off in the direction of the penthouse, fingers absentmindedly running over the small slip of paper in his pocket with the address scrawled across it. As his breathing calms, he uncoils himself and sits on the edge of the concrete roofing, dangling his bare feet over the side, his shoes lying forgotten behind him. A breeze ruffles his hair lightly and he closes his eyes, breathing in the smell.
They’re like fire in the back of his mind. Those eyes. So clear, so bright, so…unafraid?
Hankyung doesn't know what was it that made him stop. He has a conscience, yes, but ever since the Decline, ever since he was picked up off the streets in the worst part of town and offered this…job, well. When he’s on an assignment, its gone. Beaten out of him by what they called trainers, as if it was necessary. He wasn't exactly an amateur. Twenty years of martial arts and private combat training with the top teachers in Shanghai. Compared to these common thugs, he was gold.
They knew it, though. They knew that when he walked, he was silent. That if you felt a chill on your spine, he was behind you. They knew he could stop breathing, practically stop his heart from beating if he had to, could do anything for a mission if he was asked and provided with proper information as to why the targets deserved to die. And they used it. For everything from the lowliest punks on the street, to the more frequent, demanding jobs of infiltrating headquarters and slitting the throat of the greasiest industry pigs and dirtiest mob bosses.
But Hankyung didn’t question these hits. In a way, it was his way of fighting back, taking revenge. These Marks were what cost him and all the others in this stinking city everything. These Marks were smears on society, only adding to the danger of the slums and the corruption of the city. He held out hope that perhaps, just maybe they had started out as decent people, but the fact was that most of them hadn’t. And those that had had lost any shred of innocence and morality they started out with. He didn’t question these Marks. He didn’t question it because it was his job. Just his job.
But this time was different. The thin frame in the bed had been unreadable. Hankyung should have killed him the moment he locked on him, ready, but instinct made him hesitate. And then he had woken up, freezing him in his spot. Kill him now, his training urged, whispering in the back of his mind. No, he had thought. Not yet. And then the man had turned towards him, and there was no fear on his face. It was terribly, beautifully blank. As if he had known he would find him there.
But there was something in his eyes. Something caught Hankyung in the chest and made his pulse race. A spark, a fever he hadn’t seen since months before the Decline even started. Hadn’t seen it in anyone and hadn’t felt it in himself.
Life.
There was life there. That was what he wanted, what he craved for. What half the people in this desolate, God-forsaken world craved for. And he was being told to take that away, rob it from the one person who seemed to have managed to hold onto it all.
He leans his head back, closing his eyes against the endless navy sky, clouds making ripples in the inky air. A breeze runs in between his bare toes and through his hair. He lets himself get carried away on it, if only for a moment, before he will have to pull himself back into reality and climb back down.
***
Heechul was surprised to wake up without the cold sweat on his forehead and taste of fear on his lips he had grown accustomed to after night after night of the same nightmare. He was not, however, surprised to turn his head to the side and see the stranger from the night before, in the exact same position as last time. Crouched and ready on the windowsill, thin blade clasped in his-
“Where’s the knife?” Heechul asked calmly.
“Back pocket,” the stranger shrugged.
Heechul nodded, still too sore to do much of anything else, let alone run away. There was a short silence as each regarded the other.
“How long have you been here?”
“Only a few minutes.”
“Ah,” said Heechul, nodding. “How long have you been here?”
“…Longer than that.” Hankyung conceeded simply. He cocked to his head to the side, looking at Heechul with an unreadable expression on his face. His tone had been light, but also heavily guarded. Heechul could decipher that all too well.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Why are you asking so many questions?” the man countered, suspicious and a little intrigued. Still, his mouth was quirked up at the corners, amused.
“Why aren’t I dead yet?” Heechul retorted without hesitation. A tense silence followed his words.
The man let out a short breath of a laugh and unfolded his legs, sitting down on the windowsill and leaning back on his hands casually, dangling his legs over into the room. He still watched Heechul carefully with that same expression, caught between amused and unsure, curious and wary, head cocked to the side, brown eyes locked on his.
“Hankyung. My name is Hankyung.”
“Do you know my-“
“Kim Heechul,” Hankyung interrupted, a quick, cheeky grin spreading across his face before it disappeared as if it was never really there. His eyes sparkled at the other, a hint of the fleeting smile and something a little more sinister, more mischievous. “I always know the names.”
Heechul’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly with his smirk, and something shifted in his features. “Good boy,” he said, patronizingly. Hankyung didn't flinch at the slight. “At least you know the names of the people you’re sent to kill.”
Hankyung looked down, surveying his feet as he swung them lightly over the carpet. Heechul watched him, curious. Another short silence, before Hankyung opened his mouth again. “Why am I supposed to kill you?”
Heechul let out a soft snort as the other looked up at him. “Does it matter?”
“The report was very vague. It wasn't telling something,” Hankyung said, his brow creasing in the middle.
Heechul raised his eyebrows at him. Hankyung sighed.
“I always ask for a reason, and they give me a small report on Marks. But this time, something was off.” He remembered the thin red folder, with a single sheet of paper clipped to the inside. It had the least information of any hit he’d had before. Something was wrong. There were always lists, long or short, ranging from the pettiest things to all minor and major crimes committed over time by big bosses, rivals, rising competition, and even on the smallest, most insignificant of Marks. Not this time. All that was there was a name, an address, a list of living relations, blood or otherwise, and a single note at the bottom.
PERSONAL.
Hankyung had figured from the tense, expectant glares from the on-looking members and the challenging stare of the manager that had delivered the profile to him that this meant ‘don't ask’. So he didn't. Not them, at least. But there was still something important missing.
Heechul didn’t answer at first. His eyes snapped away from Hankyung and he stared at the wall opposite him, a shadow flicking over his face. Hankyung watched as his eyes darkened in anger, his thin hands clenching white by his side.
“…A life for a life, isn’t that right?” Heechul finally said bitterly, quietly, almost to himself as he looked down at the comforter over his chest. “Not that I have one anymore, they've taken it all already-“ he added under his breath. He wasn't sure if Hankyung had caught it, but whether he did or not, it didn't matter. He was a Mark, not a pity case. It didn't matter and it wouldn't stop Hankyung from reaching into his back pocket. He was just a Mark to him.
Heechul let his hands relax, and the fingers on his right hand brushed lightly against the warm wrist of Siwon next to him, not entirely on accident. Hankyung couldn't see, but his eyes watched as Siwon snuffled lightly and rolled over in his sleep.
“Oh, I don't believe that,” Hankyung said lightly, climbing back onto the windowsill. Apparently he had heard. He paused, feet cool in the open air. He could feel Heechul’s eyes on his back, and part of him reveled in having those eyes on him. Part of it made his stomach drop. His thin t-shirt suddenly felt too thin for the night air.
He turned around and looked at Heechul from where he stood in the open window. Heechul looked unabashedly back.
“Will you be here tomorrow?”
Hankyung looked at him hard for a long time. Heechul stared back, straight into his eyes, and for the first time in both nights, he couldn't see any answers in them. For the first time, they were cold.
“No.”