the bottom line [3 / 3]
title: the bottom line
pairing: kaisoo, kray, baekyeol [ot12]
rating: NC-17
genre: romance, action, angst
part: 3 / 3
summary: kyungsoo's lips tastes like the next sixty years of jongin's life.
part two; one shot
the bottom line;
is that all endings are the same,
however you slice it.
Kyungsoo has already undressed Kim Jongin's secret.
He holds him at gunpoint and a variety of choices are laid out before them.
For a happy ending, try A.
A.
The muzzle is parallel to Jongin's forehead.
"It doesn't have to end like this." Jongin whispers. He walks closer, wrapping both arms around Kyungsoo; remaining statue still until Kyungsoo trembles in his arms. Hugging Kyungsoo feels a bit similar to holding a fluttering hummingbird inside cupped hands.
Kyungsoo drops his gun.
"Please, hyung, please. Let's forget all this, okay? D.O. and Kai. Let's forget them. I still have some people I can trust, a couple of kids who can get us a new identity and some IDs. What about it? Hyung, please. Please. I just want this to stop, please help me make this stop." Choking on sobs, Jongin leans into Kyungsoo. "Hyung, do you realize that this is never going to end? We're like dominoes. One falls, and triggers a lengthy chain."
Kyungsoo pats Jongin's shoulder, both meeting each other for the first time. "D.O? What are you talking about? My name is Kyungsoo. Nice to meet you."
Jongin needed a few seconds to understand the situation, and when he does, he smiles. "I'm Kim Jongin."
༺
In just one day, Kyungsoo and Jongin fled to the underskirts of the city, trading with men in unwashed clothes and scar-covered faces. Jongin claims these guys are the real deal and Kyungsoo can only look at streets reflected in Jongin's eyes and trust him. The clock is ticking. Threats and promises are exchanged, wads of bills morph into passports and foolproof identification cards. Hands are shook. Luhan would track them down soon enough. Kyungsoo and Jongin's wallets are burned; leaving no trails for others to follow. They have to be out of this country before midnight. New clothes are bought, casual wigs worn. Taxi drivers are bartered to go faster. By the time details are ironed out, Kim Jongin and Do Kyungsoo are gone.
According to their certificates and the name the airport ticketing staff repeated, they are Mr. Dyo and Mr. Gam Jung Un.
༺
They start anew.
In the underbelly of Tokyo, ringed by possibilities and strangers who will never meet the people Kyungsoo and Jongin once were. Every single day is dedicated to burying fragments of their old life. After years of living on luxury bought by illegal means, being normal is a challenge Jongin and Kyungsoo are struggling to overcome. It surprises Jongin, how naked he feels when the cold steel of a weapon isn't strapped to waist, how shaken he is when Kyungsoo greets him Welcome back home after a long day of searching for a decent job to support the both of them.
Yet somehow, they manage.
Kyungsoo is planning to run his own restaurant. Jongin, still young and still hopeless, laughs and promises to handle the accounts when the business booms. A week later, they'll move in to a larger apartment. Three months after that, they'll mark off potential spots where they can rent a place for Kyungsoo's restaurant to flourish. But for now, Jongin and Kyungsoo are lying on the rooftop of their apartment's building, clasping the other's hand tightly. Silently promising everything and nothing at all.
Artificial lights pollute the skyline, preventing naked eyes from observing the twinkling stars overhead. Kyungsoo and Jongin's attention is fixed on the skies. Jongin sees himself outside of himself; he's lying helplessly beside another man, stargazing--minus the star part--and for the first time ever since he got caught up in the wave of violence and defeat, Jongin is finally content. He can do this forever--heck, he will do this forever if Kyungsoo will let him.
"Jongin, what if somewhere out there, let's say a couple in a remote village in Austria or two lovers stuck in Myeongdong, are doing the same thing as us?" Kyungsoo asks. There's something about the absence of light that causes Kyungsoo's voice to quieten until his syllables are whispered. It's almost as if the dark is a force to be respected. "What if they're lying like this and hold hands like this and listen to the city beat like this and what if they love like us? Don't you think it's romantic? I think it is. It's nice to know that we're not the only one feeling this way."
"But we are the only ones feeling this way." Jongin faces Kyungsoo, needing a few seconds to breathe because Kyungsoo throws him off guard and he's falling once more; harder, faster to the ground. "I refuse to believe that people can share the same emotion. What I feel about you is different from what you probably feel about me. What we have between us is something no one else can acquire, copy down to the last tingling nerve. Not everyone feels the same. Alright, there's sad and there's happy and there's ecstatic and gloomy, but the result of the combination of all that varies from person to person."
Confusion is laced in every word Kyungsoo says. "I don't understand. What do you feel towards me, then? If it isn't just love?"
"It's like this: what I feel about you is something that can only be prompted by our circumstances. If another person used to be a killer like me, a hitman turned spy who then turned to goo at your feet when I met you, and if they'd been threatened to be killed by the person they love, yet ended up running away from all of it and starting over again, then yes. They would get a gist of the emotions I harbor." He lifts his index finger, taps Kyungsoo's forehead and lets it glide down to the bridge of Kyungsoo's nose. "So with that in mind, I refuse to let these emotions be watered down into simple words that seven billion other people can use."
"You're being extremely cheesy tonight." Kyungsoo states when his heart beats down to normal. Big, fat butterflies flutter their way out of Kyungsoo's stomach.
"No, I'm just... scared." Jongin replies with a voice made out of glass.
"Of what?"
"Of you. Of what you're capable of. I'm scared of Luhan and Sehun and of the world we knew. I'm scared that I'll come home one day and find your guts splayed all over our living room. I'm scared of what will happen after this. I'm scared because I've become this weak and I don't want the time to come when I'm no longer able to say all this mushy-dushy fluffy, icky stuff to you."
"Don't be. Fear is only a noun. don't you dare let go of my hand."
༺
Kyungsoo sometimes cheers Jongin up by folding a bouquet of paper roses and storing them in Jongin's cabinet. Kyungsoo, without D.O's shadow is all rainbows and cooking shows, Friday night poker and surprise back hugs.
"Why paper? There's a floral shop down the road." Twisting the paper stems between his fingers, Jongin will complain every time he receives Kyungsoo's gifts. "My love is so cheap."
"But don't you like it?"
Jongin squints. "Hmm. Let me think about it."
Kyungsoo puffs his cheeks and dives in the couch for Jongin and the paper roses. He takes the colorful roses in his hands, traps Jongin between his legs and shoves said roses into Jongin's mouth which is wide open in laughter. "Eat this until you like them, then! You unappreciative blockhead this took me two hours to make! The least you can do is pretend to like them!"
Chuckles keep bursting from Jongin's mouth. His tongue is half-dried by the papers and Kyungsoo's face is in a deep shade of red. The couch creeks under Jongin's limbs as he grips Kyungsoo by the hips and pulls him to the side until Kyungsoo is undearneath him. The flowers are all but wrinkled and forgotten beside them. "I like them, I really do."
"Really?"
"Really." Jongin smiles because Kyungsoo is doing that widening thing with his eyes and it's too cute for him to handle.
Kyungsoo grabs a handful of paper roses and presses them against Jongin's chest. "It's a good thing, then. Unlike real roses, these ones won't make you think of funerals. Plus they won't wilt. And oh-- did I mention they're cheaper?"
Jongin laughs and Kyungsoo laughs and for a moment, they're simply two lovers basking in the four o'clock sunlight. No scars or secrets. No pasts. Just Kyungsoo and Jongin. Jongin and Kyungsoo.
This is more than enough.
༺
Sleep ties knots in Kyungsoo's hair and Jongin's heart.
Sunlight ribbons the horizon in red and orange, just beyond their window. Jongin is careful not to stir Kyungsoo back to consciousness. His eyes are trained on Kyungsoo's face. Jongin has his heart on his sleeve as he observes the calmness painted on Kyungsoo's features,
Maybe it's the warm sun. Maybe it's the color of Kyungsoo's cheeks or the shade of his hair. Maybe it's because Kyungsoo is so close and fragile and everything Jongin could have wished for and didn't because wishes are designed for helpless people. Maybe it's the air of their room. Maybe it's every little detail compromising this very moment that brings tears to Jongin's eyes. It occurs to him, in this instant, that this could all dissipate like winter fog. Kyungsoo could not be here. He could not be okay.
One day, every bit of Jongin's flesh that Kyungsoo graced with his, will rot into this earth. And his mind, too. And with it, every memory he ever had of Kyungsoo will decay and be gone for good.
༺
They end after the departure of the herd of people in black, whose lives happened to brush against theirs.
They end as two tombstones underneath folded paper roses.
This is how they end; as two bodies lying side by side six feet under the ground.
B.
The muzzle is parallel to Jongin's forehead.
Agony is the distance between Kim Jongin and the gun Kyungsoo firmly holds in his hand. It's the way Jongin's mouth dries up with all the explanations they both didn't need to hear. Staring at the dark eyes he has grown to adore, Jongin thinks of the phrase people say about death and how the person behind the trigger is the one you're willing to take a bullet for. Life is fucked up like that, emotions even more so.
"You're not going to shoot me. You can't." His voice is steadier than what he expected it to be, calm voice hiding trembles he feels inside. The truth is, Jongin might as well have swallowed an earthquake, what with all the fault lines jarred in his bones.
"I can and I will." Kyungsoo's voice is dry, hollow. Jongin hears the sound of a soul who already had enough. "Traitor. Spy. Conniving bastard. I can't believe I didn't catch you earlier."
"You're so cute, Kyungsoo." Jongin approaches him. When Kyungsoo's eyes widen, Jongin is sucked back into the vortex of indigo skies with scars scattered like dandelion seeds on a fertile field, back to when yesterday's sins are hiding behind what are we having for breakfasts and apologetic kisses.
"Do you really believe that shooting me will solve everything? Our family is still moving and sooner than later we'll coincide with yours. When that happens, I don't think throwing me out of the fucking picture will help. You're not strong enough to kill me, if you were, I should have died in my sleep." Jongin says when what he really wanted to say was: I like you as Kyungsoo and as D.O and I'm sorry that it has come to this.
Kyungsoo squeezes the trigger. Once, twice, thrice: starting from the space between Jongin's eyebrows, trailing down to the dent on his collarbone, ending with another bang on his left chest.
"Kyungsoo, I was once.... very happy." Struggling against death's zealous grip, Jongin heaves and falls down.
Raging crimson fills Kyungsoo's vision, blocking everything until all he sees is light smoke and the eyes that have always been able to see right through him. He shoots and shoots, and shoots until he runs out of bullets and his knees quiver with the weight of burdens he can no longer carry.
Jongin ends like this; under the hands of his nemesis, on a serene Saturday morning inside Luhan's mansion.
༺
The shower's heat slices Kyungsoo's face. Water is insufficient, unable to wash away the dirt and guilt sticking to his skin like cobwebs. An hour had passed since he killed Jongin. Steam blurs his surroundings into oblivion. A mantra of I murdered Jongin. I murdered the traitor. I killed Kai plays on a loop. He fails to hear the pitter-patter of the droplets against his skin and the tiles.
In a little while, the wheels will be moving again. Luhan will pry the details out of Kyungsoo and he'll have to confess what happened to his capo. He'll have to tell Luhan about how there never was a Kai in the first place, how Oh Sehun and his subordinates shed cunning tricks from their sleeves. Luhan will take it from there. Unlike him, Luhan always has a plan to combat anything.
Kyungsoo, I was once very happy.
Drenched fists punch the wall. D.O. has stolen lives that weren't his for the taking. Kyungsoo was content, innocent until Kai waltzed along and gave him a reason to kill. His hands are now tainted by the blood of a man he could have fallen in love with under different circumstances.
Kyungsoo twists the shower off.
༺
Evening coats the trees dark blue. Aided by moonlight, Kyungsoo observes the grounds of Luhan's mansion. The landscape remains unchanged and touched at the same time. Memories of Jongin hover like unwelcomed clouds over the fresh grasses. Kyungsoo pictures silver-kissed skin, and he waits in the cold for nearly half an hour before he remembers that Kai is gone and so are the cooking challenges, movie marathons preceding target shooting practices.
Kyungsoo, I was once very happy.
Kai is the fading echo Kyungsoo strains to hear as he staggers his way to his bedroom. One step after the other. Distance does not seem to change. Kyungsoo heaves, moves forward until he's in the vicinity of the room where something like love blossomed and where something like love withered. Jongin's body is not here anymore, but there are still creases on Kyungsoo's sheets, discarded towels that no longer whispered Kai's name.
Kyungsoo realizes it takes a few seconds to die and a lifetime to be gone.
༺
This is how Do Kyungsoo ends; as three shots in the forehead inside his bedroom, with the same gun he used to kill Kim Jongin
C.
The muzzle is parallel to Jongin's forehead.
Jongin counts to three, forces himself to believe Kyungsoo is just another target before attacking him. Two seconds and the gun is jerked off Kyungsoo's hand. One and Kyungsoo is on the floor with Jongin's fingers coiled around his neck, blocking his passageways and breathing. Jongin adds in more pressure, seeing red spots on Kyungsoo's eyes, ignoring Kyungsoo's flailing limbs.
He only lets go when the struggling, breathing stops. Checking Kyungsoo's pulse once last time, he then closes Kyungsoo's lids and pick the cold metal on the floor. Kai ends when Kyungsoo did. Picking up the leftover pieces, Kim Jongin raids Kyungsoo's cabinets until he finds a stack of magazines. Reloading the borrowed gun, Jongin stumbles out of Kyungsoo's room.
He catches Baekhyun and Chanyeol in their room, barging it open to reveal the two lovers cuddling in bed. Chanyeol's arm draped over Baekhyun's waist reminds Jongin of Kyungsoo; of how he and Kyungsoo were deprived of that freedom. Baekhyun sees Jongin first. "Why didn't you knock--"
Baekhyun is all milky skin and tangled hair and slender fingers nestling on Chanyeol's shoulder. With his right hand, Jongin raises the gun, quickly aligns his vision to the Baekhyun's left chest and shoots; blood splaying over Chanyeol and their bed after the deafening bang. Jongin shortens Chanyeol's anguish by flicking his wrist and shooting. Twice. Gun smoke turns the air acrid.
Three down. One more to go.
While walking down the intricate corridor, lenses zoom in on Kim Jongin.
Tiny red lights start blinking.
༺
Luhan is waiting; nursing milk in a wine glass. He is lounging in his beloved chair.
It takes seven minutes for Jongin to enter Luhan's study room; a fleeting moment for the hitman to point his weapon to Luhan's head. He approaches Luhan and when he does, Luhan smiles at him. Smiles like how a kid given a balloon would; with innocent eyes and honest lips swarmed with unlimited thank yous. It's the smile of a man who knows too much and doesn't speak enough. It's Oh Sehun's smile reflected in Luhan's face.
Jongin paces forward, angling the barrel closer to Luhan. The sickly sweet smile broadens. Luhan takes a sip of his milk. He brings the glass down.
"I hope you're not going to deny me the pleasure of feeding you with knowledge, Kim Jongin." Sincerity coats Luhan's voice. "Are you in a hurry to dispose of us? Will my ending be similar to Baekhyun, Chanyeol, and oh--your dear Kyungsoo's? My, my. You've done them in less than ten minutes. Young people these days are caught in an eternal rush."
The unwavering calm, factual tone in which Luhan speaks irritates Jongin. Nerves snap and Jongin flattens the muzzle against Luhan's temples. "So you knew."
"I should be offended you took me for an idiot, Mr. Kim Jongin. I knew, of course that you belong to Sehun the moment you stepped out of that blasted asylum. You amused me so much when you joined us, going under the charade of being Kai. It's a pretty name, by the way. What a shame that no one's going to be around to call you that. I also knew it would end like this." Luhan laughs. He shakes his head and the steel is shoved deeper to his temple. "Sending someone to go undercover in my mansion? Heh, Sehun is as stupid as ever. Sehun didn't change much. He is very much like what he was when we were younger. I suppose he didn't grace you with any childhood stories, did he?"
Jongin's index finger curves around the trigger.
"Oops. Ooops, ooops. You wouldn't want to kill me yet, Jongin. You have all the time in the world for that. Please, let me enlighten you with a short story." Luhan talks softly, dragging syllables and memories like blood on his tongue. Jongin doesn't move. "Not that long ago, there were two little boys who were born and grew up in privileged families. Our fathers were ahh--thick as thieves. Sehun's father was the capo and dad was his confidant. Sehun and I were surrounded by luxurious things, of course. We knew what our families were up to, but we thought it was normal. Now Sehun and I did a lot of things together; a favorite of ours would be to plant roses in his father's mansion. He liked those pesky white roses, while I was careful about my red ones. Sehun told me it was because white roses are untainted, pure and fragile-looking. I thought it was bullshit. I still do."
Luhan's left hand clenches to a fist, knuckles stretched tight over pallid skin. Grasping for thinning threads of vengeance. "Know how it turned to this? It's because of Sehun's father. He had my father murdered over a disagreement that, until to this day, I couldn't figure out what. Murdered and castrated, dad's body was found in his bed. Mr. Kim Jongin, do you know pain? Mr. Jongin, do you know what it is like to be thirteen and see your mother covered in your father's guts? My mother and I fled, we were in hiding for months. I tried to be stronger, especially after she passed away after a heart attack."
Something in Luhan is flaking, peeling off to show the brittle fragments that kept him in place. Jongin has a feeling that if he exhales in Luhan's way, the Chinese porcelain doll would shatter. Luhan continues narrating his story. "I was fifteen the first and last time I killed someone. Sehun's father. Surprise, surprise. That man was as weak as his son. I can't count how many times I had to slash him with that butcher knife. No, Mr. Kim Jongin. I didn't kill Sehun's father, I tried to dig for the remains of my father and mom and everything that was taken away from me. What I'm doing now to Sehun would never be enough. I'd like for him to experience my suffering."
Luhan only pauses to inhale a lungful of air. "My time is ticking, Mr. Kim Jongin. I'd at least like someone to remember that the first ever gift I gave to Sehun was a white rose. The ones he grew in his garden, dipped in his father's blood. I can't even describe how dark and beautiful it was."
Jongin feels the beginning of vomit on his stomach, tastes metal in the back of his throat. "I'm going to kill you now, you know that?"
Luhan drones on as if Jongin didn't say anything. Memories and words, phrases and questions merge together, thickening like poisonous smoke that can kill anyone. "Mr. Kim Jongin, addiction is tricky. For example: a man who quit smoking for eleven years spent fifteen seconds in an elevator with a man smoking a cigarette. He gave in. What I'm trying to say is that I think I might love Sehun again."
Jongin presses the trigger until he feels the resistance.
It goes through Luhan's head, but Jongin knows it's useless.
Luhan has been dead for a long time.
༺
At the same time Jongin shot Luhan, a figure moves in the shadow. Invisible eyes witness the time bomb going off. Three in the afternoon brings Sehun's house to ruin. Bursting flames and flying granite. Dark clouds of smoke staining the blue skies. The man grins.
Luhan was right.
It will end smoothly.
༺
Throughout the years, he passes by faceless people, people with secrets and reasons. He tries to live on, pretending he isn't chained at the ankles by a corroding past and shadowed by the souls of those that he could have loved. Food tastes like ashes. He sees the world in black and white, finding comfort in gray corners, empty noodle cups and roofs with dripping holes.
This is how Kim Jongin ends: when the world demands more of him than what he can give.
D.
The muzzle is parallel to Jongin's forehead.
The route outside with its spider-web complexity flashes in Jongin's mind. Without wasting a second, Jongin raises his right leg in the air, using force to knock Kyungsoo off his feet. His sole collides with Kyungsoo's stomach and Kyungsoo groans as he tries to stand up. The hold over the gun tightens. Jongin abuses the element of surprise by barging out of the room through the window, shattering glass with the pressure of his knees and elbows. Miniature shards digs to his exposed skin, he'll take care of that later.
Jongin rolls down the patch of grass just as Kyungsoo shoots. The bullet misses Jongin's leg for just a centimeter.
Five minutes after staggering out of the shower, Kim Jongin is clutching a cotton towel around his hips as he runs barefoot towards the unknown.
༺
Fully clothed and alone, Kim Jongin sits by a park bench and begins plotting for his next move.
The midnight blue shirt and loose jeans he salvaged from one of the city's charity dump bins reeks of rubbing alcohol and basements. But beggars can't be choosers. Especially beggars who feel tremendously naked without any type of explosive fastened to them. When the wind blows, it brings with it the musky scent of fall. Nostalgia swells in Jongin, conjuring stars trapped in Kyungsoo's irises.
"Think, Jongin. Think." He chides, closing his eyes until darkness greets him.
Going back to Sehun is dangerous. Jongin supposes it's what Luhan and his family assumes he'll do. But Jongin has already said goodbye to the ghost of him who listened to every piano piece and wasted minutes in Sehun's modest living room. Only now did he realize that Sehun was actually the poison, even if he's been drinking him like the cure. Besides, he's gotten so exhausted from everything. And it's the kind of exhausted that isn't limited to draggy limbs, sore muscles, weak bones. He's drained, fatigued from breathing in gunpowder, tired from the stream of dirty cash.
Escaping Korea isn't so bad, but he's on the run and without someone to back him up, his flight would be rendered useless.
Kim Jongin has always been alone.
But he's never been this lonely.
It's kind of absurd, really. How Jongin's thoughts find their way back to Kyungsoo's lips, how, in the middle of a catastrophe, it's still Kyungsoo's safety he's fidgeting about. Maybe this is love, or maybe this is stupidity in the form of a short hitman.
By now, Sehun would have no clue what happened inside Luhan's mansion. By now, Luhan, Baekhyun, Chanyeol along with the enraged D.O. would begin scheming against his familia. They'll be panicking. Jongin groans and shakes his head. Minseok is already six feet under. Jongdae's too loyal to join his brigade. No one in this world can help him, but--
Tao.
Zi-fucking-tao with his designer jeans and don't fuck with me attitude might just be the icing to the bittersweet cake Jongin calls his life. Years formed dusts over Jongin's memories of Zitao, yet he wipes them to unveil sharp eyes that nursed some secret vendetta against Sehun's management. Jongdae informed him it's been months since he last saw Zitao, but Jongdae isn't Jongin. Jongdae doesn't know Zitao's favorite hideouts, doesn't know what kind of bars lures Zitao in.
Jongdae doesn't know where to begin searching for Zitao.
But Jongin does.
Jongin jumps off the bench and hops his way through the park. Birds are roused from their ritual of looking for worms that have inched to the surface. Heads snap to Jongin's direction as he ignores the pointed looks questioning his sanity.
༺
The search was easier than Jongin thought it would be. It turns out, Zitao was the one who found him.
Inside a dingy bar surrounded by cramped shops and buildings, Jongin had been taking shots after shots of burning alcohol when Zitao strutted inside, treating the place like his own personal runway. Time has been kind to Zitao: the dark rings aren't apparent underneath Zitao's eyes anymore, his skin reveals no signs of aging. But then again, modern cosmetics does wonders, too.
"You're dressed like a bum." If there's one thing the years haven't changed in Zitao, it's his foul demeanor. "Did you get that from a dump because it stinks like one, too."
"I did. This is better than running around with only a towel."
"Why would you run around with only a towel?" Zitao asks and Jongin is filled with friendly affection towards the Chinese diva. As far as Jongin is concerned, Zitao lives solely for the present. He isn't one to ask for a full blown-narrative of anyone's past or their perspectives of their futures.
Jongin takes another shot. "Because I ran away after a gun was pointed to my head just as I finished showering."
"Why would a gun be pointed at your head after you shower?"
"Because I am actually Kim Jongin, not Kai."
Zitao's eyes scrutinizes Jongin for a minute before turning to the bartender, demanding for a bottle and a shitload of ice. As his order is placed, Zitao turns to Jongin. "Well, Jongin. It seems to me that we have some catching up to do."
༺
Zitao is shielded behind fogs of cigarette smoke. Somewhere in the shadows, a dull jazz song plays. Tones interrupt Jongin's narration, filling the silence when he takes a deep breath. "And it was all cool man, but I okay--I fucked Kyungsoo and shit it was more than fuck actually I don't know how to describe it. He looks innocent but he's like a tornado in bed and this isn't flattering so I'll continue. The morning after that, he woke up earlier than I did and he saw the tattoo on my hips. Fucking Sehun and his fucking antics got me caught. Shit, Tao. Kyungsoo is cute. He let me shower first before pointing a gun to my head. What a polite motherfucker."
"Well from what you told me, it seems to me like you adored this polite motherfucker." Zitao intervenes.
"Adore--present tense. What can I say? I'm a sucker for guys who name their own cups and point guns in my head for fun. I know I could get away from him easily, but by now I'm certain Luhan and the rest knows about Kim Jongin from Oh Sehun's family. I regret not kissing Kyungsoo. He has soft lips. I like them, they taste like the next sixty years of my life." Jongin conceal cheesy thoughts about Do Kyungsoo using a blanket of foul words, indifferent statements. But Zitao knows him too well and Jongin knows Zitao knows how deeply he's wounded. Kyungsoo's definitely more than just a fuck-and-run, as Zitao would call it.
Zitao smiles. He stares at Jongin as if he was a shooting star he had no intention of wishing on. Jongin has long since realized that Zitao's eyes are one of the deadliest weapons he ever saw. They could pierce right through any surface like x-ray machines. Except that x-ray machines aren't human; they don't have poorly-dyed burgundy hair and a sick sense of humor.
The unfamiliar song ends to allow Sinatra to belt out Fly Me To The Moon through the speakers. This is one of Jongin's favorite songs. He wonders whether or not Kyungsoo likes it as much as he does.
"Jongin, do you know what we are?" Bony fingers sweep over empty air. The end of the cancer stick flickers in the dark. Zitao shifts closer to Jongin. "We're Dirtbags. Fuckups. We're the leftovers rotting in restaurants' garbage bin. Worst yet, we're the dog shit people wouldn't want to step on."
"We're not. Don't be bitter."
It happens all at once. Zitao is on his feet, lunging for Jongin, gripping the collar his shirt inside balled fists. Jongin appears unfazed. Zitao's eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, the scent of tobacco slithers into Jongin's nostrils. Up close, Zitao's anger is almost palpable. "Listen here, you ignorant shithead. We're being used and no--don't try to make excuses for them. Sehun, Luhan. Man we're just being treated like rats. If it wasn't for Sehun and the crimes you covered up for him, you wouldn't be in that fucking asylum. You would have been a free man! You wasted years in that thing because Sehun was, is, and will always be too much of a dick to stand up for himself."
Zitao stubs his cigar against Jongin's neck as Sinatra sings about the spring in Jupiter and Mars. "And look at you now, Mr. Kim fucking Jongin. You're in my make-shift lair because Sehun ordered you around, told you to spy and be all Tom Cruise in our enemy's mansion. What do you get from it? A broken heart and the inability to tell the person you love how you feel about him. Sehun, Luhan, Jongdae, Minseok, everyone. You hear me, everyone is using us! That's why I'm trying to get away from those fuckers, but you're Godsend to me, you know. It's me and you against those crackheads in tuxedos."
There's a faint scent of burning flesh in the around them. Jongin hisses. "So, what are we going to do?"
"I've been waiting all night for you to ask me that, fuckface." Zitao's smile is beautiful like how knives are beautiful--sharp and piercing. "Simple, we're going to bang bang all of them. When they're gone, we're free bastards. You can even rescue your princess Kyungsoo along the way."
༺
They kill without any regards to the standard operating procedure that involves deliberate planning and foolproof strategies. Jongin and Zitao swims against the current they once followed. Gathering information about their targets isn't difficult when your mere presence instills fear in your underlings. Prepared with nothing but two Remington R1s, backed up by unwavering self-confidence. Zitao's beloved Porsche 911 Turbo speeds down the highway, racing through the labyrinth of signs and stoplights.
They're blurring away from the high-end club they dumped Baekhyun and Chanyeol's body in, edging closer to the neighborhood of Sehun's house. Jongin leans deeper into the leather front seat. The surroundings fade into the backdrop of some Indie vocalists' voice. Sappy lyrics punctuate the atmosphere and Jongin knows they're better off this way, without interchanging fickle words, fake concern towards the act they've just committed.
"I'll go take care of Sehun and Jongdae. Wait for me here." Tires screech to a sudden halt. Zitao leaves the engine on and slams the door.
Jongin sees himself in the side mirror.
The truth is, Kim Jongin is somewhere between Jongin and Kai. A long exhale of thought and too quick molecules has Jongin staring at his reflection once more, with eyes searching for reason, for a confirmation that maybe he was meant to end up like this. As an insignificant spec in Kyungsoo's life, another man who can only act tough behind the safety of a gun. Jongin longs to be something more than the creases on Kyungsoo's pillow sheets, a name crossed off someone's target list.
Jongin wants to exist, but he's neither here nor there.
༺
Luhan's death is the closest thing to a funeral Zitao and Jongin can organize.
Luhan is another six bullets, forty seconds to finalize and seven minutes to lay a blanket of scarlet roses upon. Cross legged on the ground, Zitao and Jongin's knees are touching. A pencil and sketch pad is on Zitao's lap; he's creating lines, shading areas and imitating the reality of the situation as he sees it. His habit of drawing prized corpses nearly slips off Jongin's mind like sand between outstretched fingers.
"You don't have to watch me, fuckface." Zitao whispers above the scratching noise. "Shoo off and go to that princess of yours. I want to meet him. We're safe now. By the way, I haven't seen you smoke for a while. Is it an asylum thing or is not smoking a new trend?"
"Kyungsoo can't stand the smell of tobacco." Jongin would have argued about safety being false in this world, but the image of Kyungsoo's smile is seared into the folds of his brain and he stands up and walks away.
༺
D.O. is a bundle of nerves tying and untying themselves in his stomach. Baekhyun and Chanyeol are endless rings without voices answering at the other end. Luhan is nowhere to be found and Jongin is another purple dream that dripped down his fingertips. He enters his room, whole body anchored by stress the days carved into his joints.
Before he can switch the lights on, something warm encircles his waist. He struggles for the blade on his back pocket, but--
"Kyungsoo."
D.O. would have recognized the voice anywhere, nowhere at all. The writhing stops, but he keeps his guard up and Jongin's hold on him tightens, squeezing out fear and the brightest color of rainbows. At a time like this, it's silly to be drunk in euphoria and memories but that's what D.O. is currently experiencing. Five days and Jongin is still warm, his head still fits into D.O's neck, his arms still wrap around D.O. as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it is.
"Listen, Kyungsoo. We've... got rid of them. You'll hate me for taking Luhan and Baekhyun and Chanyeol, but I did the same to my family and let's say it's not the easiest thing I've done. But this is the only solution I can think of. It's never going to end. It's one kill after another and aren't you tired of it all? I know I am. We can just run away from all this and forget."
"Why couldn't you just leave me alone? So you've disposed of them. Congratulations. You don't have to drag me into this."
Jongin buries his forehead into the crook of D.O.'s shoulder, planting kisses into flesh like unspoken promises: It'll be okay. We'll be okay. I'm here. You can drop those weapons now. "Because when I think of building nothing from scratch, I always think of your cooking. Or when I imagine being on a road trip somewhere, it's your voice that would be belching out songs beside me. And when I see stars--wait, let me check my script."
He produces a paper from his pocket, unfolds it and reads in the dim light. "When I see stars in the sky, I think I'd love to see them reflected in your eyes, too. Isn't this enough reason because I still have three more excuses prepared."
This is how Jongin knows they'll be okay: when Kyungsoo suppresses his laughter and turns around to kiss Jongin.
By now, Kyungsoo has taught his tongue how to make pennies, and every time their mouths are to meet, Kyungsoo will slip coins to the back of Jongin's throat and make wishes, hoping that at least one of them will come true.
༺
In here, life continues in whispers and quiet touches, identical laughter and bed sheets rumpled from hours of love making.
Jongin and Kyungsoo continues, ends just like in A.
༺
.
So much for happy endings.
f i n.
[a/n: lol i kid. the bottomline is that jongin and kyungsoo dies jongin and kyungsoo dies jongin and kyungsoo dies. basically this was inspired by margaret atwood's happy endings. i wasn't so sure but i kind of like how this goes. like thinking that anything can stem out from a single moment. anyway, i hope you survived this word vomit and thank you ;; for sifting through this word vomit.]
pairing: kaisoo, kray, baekyeol [ot12]
rating: NC-17
genre: romance, action, angst
part: 3 / 3
summary: kyungsoo's lips tastes like the next sixty years of jongin's life.
part two; one shot
the bottom line;
is that all endings are the same,
however you slice it.
Kyungsoo has already undressed Kim Jongin's secret.
He holds him at gunpoint and a variety of choices are laid out before them.
For a happy ending, try A.
A.
The muzzle is parallel to Jongin's forehead.
"It doesn't have to end like this." Jongin whispers. He walks closer, wrapping both arms around Kyungsoo; remaining statue still until Kyungsoo trembles in his arms. Hugging Kyungsoo feels a bit similar to holding a fluttering hummingbird inside cupped hands.
Kyungsoo drops his gun.
"Please, hyung, please. Let's forget all this, okay? D.O. and Kai. Let's forget them. I still have some people I can trust, a couple of kids who can get us a new identity and some IDs. What about it? Hyung, please. Please. I just want this to stop, please help me make this stop." Choking on sobs, Jongin leans into Kyungsoo. "Hyung, do you realize that this is never going to end? We're like dominoes. One falls, and triggers a lengthy chain."
Kyungsoo pats Jongin's shoulder, both meeting each other for the first time. "D.O? What are you talking about? My name is Kyungsoo. Nice to meet you."
Jongin needed a few seconds to understand the situation, and when he does, he smiles. "I'm Kim Jongin."
༺
In just one day, Kyungsoo and Jongin fled to the underskirts of the city, trading with men in unwashed clothes and scar-covered faces. Jongin claims these guys are the real deal and Kyungsoo can only look at streets reflected in Jongin's eyes and trust him. The clock is ticking. Threats and promises are exchanged, wads of bills morph into passports and foolproof identification cards. Hands are shook. Luhan would track them down soon enough. Kyungsoo and Jongin's wallets are burned; leaving no trails for others to follow. They have to be out of this country before midnight. New clothes are bought, casual wigs worn. Taxi drivers are bartered to go faster. By the time details are ironed out, Kim Jongin and Do Kyungsoo are gone.
According to their certificates and the name the airport ticketing staff repeated, they are Mr. Dyo and Mr. Gam Jung Un.
༺
They start anew.
In the underbelly of Tokyo, ringed by possibilities and strangers who will never meet the people Kyungsoo and Jongin once were. Every single day is dedicated to burying fragments of their old life. After years of living on luxury bought by illegal means, being normal is a challenge Jongin and Kyungsoo are struggling to overcome. It surprises Jongin, how naked he feels when the cold steel of a weapon isn't strapped to waist, how shaken he is when Kyungsoo greets him Welcome back home after a long day of searching for a decent job to support the both of them.
Yet somehow, they manage.
Kyungsoo is planning to run his own restaurant. Jongin, still young and still hopeless, laughs and promises to handle the accounts when the business booms. A week later, they'll move in to a larger apartment. Three months after that, they'll mark off potential spots where they can rent a place for Kyungsoo's restaurant to flourish. But for now, Jongin and Kyungsoo are lying on the rooftop of their apartment's building, clasping the other's hand tightly. Silently promising everything and nothing at all.
Artificial lights pollute the skyline, preventing naked eyes from observing the twinkling stars overhead. Kyungsoo and Jongin's attention is fixed on the skies. Jongin sees himself outside of himself; he's lying helplessly beside another man, stargazing--minus the star part--and for the first time ever since he got caught up in the wave of violence and defeat, Jongin is finally content. He can do this forever--heck, he will do this forever if Kyungsoo will let him.
"Jongin, what if somewhere out there, let's say a couple in a remote village in Austria or two lovers stuck in Myeongdong, are doing the same thing as us?" Kyungsoo asks. There's something about the absence of light that causes Kyungsoo's voice to quieten until his syllables are whispered. It's almost as if the dark is a force to be respected. "What if they're lying like this and hold hands like this and listen to the city beat like this and what if they love like us? Don't you think it's romantic? I think it is. It's nice to know that we're not the only one feeling this way."
"But we are the only ones feeling this way." Jongin faces Kyungsoo, needing a few seconds to breathe because Kyungsoo throws him off guard and he's falling once more; harder, faster to the ground. "I refuse to believe that people can share the same emotion. What I feel about you is different from what you probably feel about me. What we have between us is something no one else can acquire, copy down to the last tingling nerve. Not everyone feels the same. Alright, there's sad and there's happy and there's ecstatic and gloomy, but the result of the combination of all that varies from person to person."
Confusion is laced in every word Kyungsoo says. "I don't understand. What do you feel towards me, then? If it isn't just love?"
"It's like this: what I feel about you is something that can only be prompted by our circumstances. If another person used to be a killer like me, a hitman turned spy who then turned to goo at your feet when I met you, and if they'd been threatened to be killed by the person they love, yet ended up running away from all of it and starting over again, then yes. They would get a gist of the emotions I harbor." He lifts his index finger, taps Kyungsoo's forehead and lets it glide down to the bridge of Kyungsoo's nose. "So with that in mind, I refuse to let these emotions be watered down into simple words that seven billion other people can use."
"You're being extremely cheesy tonight." Kyungsoo states when his heart beats down to normal. Big, fat butterflies flutter their way out of Kyungsoo's stomach.
"No, I'm just... scared." Jongin replies with a voice made out of glass.
"Of what?"
"Of you. Of what you're capable of. I'm scared of Luhan and Sehun and of the world we knew. I'm scared that I'll come home one day and find your guts splayed all over our living room. I'm scared of what will happen after this. I'm scared because I've become this weak and I don't want the time to come when I'm no longer able to say all this mushy-dushy fluffy, icky stuff to you."
"Don't be. Fear is only a noun. don't you dare let go of my hand."
༺
Kyungsoo sometimes cheers Jongin up by folding a bouquet of paper roses and storing them in Jongin's cabinet. Kyungsoo, without D.O's shadow is all rainbows and cooking shows, Friday night poker and surprise back hugs.
"Why paper? There's a floral shop down the road." Twisting the paper stems between his fingers, Jongin will complain every time he receives Kyungsoo's gifts. "My love is so cheap."
"But don't you like it?"
Jongin squints. "Hmm. Let me think about it."
Kyungsoo puffs his cheeks and dives in the couch for Jongin and the paper roses. He takes the colorful roses in his hands, traps Jongin between his legs and shoves said roses into Jongin's mouth which is wide open in laughter. "Eat this until you like them, then! You unappreciative blockhead this took me two hours to make! The least you can do is pretend to like them!"
Chuckles keep bursting from Jongin's mouth. His tongue is half-dried by the papers and Kyungsoo's face is in a deep shade of red. The couch creeks under Jongin's limbs as he grips Kyungsoo by the hips and pulls him to the side until Kyungsoo is undearneath him. The flowers are all but wrinkled and forgotten beside them. "I like them, I really do."
"Really?"
"Really." Jongin smiles because Kyungsoo is doing that widening thing with his eyes and it's too cute for him to handle.
Kyungsoo grabs a handful of paper roses and presses them against Jongin's chest. "It's a good thing, then. Unlike real roses, these ones won't make you think of funerals. Plus they won't wilt. And oh-- did I mention they're cheaper?"
Jongin laughs and Kyungsoo laughs and for a moment, they're simply two lovers basking in the four o'clock sunlight. No scars or secrets. No pasts. Just Kyungsoo and Jongin. Jongin and Kyungsoo.
This is more than enough.
༺
Sleep ties knots in Kyungsoo's hair and Jongin's heart.
Sunlight ribbons the horizon in red and orange, just beyond their window. Jongin is careful not to stir Kyungsoo back to consciousness. His eyes are trained on Kyungsoo's face. Jongin has his heart on his sleeve as he observes the calmness painted on Kyungsoo's features,
Maybe it's the warm sun. Maybe it's the color of Kyungsoo's cheeks or the shade of his hair. Maybe it's because Kyungsoo is so close and fragile and everything Jongin could have wished for and didn't because wishes are designed for helpless people. Maybe it's the air of their room. Maybe it's every little detail compromising this very moment that brings tears to Jongin's eyes. It occurs to him, in this instant, that this could all dissipate like winter fog. Kyungsoo could not be here. He could not be okay.
One day, every bit of Jongin's flesh that Kyungsoo graced with his, will rot into this earth. And his mind, too. And with it, every memory he ever had of Kyungsoo will decay and be gone for good.
༺
They end after the departure of the herd of people in black, whose lives happened to brush against theirs.
They end as two tombstones underneath folded paper roses.
This is how they end; as two bodies lying side by side six feet under the ground.
B.
The muzzle is parallel to Jongin's forehead.
Agony is the distance between Kim Jongin and the gun Kyungsoo firmly holds in his hand. It's the way Jongin's mouth dries up with all the explanations they both didn't need to hear. Staring at the dark eyes he has grown to adore, Jongin thinks of the phrase people say about death and how the person behind the trigger is the one you're willing to take a bullet for. Life is fucked up like that, emotions even more so.
"You're not going to shoot me. You can't." His voice is steadier than what he expected it to be, calm voice hiding trembles he feels inside. The truth is, Jongin might as well have swallowed an earthquake, what with all the fault lines jarred in his bones.
"I can and I will." Kyungsoo's voice is dry, hollow. Jongin hears the sound of a soul who already had enough. "Traitor. Spy. Conniving bastard. I can't believe I didn't catch you earlier."
"You're so cute, Kyungsoo." Jongin approaches him. When Kyungsoo's eyes widen, Jongin is sucked back into the vortex of indigo skies with scars scattered like dandelion seeds on a fertile field, back to when yesterday's sins are hiding behind what are we having for breakfasts and apologetic kisses.
"Do you really believe that shooting me will solve everything? Our family is still moving and sooner than later we'll coincide with yours. When that happens, I don't think throwing me out of the fucking picture will help. You're not strong enough to kill me, if you were, I should have died in my sleep." Jongin says when what he really wanted to say was: I like you as Kyungsoo and as D.O and I'm sorry that it has come to this.
Kyungsoo squeezes the trigger. Once, twice, thrice: starting from the space between Jongin's eyebrows, trailing down to the dent on his collarbone, ending with another bang on his left chest.
"Kyungsoo, I was once.... very happy." Struggling against death's zealous grip, Jongin heaves and falls down.
Raging crimson fills Kyungsoo's vision, blocking everything until all he sees is light smoke and the eyes that have always been able to see right through him. He shoots and shoots, and shoots until he runs out of bullets and his knees quiver with the weight of burdens he can no longer carry.
Jongin ends like this; under the hands of his nemesis, on a serene Saturday morning inside Luhan's mansion.
༺
The shower's heat slices Kyungsoo's face. Water is insufficient, unable to wash away the dirt and guilt sticking to his skin like cobwebs. An hour had passed since he killed Jongin. Steam blurs his surroundings into oblivion. A mantra of I murdered Jongin. I murdered the traitor. I killed Kai plays on a loop. He fails to hear the pitter-patter of the droplets against his skin and the tiles.
In a little while, the wheels will be moving again. Luhan will pry the details out of Kyungsoo and he'll have to confess what happened to his capo. He'll have to tell Luhan about how there never was a Kai in the first place, how Oh Sehun and his subordinates shed cunning tricks from their sleeves. Luhan will take it from there. Unlike him, Luhan always has a plan to combat anything.
Kyungsoo, I was once very happy.
Drenched fists punch the wall. D.O. has stolen lives that weren't his for the taking. Kyungsoo was content, innocent until Kai waltzed along and gave him a reason to kill. His hands are now tainted by the blood of a man he could have fallen in love with under different circumstances.
Kyungsoo twists the shower off.
༺
Evening coats the trees dark blue. Aided by moonlight, Kyungsoo observes the grounds of Luhan's mansion. The landscape remains unchanged and touched at the same time. Memories of Jongin hover like unwelcomed clouds over the fresh grasses. Kyungsoo pictures silver-kissed skin, and he waits in the cold for nearly half an hour before he remembers that Kai is gone and so are the cooking challenges, movie marathons preceding target shooting practices.
Kyungsoo, I was once very happy.
Kai is the fading echo Kyungsoo strains to hear as he staggers his way to his bedroom. One step after the other. Distance does not seem to change. Kyungsoo heaves, moves forward until he's in the vicinity of the room where something like love blossomed and where something like love withered. Jongin's body is not here anymore, but there are still creases on Kyungsoo's sheets, discarded towels that no longer whispered Kai's name.
Kyungsoo realizes it takes a few seconds to die and a lifetime to be gone.
༺
This is how Do Kyungsoo ends; as three shots in the forehead inside his bedroom, with the same gun he used to kill Kim Jongin
C.
The muzzle is parallel to Jongin's forehead.
Jongin counts to three, forces himself to believe Kyungsoo is just another target before attacking him. Two seconds and the gun is jerked off Kyungsoo's hand. One and Kyungsoo is on the floor with Jongin's fingers coiled around his neck, blocking his passageways and breathing. Jongin adds in more pressure, seeing red spots on Kyungsoo's eyes, ignoring Kyungsoo's flailing limbs.
He only lets go when the struggling, breathing stops. Checking Kyungsoo's pulse once last time, he then closes Kyungsoo's lids and pick the cold metal on the floor. Kai ends when Kyungsoo did. Picking up the leftover pieces, Kim Jongin raids Kyungsoo's cabinets until he finds a stack of magazines. Reloading the borrowed gun, Jongin stumbles out of Kyungsoo's room.
He catches Baekhyun and Chanyeol in their room, barging it open to reveal the two lovers cuddling in bed. Chanyeol's arm draped over Baekhyun's waist reminds Jongin of Kyungsoo; of how he and Kyungsoo were deprived of that freedom. Baekhyun sees Jongin first. "Why didn't you knock--"
Baekhyun is all milky skin and tangled hair and slender fingers nestling on Chanyeol's shoulder. With his right hand, Jongin raises the gun, quickly aligns his vision to the Baekhyun's left chest and shoots; blood splaying over Chanyeol and their bed after the deafening bang. Jongin shortens Chanyeol's anguish by flicking his wrist and shooting. Twice. Gun smoke turns the air acrid.
Three down. One more to go.
While walking down the intricate corridor, lenses zoom in on Kim Jongin.
Tiny red lights start blinking.
༺
Luhan is waiting; nursing milk in a wine glass. He is lounging in his beloved chair.
It takes seven minutes for Jongin to enter Luhan's study room; a fleeting moment for the hitman to point his weapon to Luhan's head. He approaches Luhan and when he does, Luhan smiles at him. Smiles like how a kid given a balloon would; with innocent eyes and honest lips swarmed with unlimited thank yous. It's the smile of a man who knows too much and doesn't speak enough. It's Oh Sehun's smile reflected in Luhan's face.
Jongin paces forward, angling the barrel closer to Luhan. The sickly sweet smile broadens. Luhan takes a sip of his milk. He brings the glass down.
"I hope you're not going to deny me the pleasure of feeding you with knowledge, Kim Jongin." Sincerity coats Luhan's voice. "Are you in a hurry to dispose of us? Will my ending be similar to Baekhyun, Chanyeol, and oh--your dear Kyungsoo's? My, my. You've done them in less than ten minutes. Young people these days are caught in an eternal rush."
The unwavering calm, factual tone in which Luhan speaks irritates Jongin. Nerves snap and Jongin flattens the muzzle against Luhan's temples. "So you knew."
"I should be offended you took me for an idiot, Mr. Kim Jongin. I knew, of course that you belong to Sehun the moment you stepped out of that blasted asylum. You amused me so much when you joined us, going under the charade of being Kai. It's a pretty name, by the way. What a shame that no one's going to be around to call you that. I also knew it would end like this." Luhan laughs. He shakes his head and the steel is shoved deeper to his temple. "Sending someone to go undercover in my mansion? Heh, Sehun is as stupid as ever. Sehun didn't change much. He is very much like what he was when we were younger. I suppose he didn't grace you with any childhood stories, did he?"
Jongin's index finger curves around the trigger.
"Oops. Ooops, ooops. You wouldn't want to kill me yet, Jongin. You have all the time in the world for that. Please, let me enlighten you with a short story." Luhan talks softly, dragging syllables and memories like blood on his tongue. Jongin doesn't move. "Not that long ago, there were two little boys who were born and grew up in privileged families. Our fathers were ahh--thick as thieves. Sehun's father was the capo and dad was his confidant. Sehun and I were surrounded by luxurious things, of course. We knew what our families were up to, but we thought it was normal. Now Sehun and I did a lot of things together; a favorite of ours would be to plant roses in his father's mansion. He liked those pesky white roses, while I was careful about my red ones. Sehun told me it was because white roses are untainted, pure and fragile-looking. I thought it was bullshit. I still do."
Luhan's left hand clenches to a fist, knuckles stretched tight over pallid skin. Grasping for thinning threads of vengeance. "Know how it turned to this? It's because of Sehun's father. He had my father murdered over a disagreement that, until to this day, I couldn't figure out what. Murdered and castrated, dad's body was found in his bed. Mr. Kim Jongin, do you know pain? Mr. Jongin, do you know what it is like to be thirteen and see your mother covered in your father's guts? My mother and I fled, we were in hiding for months. I tried to be stronger, especially after she passed away after a heart attack."
Something in Luhan is flaking, peeling off to show the brittle fragments that kept him in place. Jongin has a feeling that if he exhales in Luhan's way, the Chinese porcelain doll would shatter. Luhan continues narrating his story. "I was fifteen the first and last time I killed someone. Sehun's father. Surprise, surprise. That man was as weak as his son. I can't count how many times I had to slash him with that butcher knife. No, Mr. Kim Jongin. I didn't kill Sehun's father, I tried to dig for the remains of my father and mom and everything that was taken away from me. What I'm doing now to Sehun would never be enough. I'd like for him to experience my suffering."
Luhan only pauses to inhale a lungful of air. "My time is ticking, Mr. Kim Jongin. I'd at least like someone to remember that the first ever gift I gave to Sehun was a white rose. The ones he grew in his garden, dipped in his father's blood. I can't even describe how dark and beautiful it was."
Jongin feels the beginning of vomit on his stomach, tastes metal in the back of his throat. "I'm going to kill you now, you know that?"
Luhan drones on as if Jongin didn't say anything. Memories and words, phrases and questions merge together, thickening like poisonous smoke that can kill anyone. "Mr. Kim Jongin, addiction is tricky. For example: a man who quit smoking for eleven years spent fifteen seconds in an elevator with a man smoking a cigarette. He gave in. What I'm trying to say is that I think I might love Sehun again."
Jongin presses the trigger until he feels the resistance.
It goes through Luhan's head, but Jongin knows it's useless.
Luhan has been dead for a long time.
༺
At the same time Jongin shot Luhan, a figure moves in the shadow. Invisible eyes witness the time bomb going off. Three in the afternoon brings Sehun's house to ruin. Bursting flames and flying granite. Dark clouds of smoke staining the blue skies. The man grins.
Luhan was right.
It will end smoothly.
༺
Throughout the years, he passes by faceless people, people with secrets and reasons. He tries to live on, pretending he isn't chained at the ankles by a corroding past and shadowed by the souls of those that he could have loved. Food tastes like ashes. He sees the world in black and white, finding comfort in gray corners, empty noodle cups and roofs with dripping holes.
This is how Kim Jongin ends: when the world demands more of him than what he can give.
D.
The muzzle is parallel to Jongin's forehead.
The route outside with its spider-web complexity flashes in Jongin's mind. Without wasting a second, Jongin raises his right leg in the air, using force to knock Kyungsoo off his feet. His sole collides with Kyungsoo's stomach and Kyungsoo groans as he tries to stand up. The hold over the gun tightens. Jongin abuses the element of surprise by barging out of the room through the window, shattering glass with the pressure of his knees and elbows. Miniature shards digs to his exposed skin, he'll take care of that later.
Jongin rolls down the patch of grass just as Kyungsoo shoots. The bullet misses Jongin's leg for just a centimeter.
Five minutes after staggering out of the shower, Kim Jongin is clutching a cotton towel around his hips as he runs barefoot towards the unknown.
༺
Fully clothed and alone, Kim Jongin sits by a park bench and begins plotting for his next move.
The midnight blue shirt and loose jeans he salvaged from one of the city's charity dump bins reeks of rubbing alcohol and basements. But beggars can't be choosers. Especially beggars who feel tremendously naked without any type of explosive fastened to them. When the wind blows, it brings with it the musky scent of fall. Nostalgia swells in Jongin, conjuring stars trapped in Kyungsoo's irises.
"Think, Jongin. Think." He chides, closing his eyes until darkness greets him.
Going back to Sehun is dangerous. Jongin supposes it's what Luhan and his family assumes he'll do. But Jongin has already said goodbye to the ghost of him who listened to every piano piece and wasted minutes in Sehun's modest living room. Only now did he realize that Sehun was actually the poison, even if he's been drinking him like the cure. Besides, he's gotten so exhausted from everything. And it's the kind of exhausted that isn't limited to draggy limbs, sore muscles, weak bones. He's drained, fatigued from breathing in gunpowder, tired from the stream of dirty cash.
Escaping Korea isn't so bad, but he's on the run and without someone to back him up, his flight would be rendered useless.
Kim Jongin has always been alone.
But he's never been this lonely.
It's kind of absurd, really. How Jongin's thoughts find their way back to Kyungsoo's lips, how, in the middle of a catastrophe, it's still Kyungsoo's safety he's fidgeting about. Maybe this is love, or maybe this is stupidity in the form of a short hitman.
By now, Sehun would have no clue what happened inside Luhan's mansion. By now, Luhan, Baekhyun, Chanyeol along with the enraged D.O. would begin scheming against his familia. They'll be panicking. Jongin groans and shakes his head. Minseok is already six feet under. Jongdae's too loyal to join his brigade. No one in this world can help him, but--
Tao.
Zi-fucking-tao with his designer jeans and don't fuck with me attitude might just be the icing to the bittersweet cake Jongin calls his life. Years formed dusts over Jongin's memories of Zitao, yet he wipes them to unveil sharp eyes that nursed some secret vendetta against Sehun's management. Jongdae informed him it's been months since he last saw Zitao, but Jongdae isn't Jongin. Jongdae doesn't know Zitao's favorite hideouts, doesn't know what kind of bars lures Zitao in.
Jongdae doesn't know where to begin searching for Zitao.
But Jongin does.
Jongin jumps off the bench and hops his way through the park. Birds are roused from their ritual of looking for worms that have inched to the surface. Heads snap to Jongin's direction as he ignores the pointed looks questioning his sanity.
༺
The search was easier than Jongin thought it would be. It turns out, Zitao was the one who found him.
Inside a dingy bar surrounded by cramped shops and buildings, Jongin had been taking shots after shots of burning alcohol when Zitao strutted inside, treating the place like his own personal runway. Time has been kind to Zitao: the dark rings aren't apparent underneath Zitao's eyes anymore, his skin reveals no signs of aging. But then again, modern cosmetics does wonders, too.
"You're dressed like a bum." If there's one thing the years haven't changed in Zitao, it's his foul demeanor. "Did you get that from a dump because it stinks like one, too."
"I did. This is better than running around with only a towel."
"Why would you run around with only a towel?" Zitao asks and Jongin is filled with friendly affection towards the Chinese diva. As far as Jongin is concerned, Zitao lives solely for the present. He isn't one to ask for a full blown-narrative of anyone's past or their perspectives of their futures.
Jongin takes another shot. "Because I ran away after a gun was pointed to my head just as I finished showering."
"Why would a gun be pointed at your head after you shower?"
"Because I am actually Kim Jongin, not Kai."
Zitao's eyes scrutinizes Jongin for a minute before turning to the bartender, demanding for a bottle and a shitload of ice. As his order is placed, Zitao turns to Jongin. "Well, Jongin. It seems to me that we have some catching up to do."
༺
Zitao is shielded behind fogs of cigarette smoke. Somewhere in the shadows, a dull jazz song plays. Tones interrupt Jongin's narration, filling the silence when he takes a deep breath. "And it was all cool man, but I okay--I fucked Kyungsoo and shit it was more than fuck actually I don't know how to describe it. He looks innocent but he's like a tornado in bed and this isn't flattering so I'll continue. The morning after that, he woke up earlier than I did and he saw the tattoo on my hips. Fucking Sehun and his fucking antics got me caught. Shit, Tao. Kyungsoo is cute. He let me shower first before pointing a gun to my head. What a polite motherfucker."
"Well from what you told me, it seems to me like you adored this polite motherfucker." Zitao intervenes.
"Adore--present tense. What can I say? I'm a sucker for guys who name their own cups and point guns in my head for fun. I know I could get away from him easily, but by now I'm certain Luhan and the rest knows about Kim Jongin from Oh Sehun's family. I regret not kissing Kyungsoo. He has soft lips. I like them, they taste like the next sixty years of my life." Jongin conceal cheesy thoughts about Do Kyungsoo using a blanket of foul words, indifferent statements. But Zitao knows him too well and Jongin knows Zitao knows how deeply he's wounded. Kyungsoo's definitely more than just a fuck-and-run, as Zitao would call it.
Zitao smiles. He stares at Jongin as if he was a shooting star he had no intention of wishing on. Jongin has long since realized that Zitao's eyes are one of the deadliest weapons he ever saw. They could pierce right through any surface like x-ray machines. Except that x-ray machines aren't human; they don't have poorly-dyed burgundy hair and a sick sense of humor.
The unfamiliar song ends to allow Sinatra to belt out Fly Me To The Moon through the speakers. This is one of Jongin's favorite songs. He wonders whether or not Kyungsoo likes it as much as he does.
"Jongin, do you know what we are?" Bony fingers sweep over empty air. The end of the cancer stick flickers in the dark. Zitao shifts closer to Jongin. "We're Dirtbags. Fuckups. We're the leftovers rotting in restaurants' garbage bin. Worst yet, we're the dog shit people wouldn't want to step on."
"We're not. Don't be bitter."
It happens all at once. Zitao is on his feet, lunging for Jongin, gripping the collar his shirt inside balled fists. Jongin appears unfazed. Zitao's eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, the scent of tobacco slithers into Jongin's nostrils. Up close, Zitao's anger is almost palpable. "Listen here, you ignorant shithead. We're being used and no--don't try to make excuses for them. Sehun, Luhan. Man we're just being treated like rats. If it wasn't for Sehun and the crimes you covered up for him, you wouldn't be in that fucking asylum. You would have been a free man! You wasted years in that thing because Sehun was, is, and will always be too much of a dick to stand up for himself."
Zitao stubs his cigar against Jongin's neck as Sinatra sings about the spring in Jupiter and Mars. "And look at you now, Mr. Kim fucking Jongin. You're in my make-shift lair because Sehun ordered you around, told you to spy and be all Tom Cruise in our enemy's mansion. What do you get from it? A broken heart and the inability to tell the person you love how you feel about him. Sehun, Luhan, Jongdae, Minseok, everyone. You hear me, everyone is using us! That's why I'm trying to get away from those fuckers, but you're Godsend to me, you know. It's me and you against those crackheads in tuxedos."
There's a faint scent of burning flesh in the around them. Jongin hisses. "So, what are we going to do?"
"I've been waiting all night for you to ask me that, fuckface." Zitao's smile is beautiful like how knives are beautiful--sharp and piercing. "Simple, we're going to bang bang all of them. When they're gone, we're free bastards. You can even rescue your princess Kyungsoo along the way."
༺
They kill without any regards to the standard operating procedure that involves deliberate planning and foolproof strategies. Jongin and Zitao swims against the current they once followed. Gathering information about their targets isn't difficult when your mere presence instills fear in your underlings. Prepared with nothing but two Remington R1s, backed up by unwavering self-confidence. Zitao's beloved Porsche 911 Turbo speeds down the highway, racing through the labyrinth of signs and stoplights.
They're blurring away from the high-end club they dumped Baekhyun and Chanyeol's body in, edging closer to the neighborhood of Sehun's house. Jongin leans deeper into the leather front seat. The surroundings fade into the backdrop of some Indie vocalists' voice. Sappy lyrics punctuate the atmosphere and Jongin knows they're better off this way, without interchanging fickle words, fake concern towards the act they've just committed.
"I'll go take care of Sehun and Jongdae. Wait for me here." Tires screech to a sudden halt. Zitao leaves the engine on and slams the door.
Jongin sees himself in the side mirror.
The truth is, Kim Jongin is somewhere between Jongin and Kai. A long exhale of thought and too quick molecules has Jongin staring at his reflection once more, with eyes searching for reason, for a confirmation that maybe he was meant to end up like this. As an insignificant spec in Kyungsoo's life, another man who can only act tough behind the safety of a gun. Jongin longs to be something more than the creases on Kyungsoo's pillow sheets, a name crossed off someone's target list.
Jongin wants to exist, but he's neither here nor there.
༺
Luhan's death is the closest thing to a funeral Zitao and Jongin can organize.
Luhan is another six bullets, forty seconds to finalize and seven minutes to lay a blanket of scarlet roses upon. Cross legged on the ground, Zitao and Jongin's knees are touching. A pencil and sketch pad is on Zitao's lap; he's creating lines, shading areas and imitating the reality of the situation as he sees it. His habit of drawing prized corpses nearly slips off Jongin's mind like sand between outstretched fingers.
"You don't have to watch me, fuckface." Zitao whispers above the scratching noise. "Shoo off and go to that princess of yours. I want to meet him. We're safe now. By the way, I haven't seen you smoke for a while. Is it an asylum thing or is not smoking a new trend?"
"Kyungsoo can't stand the smell of tobacco." Jongin would have argued about safety being false in this world, but the image of Kyungsoo's smile is seared into the folds of his brain and he stands up and walks away.
༺
D.O. is a bundle of nerves tying and untying themselves in his stomach. Baekhyun and Chanyeol are endless rings without voices answering at the other end. Luhan is nowhere to be found and Jongin is another purple dream that dripped down his fingertips. He enters his room, whole body anchored by stress the days carved into his joints.
Before he can switch the lights on, something warm encircles his waist. He struggles for the blade on his back pocket, but--
"Kyungsoo."
D.O. would have recognized the voice anywhere, nowhere at all. The writhing stops, but he keeps his guard up and Jongin's hold on him tightens, squeezing out fear and the brightest color of rainbows. At a time like this, it's silly to be drunk in euphoria and memories but that's what D.O. is currently experiencing. Five days and Jongin is still warm, his head still fits into D.O's neck, his arms still wrap around D.O. as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it is.
"Listen, Kyungsoo. We've... got rid of them. You'll hate me for taking Luhan and Baekhyun and Chanyeol, but I did the same to my family and let's say it's not the easiest thing I've done. But this is the only solution I can think of. It's never going to end. It's one kill after another and aren't you tired of it all? I know I am. We can just run away from all this and forget."
"Why couldn't you just leave me alone? So you've disposed of them. Congratulations. You don't have to drag me into this."
Jongin buries his forehead into the crook of D.O.'s shoulder, planting kisses into flesh like unspoken promises: It'll be okay. We'll be okay. I'm here. You can drop those weapons now. "Because when I think of building nothing from scratch, I always think of your cooking. Or when I imagine being on a road trip somewhere, it's your voice that would be belching out songs beside me. And when I see stars--wait, let me check my script."
He produces a paper from his pocket, unfolds it and reads in the dim light. "When I see stars in the sky, I think I'd love to see them reflected in your eyes, too. Isn't this enough reason because I still have three more excuses prepared."
This is how Jongin knows they'll be okay: when Kyungsoo suppresses his laughter and turns around to kiss Jongin.
By now, Kyungsoo has taught his tongue how to make pennies, and every time their mouths are to meet, Kyungsoo will slip coins to the back of Jongin's throat and make wishes, hoping that at least one of them will come true.
༺
In here, life continues in whispers and quiet touches, identical laughter and bed sheets rumpled from hours of love making.
Jongin and Kyungsoo continues, ends just like in A.
༺
.
So much for happy endings.
f i n.
[a/n: lol i kid. the bottomline is that jongin and kyungsoo dies jongin and kyungsoo dies jongin and kyungsoo dies. basically this was inspired by margaret atwood's happy endings. i wasn't so sure but i kind of like how this goes. like thinking that anything can stem out from a single moment. anyway, i hope you survived this word vomit and thank you ;; for sifting through this word vomit.]