Post #24
Fics (#23)
The Weather Channel infinite, woohyun/sunggyu
Sharing the Stage 4minute/after school/kara/secret/sistar
and i'm joining up the dots exo, kai/d.o
i'll follow you until you love me exo, gen
grip block b, b-bomb/zico
untitled btob, hyunsik/sungjae
we are infinite shinee, gen
start over reply 1997, joonhee/yoonjae
wonderful tonight b1a4/ ( Read more... )
The Weather Channel infinite, woohyun/sunggyu
Sharing the Stage 4minute/after school/kara/secret/sistar
and i'm joining up the dots exo, kai/d.o
i'll follow you until you love me exo, gen
grip block b, b-bomb/zico
untitled btob, hyunsik/sungjae
we are infinite shinee, gen
start over reply 1997, joonhee/yoonjae
wonderful tonight b1a4/ ( Read more... )
Yixing sits on a bed in New York and tells himself it’s going to be okay. It’s not even a bed, he’ll realize later, it’s an army cot, without even a mattress, just a sheet of canvas pulled taught between poles, covered in ratty old blankets. He tells himself he’s not alone in a homeless shelter because he doesn’t know enough English to figure out how to stay in a hotel, where to find people he can talk to, doesn’t know if he can even speak anymore. He doesn't know anything, he thinks, except a boy named Jongin who maybe ruined him, and who he couldn't save.
He met Jongin during the summer. He doesn’t remember how many years ago it was, just knows that they both looked a lot younger than they do now, that their hands weren't quite as blood-stained and their smiles weren't quite so forced. He was studying Korean abroad on an eight-week program when he ran into the man-boy, really, he was just 19 at the time-in a bar. Yixing was strapped for cash; he’d underestimated the cost of living in Seoul. Jongin told him he could help. He needed a lookout for a job he was doing. He’d split his cut with Yixing if he could do that.
Next thing Yixing knew he was meeting a boss, a tall man who spoke too many languages and called himself Kris, hearing “he’s an excellent lookout, a great partner” spill from Jongin’s lips. He'd nodded along and, before long he was being tattooed and given martial arts training by a man named Tao who didn’t look much older than Jongin and handed a gun and taught by a Chen to aim and shoot and reload as fast as possible. They started calling him Lay and he learned that Jongin is called Kai. They spoke in codes, about each other, about jobs, about the world that existed outside, the world they inhabited and touched daily but seemed to shrink from few with each passing nightfall.
Jongin touched Yixing for the first time after Yixing killed his first witness, blew his head off with a gun fired at too close a range. Jongin touched Yixing when he was lying on his bed, shivering and feverish, throat and mouth sore from vomiting. Jongin pressed his lips to Yixing’s, and his shoulders and his torso and his legs and Yixing felt himself come alive again, a little, at the contact. They had even said their real names aloud, in the dark, for the first time in a long time, and Yixing thought he could get used to it, all of it, eventually, if Jongin was going to be there for him after.
They fucked up for the first time in Beijing. The syndicate didn't usually do international jobs; they left those to loose associates. But this was too big, too important for anyone but their own. So they sent in Kai and Lay, armed and dangerous, and it almost worked, albeit messily, but Yixing had watched someone sneak away after the shoot out that wasn't supposed to have to happen.
“He was blond,” Yixing told Kris when they were back in Korea, “blond and skinny and there one second, gone the next.”
Kris muttered something that seemed to end in han and Jongin seemed to understand.
He explained later: “Rivals. Kris thinks the guy who escaped is their number one man, Lu Han.”
The second and last time they fucked up was in Seoul. It was Lu Han, again, but this time he had Jongin and Jongin was telling Yixing to get the fuck out, run you fucker, please, go, go back and Yixing did, ran and ran until he was back to headquarters, back to Kris.
Except the building was on fire, and Kris was nowhere to be seen. He starts to run again, but this time with out of fear because he doesn't have anywhere to go, anyone to run to.
He chose New York because it was far. He’d never see any of them again, if they’re still alive. He’d never have to meet any memories. He could pass his life in absolute anonymity.
He closes his eyes, tries to get comfortable on the cot, tries not to imagine Jongin, bleeding from the temple, screaming, tries to pretend he doesn't wish he'd stayed, and fought.
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