At Gunpoint 2/10
Title: At Gunpoint 2/10
Pairing: Jonghyun/Key
Genre: AU
Rating: PG for this chapter
Summary: Kibum's hands urgently reach for the toilet bowl, fingers clutching the porcelain as he leans over, violently emptying the contents of his stomach. It's been almost three months.
A/N: A chapter to catch up with Kibum, yeah? Hope you enjoy :]
Kibum's hands urgently reach for the toilet bowl, fingers clutching the porcelain as he leans over, violently emptying the contents of his stomach. It's been almost three months.
Three months of this. Half-living and half-sleeping; seeing nightmares whenever he manages to get some shut-eye; waking up only to rush to the toilet.
He coughs three times, waits for his insides to stop trembling, and gets up.
He's perfectly aware of how messed up his organism is. He doesn't even try to deny it any more. Because his eyes have lost half their excitement, he knows as he stares into the mirror. Because, no matter what he may tell people, his mind isn't even healthy enough to begin with. He splashes some water onto his face, hunching over the sink. Turning the tap off, he raises one hand, palm firm against the mirror to support his weight.
To be fairly honest, he doesn't look like a total mess. Sure, the bags underneath his eyes may betray lack of decent sleep but, apart from that, one wouldn't be able to tell. Wouldn't be able to tell he's exhausted both physically and mentally. His face is slimmer and his hair is all-brown and straight, framing his features, but it doesn't necessarily look unappealing. He may even go as far as telling he'd gladly fall for himself at any point.
His free hand fetches his toothbrush and he lets habit take over, as he just looks around.
Approximately three months ago, he was living in his family's large house in the suburbs. It had a small pool, three bedrooms and a backyard with a mini-golf course, where he and his father used to play. Whenever it rained, they just stayed inside and made each other listen to different songs they liked, because that's how awesome his dad was.
He spits, rinses his mouth and puts his toothbrush back to where it belongs before getting out of the bathroom and heading towards the closet.
Now, his mother; she was a strange one. He loved her because of her sense of humour and how beautiful she always was but, aside from that, he didn't harbour any other special feelings for her. His father adored her to pieces even after she started becoming distant, but to be honest Kibum had seen it coming long before it happened. She had given hints that she felt smothered, but Kibum found it stupid. It wasn't his father that had changed, but her. Sure, they weren't the idea of the perfect family, but they were both healthy and wealthy, so they made do.
His fingers go through different articles of clothing, and he thinks it's going to take a while, until he most probably finds a shirt and a pair of pants that attract his attention.
And then, one night where sleep just didn't work for him, everything changed. And it wasn't quite the oh, that colour would look strangely cute on your hair, why don't you try it out kind of change. He remembers pretty much every second, long and stretched out of proportion, even though he wasn't conscious for all that long. He remembers the feeling of tightness on his chest, fear and shock and confusion mixed with something else. He remembers the hard leather against his lips, the words spoken into his ear, the intense eyes and a harsh realisation. And then nothing. Just his father, pale and bloody on his bed.
He swallows once he's fully changed, and looks at his reflection in the full-body mirror on the other side of the room. He's lost weight.
After that, he didn't ever speak a word about what happened that night, in fear of somebody coming back for him. Because he didn't know what his father ever did to deserve such hatred, but he was sure no one would hesitate before wasting just another bullet on him. Now, he just wishes he had.
He looks for his shoes.
His mother came back to town a day later, shocked. As the widow she was, she organised an expensive funeral, took every penny left -and they were a lot-, locked the house behind and just fled. Busan, Daegu, Incheon, Kibum still doesn't know exactly where she went. She just found comfort in some old friend's arms, or so she said. She left Kibum back as excess baggage, to be looked after by her older brother. She really, really didn't care, apparently. His father would be disappointed.
Shaking his head, he goes all the way around his bed. His hand goes for his mobile on the nightstand and his earphones in the drawer. He spends the next couple of minutes tucking the cord comfortably underneath his shirt and his mobile into his jeans pocket.
And what is there to live for, now? He's most probably just going to inherit half of the most profitable hotel in the city; spend his life in empty luxury. Other boys his age would sell more than a kidney to be in his position, but Kibum knows better. He's capable of understanding when he's being played, he's not stupid, and right now, this is exactly what's happening. His uncle is basically using him in his game against his partner, and he can do nothing but watch. Well, until he's of age, at least.
Having left his room -no, suite- behind, he calls for the elevator and stands there, earphones hanging from his neck. He'd give up waiting and fly down the stairs, even if he's so close to the very top of the building, but his stomach still hasn't quite settled. He steps in the cubicle the moment the doors open, and nods his head at the elevator operator's greeting.
Several dings and stops later, room keys in hand, he walks past pillars, tons of velvet and gold until he reaches the front desk. He smiles, unsurprisingly genuinely as he sets the keyring on top of the desk.
"Good morning!" comes a chirping voice, and Kibum's eyes fall on the young boy grinning up at him. His suit is neat and clean, his hair shines and he stands out from every other person in the reception, despite being probably the tiniest in size.
He greets him back as his keys are taken away and stored, and he watches him check in all the usual places for all the usual stuff.
"No mail or faxes today, either," he announces after a short while, some kind of pout on his lips as if he's sorry for delivering -most probably- bad news. His blue contact lenses steal Kibum's focus and he finds himself marvelling, for only a little, how this kid can handle afternoon school and still be bright and social in the morning, treating every stranger as a friend.
Kibum comes back to reality. Right, no mail. He just shrugs. It's not like he expected anything extraordinary to happen today, anyway. All the while, people keep coming and going, the main entrance opening and closing multiple times. "I'll probably see you later," he says, mouth corners twitching upwards.
"Yes, sir," he hears him reply the moment he turns to leave, and feels the urge to retrace his steps. He does so, slapping his palm against the desk and staring heavily, in the meantime. The other emits a short chuckle and looks down for a second. "Kibum, I mean," he corrects himself and said boy grins in satisfaction.
He lifts a hand in a half-wave before walking away. "Bye, Taemin," are his last words as he leaves.
Both of his earbuds are on just seconds later, his fingers shuffling through his mobile's playlist over the rough layer of his jeans. He's soon out on the streets, under the summer sun and amongst the crowd, soaking up everything like he hadn't ever stepped out of that damn hotel before.
Some idiot almost runs him over with his huge-ass bike a couple of blocks away, and it's only some minutes later that he realises how, if it weren't for the guy's driving skills, he could have gotten it bad.
He kind of wishes he actually had.
→ previous. next.
Pairing: Jonghyun/Key
Genre: AU
Rating: PG for this chapter
Summary: Kibum's hands urgently reach for the toilet bowl, fingers clutching the porcelain as he leans over, violently emptying the contents of his stomach. It's been almost three months.
A/N: A chapter to catch up with Kibum, yeah? Hope you enjoy :]
Kibum's hands urgently reach for the toilet bowl, fingers clutching the porcelain as he leans over, violently emptying the contents of his stomach. It's been almost three months.
Three months of this. Half-living and half-sleeping; seeing nightmares whenever he manages to get some shut-eye; waking up only to rush to the toilet.
He coughs three times, waits for his insides to stop trembling, and gets up.
He's perfectly aware of how messed up his organism is. He doesn't even try to deny it any more. Because his eyes have lost half their excitement, he knows as he stares into the mirror. Because, no matter what he may tell people, his mind isn't even healthy enough to begin with. He splashes some water onto his face, hunching over the sink. Turning the tap off, he raises one hand, palm firm against the mirror to support his weight.
To be fairly honest, he doesn't look like a total mess. Sure, the bags underneath his eyes may betray lack of decent sleep but, apart from that, one wouldn't be able to tell. Wouldn't be able to tell he's exhausted both physically and mentally. His face is slimmer and his hair is all-brown and straight, framing his features, but it doesn't necessarily look unappealing. He may even go as far as telling he'd gladly fall for himself at any point.
His free hand fetches his toothbrush and he lets habit take over, as he just looks around.
Approximately three months ago, he was living in his family's large house in the suburbs. It had a small pool, three bedrooms and a backyard with a mini-golf course, where he and his father used to play. Whenever it rained, they just stayed inside and made each other listen to different songs they liked, because that's how awesome his dad was.
He spits, rinses his mouth and puts his toothbrush back to where it belongs before getting out of the bathroom and heading towards the closet.
Now, his mother; she was a strange one. He loved her because of her sense of humour and how beautiful she always was but, aside from that, he didn't harbour any other special feelings for her. His father adored her to pieces even after she started becoming distant, but to be honest Kibum had seen it coming long before it happened. She had given hints that she felt smothered, but Kibum found it stupid. It wasn't his father that had changed, but her. Sure, they weren't the idea of the perfect family, but they were both healthy and wealthy, so they made do.
His fingers go through different articles of clothing, and he thinks it's going to take a while, until he most probably finds a shirt and a pair of pants that attract his attention.
And then, one night where sleep just didn't work for him, everything changed. And it wasn't quite the oh, that colour would look strangely cute on your hair, why don't you try it out kind of change. He remembers pretty much every second, long and stretched out of proportion, even though he wasn't conscious for all that long. He remembers the feeling of tightness on his chest, fear and shock and confusion mixed with something else. He remembers the hard leather against his lips, the words spoken into his ear, the intense eyes and a harsh realisation. And then nothing. Just his father, pale and bloody on his bed.
He swallows once he's fully changed, and looks at his reflection in the full-body mirror on the other side of the room. He's lost weight.
After that, he didn't ever speak a word about what happened that night, in fear of somebody coming back for him. Because he didn't know what his father ever did to deserve such hatred, but he was sure no one would hesitate before wasting just another bullet on him. Now, he just wishes he had.
He looks for his shoes.
His mother came back to town a day later, shocked. As the widow she was, she organised an expensive funeral, took every penny left -and they were a lot-, locked the house behind and just fled. Busan, Daegu, Incheon, Kibum still doesn't know exactly where she went. She just found comfort in some old friend's arms, or so she said. She left Kibum back as excess baggage, to be looked after by her older brother. She really, really didn't care, apparently. His father would be disappointed.
Shaking his head, he goes all the way around his bed. His hand goes for his mobile on the nightstand and his earphones in the drawer. He spends the next couple of minutes tucking the cord comfortably underneath his shirt and his mobile into his jeans pocket.
And what is there to live for, now? He's most probably just going to inherit half of the most profitable hotel in the city; spend his life in empty luxury. Other boys his age would sell more than a kidney to be in his position, but Kibum knows better. He's capable of understanding when he's being played, he's not stupid, and right now, this is exactly what's happening. His uncle is basically using him in his game against his partner, and he can do nothing but watch. Well, until he's of age, at least.
Having left his room -no, suite- behind, he calls for the elevator and stands there, earphones hanging from his neck. He'd give up waiting and fly down the stairs, even if he's so close to the very top of the building, but his stomach still hasn't quite settled. He steps in the cubicle the moment the doors open, and nods his head at the elevator operator's greeting.
Several dings and stops later, room keys in hand, he walks past pillars, tons of velvet and gold until he reaches the front desk. He smiles, unsurprisingly genuinely as he sets the keyring on top of the desk.
"Good morning!" comes a chirping voice, and Kibum's eyes fall on the young boy grinning up at him. His suit is neat and clean, his hair shines and he stands out from every other person in the reception, despite being probably the tiniest in size.
He greets him back as his keys are taken away and stored, and he watches him check in all the usual places for all the usual stuff.
"No mail or faxes today, either," he announces after a short while, some kind of pout on his lips as if he's sorry for delivering -most probably- bad news. His blue contact lenses steal Kibum's focus and he finds himself marvelling, for only a little, how this kid can handle afternoon school and still be bright and social in the morning, treating every stranger as a friend.
Kibum comes back to reality. Right, no mail. He just shrugs. It's not like he expected anything extraordinary to happen today, anyway. All the while, people keep coming and going, the main entrance opening and closing multiple times. "I'll probably see you later," he says, mouth corners twitching upwards.
"Yes, sir," he hears him reply the moment he turns to leave, and feels the urge to retrace his steps. He does so, slapping his palm against the desk and staring heavily, in the meantime. The other emits a short chuckle and looks down for a second. "Kibum, I mean," he corrects himself and said boy grins in satisfaction.
He lifts a hand in a half-wave before walking away. "Bye, Taemin," are his last words as he leaves.
Both of his earbuds are on just seconds later, his fingers shuffling through his mobile's playlist over the rough layer of his jeans. He's soon out on the streets, under the summer sun and amongst the crowd, soaking up everything like he hadn't ever stepped out of that damn hotel before.
Some idiot almost runs him over with his huge-ass bike a couple of blocks away, and it's only some minutes later that he realises how, if it weren't for the guy's driving skills, he could have gotten it bad.
He kind of wishes he actually had.
→ previous. next.