Stronger than Blood (2/3)
Title: Stronger than Blood (2/3)
Authors: butterflyweb & rawthornewrites
Genre: High school AU
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jiyong/Seunghyun, Taeyang/Daesung, OT5
Summary: He hates them. Hates all of them. Especially those four. Hates the way they claim the biggest table, how they bark at every one who tries to take their last free chair.
Warning: sexual content, violence, mentions of non-con
The lady on TV is more makeup than person but she's selling some pretty nice shit and Jiyong is two-thirds tempted to pick up the phone and place an order. Who says he doesn't need a special machine to slice his carrots extra thinly? Or a home-gym appliance for perfect abs? He's got the phone in hand when the doorbell goes, Seunghyun's timing, as per usual, impeccable.
"Who is it?" he calls, just in case, because you learn in this neighborhood that you can't be too careful. Open your door and find a gun in your face and you'll lose half your stuff, if not your life.
"It's me," comes the gruff reply and Jiyong's tempted to string him along, but decides his stomach needs whatever Seunghyun's brought in the way of food more than he needs the entertainment. Jiyong goes to the door, undoing the deadbolt and the chain and letting the other man inside the matchbox of an apartment.
The first thing thrust at him is a pizza - after all, he did request - shortly followed by a slap against his ass. Seunghyun doesn't have much manners, he notes, amusement warring with outrage. "Pig." It bears saying. Wouldn't want Seunghyun to think he doesn't mind.
"Bitch," comes the retort from the couch, Seunghyun lounging in his seat with feet on the coffee table. Briefly, Jiyong wonders why he even has one except to provide a resting spot for Seunghyun's feet. At the time, he'd rationalized that it made his apartment a real one, not just an attic in a decrepit building.
He kicks Seunghyun's feet aside, sitting on the otherside of him, pizza on his lap. "What kind did you get?"
"The kind I hate," Seunghyun mutters without interest, eyes fixed on the screen and if it's one thing that can be said about teleshopping is that it'll draw anyone in. Even high school thugs. "If you're gonna eat in front of me," the other man adds, stretching like this is his home - and it might as well be - "at least bring beer."
Jiyong's face lights up at the topping, smirking as he leans in to smack a kiss on Seunghyun's cheek. "My hero." Grabs a slice and clambers off the couch, going to retrieve a beer for the other man and himself, looking to see if there's anything Seunghyun can eat. Returns with a bag of pretzels along with the alcohol.
"Don't kid yourself," Seunghyun fires back once he has a bottle in hand. "Didn't do it for nothing." And on anyone else, it would be an ugly look, but when Seunghyun smirks, it's familiar and in a roundabout way kinda comforting. Jiyong grins at him through anchovies and mushrooms and flops down on the couch, shoulder to shoulder.
"Right, you did it so you could hog the shopping channel."
There's a snort in response and Jiyong puts his feet up next to the other man, socked heels on the edge. Mumbles to himself through a mouthful of cheese and toppings. "I could use an ab lounger...", eyes never leaving the tv.
"What, I don't give you enough of a workout?" It's asked into the beer bottle, but the question is addressed to him.
He smirks even if Seunghyun can't see it, because some things they pretend they don't do and don't know. Some things they keep silent, hidden under too much fronting and sharpened self-preservation instinct. And then some things just slip through.
"Not for my abs," Jiyong tells him airily. "You'll have to work on your technique."
It earns him a smack to the side of his head and he can't help but laugh. Sets the pizza inside and draws his knees up to his chest. "I could let you get some practice in..."
Seunghyun takes one look at him and then the TV shuts off, couch springs squeaking loudly as he shifts his weight, shoving Jiyong down to the cushion and climbing over him. Hovering there a second and cutting off his airflow. "Why don't you get the other one to help you."
Jiyong's head whirls a moment at the sudden change in position, swallowing the last of his pizza when Seunghyun grants him a little room to breath. Licks his lips, looking up at the older boy. "He's not the one on top of me," he returns, voice as serious as he ever lets it be.
Fingers curl around his wrists, tugging him up and onto his lap. Seunghyun's grin tears down any sign of jealousy in the older man, although it's possible it's not all Jiyong's imagination. Just not highly likely. With his legs spread and the air knocked out of him, he fights off a mirrored expression.
"You look smug," Jiyong points out.
Seunghyun doesn't answer him, lips curved in a smirk. Grabs his ass possessively and settles him over his lap. He'll leave bruises, Jiyong knows. Craves it. He's used to finding them, days later, shower after shower, and watching as they change color. He doesn't fear pain.
With his hands on the back of the couch, he brings himself closer, lips inches away from Seunghyun's as their groins brush and grind. It's indecent, but so fucking what. They make the rules here. He leans in closer, mouthing wetly, obscenely at the other man's jaw, pushing his hips into his.
"Does it make you hard?" he murmurs softly, trailing kisses to Seunghyun's ear. "Thinking about the new kid?"
It earns him a tight grip on his hair and he hisses lightly through his teeth. Doesn't stop what he's doing, fingers curling around Seunghyun's biceps. "You wouldn't stop looking at him."
The older boy presses lips against his, biting rather than kissing, like he's making a point. His hips thrust up into Jiyong's, trying to dry fuck him into silence. And it works, for about twenty seconds. Jiyong has always liked to push buttons. Press limits. A person's affection is like a rubber band--he needs to see how far he can stretch it before it snaps.
He speaks against Seunghyun's ear, voice ragged with his arousal. "You'd be calling your own name when you come in his ass. You'd like that, wouldn't you, you narcissistic bastard."
And this must be when Seunghyun shoves him off and kicks him in the shin. When he steals his phone and his money and bails out of his life. In a parallel universe where they're just fuckbuddies, that's probably how it goes. In this universe, Seunghyun just glares and shoves a hand between them, grabbing at his cock.
"You want to fuck him, don't you?" he grits out. "That's what this is about."
Jiyong whines softly in the back of his throat at the rough touch, head falling back a bit. He doesn't respond, doesn't think he can check himself from saying things he's not supposed to say, not supposed to admit because there's no room for anything but pride and lust between them.
Seunghyun pries his zipper open, fingers rubbing over him through cotton. "That's what this is about," he nods to himself. "You wanna bring him here, spread him open..." He drags down his boxers, baring him to too cold air because Jiyong can't afford to heat his apartment properly.
He can feel anger flare up in his throat, all the defensive, reactionary bullshit he's welded on like plate armor. Jerks out of Seunghyun's touch but doesn't get far, a hand grasping the nape of his neck, another tight on his hip. Jiyong's eyes burn.
"I don't want him," he hisses.
"I know," Seunghyun murmurs, dark and angles in his smile. And of course he does, Seunghyun knows everything about him. He's under his skin so deep telepathy would work better than actual speech. It's why Seunghyun knows how to touch him just there, over his tailbone, fingers soft and insistence absent. It's a momentary reprieve but it does the trick. Jiyong folds. Curls forward, head on the other man's shoulder and shakes against him with the sharp pleasure. The need he feels coursing through his veins, the one he refuses to admit he possesses for anything or anybody.
It's been long enough that none of them have to speak, not in words when touch and giving explain so much more.
Seunghyun strokes him with a sure hand, wringing tremors from his body and he remembers, distantly, that he used to fight it. Used to think being at the other boy's mercy was the best way toward becoming somebody's bitch. Now even if Seunghyun whispers the word into his ear, even if he turns him face down into the couch and sinks wet fingers into him, it doesn't have to mean anything.
Doesn't have to scare him.
He can find release, here, in a filthy apartment on a secondhand couch with his best friend. Can let go just a little and let Seunghyun fix him. Jiyong lets out a harsh breath, eyes falling closed and this is the only time he can feel defenseless without feeling weak.
They don't talk much, meaning clear in touch and moans instead, but he nods furiously to give his permission when he hears Seunghyun's zipper slide free. He wants him inside him, he wants him in his mouth, but more than anything, he wants to feel him pressed up against him, warm where everything else is so fucking cold.
Seunghyun gets an arm around his waist, presses him down onto the couch on his stomach, his face into the cushions and the fingers of one hand dropping to curl in the rug. He's glad for it. Doesn't like the other man to see his face when they do this.
It's a hard fuck, but then it always is. Seunghyun snaps his hips in a punishing rhythm, merciless as he takes his pleasure and offers it back to Jiyong in scattered kisses over his shoulders. Words intrude, paper thin and flammable, little origami hearts Jiyong learned to make in grade school. He takes them all and grabs at Seunghyun's hip, trying to make him go faster. Fuck him harder. Drags in greedy gulps of air against the rough fabric, feeling like he's drowning with each heavy push inside of him. He winds his fingers in his own hair, pulling harshly until he chokes on a breath. Craves the other boy's touch so hard he can barely stand it.
And then Seunghyun cries out his release, shuddering as he spills into him. It's not enough to take Jiyong over in the same breath, but it doesn't matter. Seunghyun's never left him hanging, not in bed and not out in the world. He slides out of him heavily, panted breaths against his ear as he whispers: "turn over."
Jiyong feels come and lube on his thighs, face hot as he does with the other boy says, groaning softly as his cock brushes the rough fabric of the couch, the friction enough to make him shudder. He bites his lip hard, watching Seunghyun's mouth instead of his eyes. Hates himself for being a coward when he's supposed to be honest.
Fingers take his cock, Seunghyun's hand slippery with lube and precome and sweat as it circles the head. His hips shoot up off the couch, arching into his touch. Begging for it without words and it makes him feel like a a slut. Wanton and guilty of sodomy. He keens in his throat as Seunghyun moves above him, leaning on shaking arms to press lips against his.
"Fuck, make me come," he breathes, "please, fuck... please--"
A hand touches his hand, too gentle to be between them, to be a part of this and Jiyong surges up to find his mouth, kissing him hard and wet and completely desperate. He chokes on the noises that spill from his throat against the other man's lips, clutches him like he's the last safe place he has and maybe there's more truth to that than he cares to admit.
"Please," he begs, pushing up into Seunghyun's fist and then the other man turns his wrist just so and Jiyong is spilling between them, dirtying their stomachs with his come.
He shakes against him, riding out his pleasure at a pace set by Seunghyun and Seunghyun alone. It feels longer than it is, because the woman on TV is still talking about the super ab pro machine and urging him to call and order. Get one pair of weights free. Jiyong closes his eyes against the sight of the flashing phone number, breaths coming to him harsh and insufficient. Seunghyun has effectively robbed him of his self-control.
Otherwise, he wouldn't be asking - begging - him, in a plaintive, pathetic little tone to "come here". To lie with him.
And Seunghyun does, come slick between their bodies and on his hand and he doesn't care. He slips into the circle of his arms like he belongs there - and maybe, on some level, that's not such a huge stretch. It's only like this, with his forehead pressed against Seunghyun's that Jiyong will let such thoughts stray into his mind. It's only now, because he can't do anything else, that he'll let it out.
He tries to get his breath back, brushing his lips against dark, sweaty locks, hand running over the wide expanse of Seunghyun's back.
"Good?" he hears, the word soft and shallow against his chin. With anyone else, he knows Seunghyun wouldn't bother. He's seen it, been part of it. He knows Seunghyun isn't the caring type - and if he's truly honest he'll admit that's partly why he likes him - but he nods his head anyway because he's not a liar.
"Good," he breathes, counting the time they have left in millenniums.
*
He's not really awake when he trudges into school the next morning, hood pulled up on his sweatshirt and eyes half-lidded with sleep. He's no less aware--anybody thinking to catch him off guard would have a rude surprise in store--but aggression runs muted through his veins. Seunghyun knows himself well enough to know that he always gets like this after a fuck--the closest thing he could come to call being relaxed.
Tossing his bag down on the table, he steps through and clears. He's never needed a weapon to make his mark.
A security guard waves him to pass and Seunghyun resists the urge to make a choice comment about the man's mother. He's in a fair mood but he has a rep to keep up. Which means someone is getting beaten up today.
His eyes scour the hallway for a likely target - or, failing that, his crew. If Jiyong is planning to take another personal day because his ass is sore, Seunghyun can't help think he'll substitute him for a victim. It isn't fun if the younger man isn't around.
The form his eyes finally light upon is another entirely.
Smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, Seunghyun heads his way, watching him take thick books out of his locker to stuff in his bag. Clothes too neat, hair too styled. Seunghyun wonders briefly if he was a rich kid in a past life.
"Hey," he greets, shoulder hitting the locker beside him with a loud sound. It's meant to scare the kid alright and he flinches to Seunghyun's satisfaction. "You're back. We didn't scare you off?"
Thin shoulders square with every bit of confidence the kid doesn't possess. "Didn't have a choice."
"Too bad, that," Seunghyun notes with false sympathy, hands stuffed in his pockets. Arches an eyebrow at the last book the kid takes out. "What class is that for?"
Shoulders get even tighter and really, this kid is easy. Jiyong should fish for a creature less easy to bait. Takes all the challenge out of it. "It's not for a class."
"Planning to get in some quiet time?" he snorts, amused that the kid is planning to get a moment to himself today. Clearly he doesn't get how things work around here. "Are you trying to get picked on? 'Cause that's like a written invitation." He considers himself kind for saying as much.
Seungri--as Jiyong has dubbed him--looks up at him with a glare full of bravado. "Seeing as I'm already being harrassed, what difference does it make?"
Ouch. He thinks this is harassment? Seunghyun shifts forward, one hand on the open locker door, boxing him in. "If I were you, kid, I'd learn the value of silence. And fast." Good mood comes and goes like the tide, but there's a pecking order at stake. The sooner Seungri learns it, the happier he'll be.
The kid's eyes drop automatically, but he doesn't respond. Silent. Little smart ass. Seunghyun's thinking that the fucker needs to be taught a lesson on what being on the otherside of their fence entails. This place will eat this kid up.
Jiyong likes him. It'd be a shame to have something Jiyong likes be bruised and broken.
"Fine," he grits out, breath hot against a pale cheek. "You're on your own for the day. See if you make it to second period unscathed." He doesn't shove him for being such a stuck up, judgmental asshole, reigning in the urge. Why bother teach him a lesson when everyone else'll do it for him?
Shoulders past the little punk, headed down the hallway and keeping an eye out for Daesung and Taeyang. In this place...it's not cars or money or names that get you anywhere. It's numbers. That's how you survive.
He doesn't like the kid's odds.
*
Fuckers. All of them. Assholes and fuckers and bitches. He comes up with colorful name after colorful name to curse them in his head, hands picking up books scattered over the hallway for the umpteenth time that day. Thankfully it's lunch and the prospect of food makes the beasts less interested in kicking him upside the head when he bends to retrieve them. He wishes he'd been as lucky earlier that morning.
His head still throbs from that particular blow, but he doesn't waste time complaining or crying into his own sleeve. Like the smell of blood, that'll only attract them. Tries instead to suck it up and hold it back, hands shaking from anger as he gathers the last of his strewn belongings. Considers hiding in his locker for the rest of the fucking day. He doesn't understand the teachers. They're crueler than the animals they supervise, because they let it happen. They watch and sit and turn back to their crossword puzzles and spiked coffee.
He doesn't understand what the point of security guards is if they don't secure anything. Violence still happens. Kids still bleed. He should know.
Feet carry him slow and guarded down to the cafeteria, where the hubbub is louder but the promise of compensation from all he has endured looms in the shape of barely edible lunches and rubbery jell-o. He swallows past pride and panic and joins the queue. Watches as kid after kid cuts him in line and doesn't dare to say anything, even as his fists tighten in his pockets. The minutes are ticking by and he hasn't made it much more than a couple feet forward. Frustration rises in him like a well-spring.
He hates them. Hates all of them. Especially those four. Hates the way they claim the biggest table, how they bark at every one who tries to take their last free chair. What the fuck do they need it for? To stretch their legs?
The one who cornered him this morning blows smoke, eyes trained on him. It doesn't help that they share a name - it's all they have in common - he's nothing like that monster. They're bullies and thugs and lowlifes and he doesn't want within ten feet of any of them. Seunghyun swallows hard, finally getting up to the front of the line, taking the tray he's passed and handing over his lunch money.
Doesn't make it more than five feet out of the room, when he trips over a chair thrust in front of him, tray and contents spilling to the floor.
His cheek hits the ground hard, the bump on his forehead throbbing dully and for a second he thinks he'll just lie there. What's the worst they can do? Mock him? Been there, done that. Eyes sting with tears of pain and frustration and the sense that he really is fucking alone in here. He doesn't stand a chance.
The sound of jeers gives way to the sound of footsteps close to his ear. He realizes he forgot to consider that they aren't done.
He shifts over onto his back, painfully, trying to get to his feet. Not wanting to be an easy target. His stomach flops over when he sees that it's one of them, the short one with the cornrows that brush his shoulders. A hand closes around his arm, dragging him to his feet, tight enough to make him wince in pain.
Girls wave their fake nails at him and the guy who tripped him flashes a wide grin. "You're so dead!" they laugh and point and mock and Seunghyun finds himself inclined to agree. Fingers clutch at the hand that grabs him, trying to pry it open.
"Please--"
"Just shut the fuck up," the other boy snaps, expression far from pleasant and he tugs hard at Seunghyun's arm, pulling him through the rows of tables and chairs and out into the hall. Pushes him through the door of the men's room. Snaps at the kid and the urinal.
"Piss down your fucking leg for all I care, but get out before I beat the shit out of you, too."
Seunghyun flattens his back to the wall, mouth dry with fright and heart somewhere in his throat. He's alone with one of them. Gods, he's alone with one of them. Threats issued yesterday come back to mind with a vengeance and he feels his hands shake, the bruise on his head long forgotten.
The other boy glares at him like he's trash. "Fucking loser." Something Seunghyun can't define, won't define, flickers over his face. "Good thing Seunghyun told you to fuck off. Shit like you isn't worth our time." The words are defensive and beligerant. As long as he doesn't come near him, he doesn't care.
For a second, it looks like the man is going to go back on his word, but in the next he's turning on his heel and slamming his fist into the wall.
Seunghyun jumps in his skin. Presses himself back as if he can sink through cinderblock and get out of here. Run and run until he can't anymore.
A harsh laugh echoes in the space.
"I'll tell Daesung that you didn't want the seat he left for you."
Then the man is gone and he can breathe again, at least in so far as dry heaving involves drawing breath. Turns out being in the restroom comes in handy when his stomach turns and everything he's swallowed all day comes up in the shape of bitter liquid. It takes away all thoughts of lunch or fifth period, replacing them with tears.
Enough.
He's had enough.
He locks the stall door behind him, sitting on the back of the toilet with his feet on the seat, bent over and letting his tears soak the fabric of his jeans. He wants to go home. He can't survive here. He can't come here every day to this and know that there's nothing better outside of it.
The sound of a sharp siren ringing through the hallways shoves him from his perch. It's the fire alarm and it echoes with the stampede of high school kids as they rush out of the building. No one wants to die here. Seunghyun included.
He takes the stairs two by two, tripping over feet - his own, those of others - and rushing like cattle into the yard. Teachers, for the first time, look like they're earning their paychecks. They wave signboards and call out names and a few man phones. Hopefully with the fire department on the other end rather than a sex hotline.
"What's going on?" asks a girl, her hands clutching her sides like she's cold. Like her see-through shirt isn't doing much to shield her from harsh winds. "Is it a drill?"
Her friend pops gum. "Nah. I saw everything. One of those punks lit a locker on fire."
Seunghyun's eyes slip in the direction she points. Sure enough, there is the foursome, smoking and passing matchboxes from one to the other.
"Do you know whose locker it was?" he asks, wanting to cry because his books. His clothes. Everything was in there and he doesn't have the money to get new ones and he'll have to watch his mother shake her head before she pulls out her wallet--
Bubble-gum girl throws him a look as if to say 'who the hell are you to be talking to me' but her smirk is feral. "Kiwi kid. Blond, about a head taller than you are? Shoved a chair under your feet like fifteen minutes go? Ring a bell?" She bumps shoulders with her friend, arms looped together. "He's gonna be real pissed off now... Sucks to be you."
In the clearing air, between shouts and fire engine sirens - a little much but the faculty must be claiming they're taking no chances - Seunghyun tries to find his breath. Do they hate him that much?
*
School lets out early on account of Daesung's stunt and Jiyong hangs off of his shoulders like the other boy scored the winning point in an all-state game. Seunghyun leaves them to be all lovey-dovey together and takes advantage of the commotion the fire truck has caused in the street to follow the kid home. As much as he thinks Daesung has balls to pull something like that off and not get caught, he's not completely deluded. Suspicion isn't gonna go to them, not yet anyway.
With his too-heavy book-bag and his nice clothes, there's a likelier, easier target around. And it walks with bent shoulders and trailing feet, like it knows it's being scrutinized.
He, Daesung would correct, like he did at lunch before Taeyang flew off the handle. He.
Lee Seungri. He's got to hand it to Jiyong, the name sounds good. Maybe it's not so hard to figure out why the kid appeals to his friend's sensitivities. Maybe it's not hard to see why Daesung likes him and why Taeyang saved his ass before he got pummeled. He's kind of pretty, in a kicked puppy kind of way.
He also lives in a nicer neighborhood that Seunghyun's visited in a while. It's not quite the suburbs, but at least the doors don't have double locks and the windows on the ground floors don't need bars. The cars parked outside newly painted garages beckon at him. Maybe he'll try hot-wiring one later.
The kid turns a corner and Seunghyun picks up the pace, loathe to lose him to someone less well-intentioned. It's as far as he'll go to say he gives a damn what happens to the boy. But no sooner is he around the wall of a two story grocery store that he all but runs smack-damn into the kid.
"Fuckin--"
"Why are you following me?" he barks, fists clenched against his sides. "What do you want?" His eyes flash dark and angry, skin blooming with red flushes down into the collar of his shirt. Seunghyun can't help wonder if he blushes all over or if it's an upper body kind of thing. It colors his smirk as he towers over the boy.
"What do you think? You didn't stick around after the fire." He nods to the bump on the kid's head, hand coming up to touch his brow. "That looks like it hurt." But did it hurt enough to make him understand?
A sharp slap sent his hand flying to the side. "Don't touch me. Just leave me alone." He squares his shoulders, taking a slight step back as though afraid of repercussions. He's learning, alright, but not the right lesson. Being alone isn't gonna save his ass. It's just going to get him torn apart a lot faster.
Seunghyun nods to the building behind him. "This where you live? A crowded little townhouse for mommy, daddy and the little asshole who's gonna get my fist in his face in about five seconds?"
Another step back.
"No," he defends, backing into the door. It's just his luck that someone on the other side picks that specific moment to pull it open with "oh, you're home--"
Seunghyun catches him by the wrist, keeping him on his feet and out of a woman's lap. The resemblance is uncanny. The kid's lie dies a quick death. Cheeks flare with the knowledge.
The woman's features falter for a moment, before a smile is put in place. "Hello there. Are you...are you one of Seunghyun's friends from school?"
The kid is giving him what amounts to a pleading stare and Seunghyun tightens his grip on his wrist, gives himself a moment to consider it. "Yeah, I am." He smiles easily, the one he'd use on girls at school if he had the slightest fucking interest in those bitches.
"Oh, how nice." The woman's features relax, like he's just told her her kid doesn't have cancer or something. "Would you like to come in? I won't disturb you boys for long, I'm, uh... Seunghyun, dear, I was going to tell you I have to go out tonight."
Seungri's features shutter a little and his mouth tightens and Oh, Seunghyun thinks, Oh, because she's one of those. His resolve steadies itself. "I'd love to come in, Lee-nim, thank you." Manners never failed to get anyone anywhere, even as they taste strange in his mouth. He tells Jiyong please sometimes, but he's not sure if it counts when the guy is on his knees in front of him.
The door opens wide and Seunghyun takes over the kid's decision-making process because if he doesn't they'll be stuck out there all day. Turns out his house is just as quaint on the inside, furniture second-hand but well kept, little carpets here and there to cover old floorboards. Seunghyun figures this is how his house must've looked like when he was a toddler, but that was an eternity ago and it doesn't matter anyway.
"Have you boys eaten?" the woman asks, like a welcoming hostess but with a touch of falsehood added in. "I can make you--"
"We're fine, Mom." It's the first Seungri's said since they came in and unsurprisingly it's a little testy.
She smiles a little, hands folded in front of her. "Why don't you go up to your room, honey? I'll make something and leave it in the oven if you get hungry." She leaves on that note, but not towards the kitchen and Seunghyun watches Seungri's expression. Waits to be led to his room.
"Well?"
A finger is thrust into his chest. "Leave my mother alone," Seungri grits out and for the first time - for the first time - he sounds like he means it. "I swear, if you even look at her wrong, I'll..."
Seunghyun steps into his personal space, fighting to contain a grin. "You'll what, kid? Hmm? What would you do?"
Seungri swallows hard and Seunghyun watches as his throat works. He stands his ground though, and that takes balls enough. "I'd fucking kill you."
"I'll keep that in mind," he nods. "So, are you gonna show me your room or should I just get comfortable on your couch?" It's another challenge, another test.
Seungri watches him, hands curled into loose fists at his sides. "Why don't you just go home? What the hell do you people want with me?" He has guts in his own space, like they're kids again, playing tagging games, and home is base. Garunteed immunity.
"You sure you want an answer to that question?" He tilts his head as he considers the boy, the soft eyes and the lips set in a line. "I want to see your room." No reason, no explanation.
There is a silence as their gazes meet, neither giving, neither backing down, until finally Seungri's eyes drop and he starts towards the stairs. "Come on, then."
The steps creak as they climb to the first floor and the walls get narrower - if that's even possible. Seungri's room is a white, impersonal thing, with a computer that looks well out of use in one corner of a work-bench. It's where Seungri dumps his bag.
Seunghyun looks around at sparse walls and a plainly made bed. Wonders if he just hasn't had time to unpack or if he really lives like this. Thinks of Jiyong's flat and the chaotic mess of color and furniture and posters and junk that it consists of. Moves to sit on the edge of the bed, hands in his pockets.
"You've seen it," Seungri points out, sounding almost tired. "Happy?" His back is turned to him as he pulls off shoes and jacket and aligns them in his closet.
"Thrilled," he snorts, crossing his ankles. "You move in here recently?"
"A couple weeks ago," he replies, trying not to look at Seunghyun, to find something else to occuppy his attention. "My mom's a clean freak so most of the boxes are gone."
"Where'd you live before? Uptown?" It's asked casually. Both Seungri and his mom look like they're too good for this place, at least on the outside. "You clean up nice. You don't belong here."
Seungri turns to him with a sharp look, dark brows furrowed as if he's unsure whether to take offense. "What difference does it make? I'm here now, whether I belong or not."
"I wonder why," he muses, head tilted to the side. "Why does a rich boy like you end up in the slums with rest of us? What did you do?"
Seungri's eyes flash and the kid looks genuinely pissed. It's interesting to see the change in him when he thinks he has the upper hand. "I didn't do anything. I certainly didn't deserve this place or that hellhole back there."
Seunghyun arches an eyebrow. "And we do?"
The kid doesn't drop his gaze. "You made your bed." And he visibly doesn't give a fuck about it. No wonder Taeyang wanted to rip him a new one. Disrespect knows limits around here and gets proportional punishment. Everybody knows it.
Maybe it's time Seungri did too.
Seunghyun stands from the bed, covering the distance between them in two quick steps. "You don't know us. You don't understand us. So don't you fucking dare judge us, you little prick."
He crowds the kid back against the door, blocking his escape and watches as his throat works in fear. But there's still belligerence in his gaze and he won't be happy till he gets beaten properly, will he?
"You're fucking thugs," Seungri snaps. "You're the reason that place is hell."
"We're the ones who kicked your things all over the floor, huh?" he fires, sharp and thick with disdain because Seungri's insulted more than his own pride here. "We're the ones who gave you that little beauty mark?"
"You set fire to a kid's locker!"
"And who the fuck you think we did that for, huh?"
The kid blanches, looking away and who's out of insults now? Where are his snappy little comebacks?
"Name one fucking thing we've done to you except watch your ass, you little son of a bitch." He shoves him into the door with that, because he's seldom wanted to hit anyone more. "You're so fucking worried about attracting attention that you've pushed away the only people who could protect you." He sneers at him. "You want to lie in that grave? Be my guest. But you fucking disrespect my friends again and I'll end you, pretty boy. Got it?"
His fingers flex in and out of fists at his sides, gaze skewering the kid to the door because fuck if he'll just take this. Jiyong, Daesung, Taeyang...they've all had way to much shit in their lives to waste their time on someone like this. Some ungrateful little punk.
Seungri's eyes shine. "Disrespect... you've been doing nothing but treat me like a fucking toy since I showed up! I'm not your fucking slave, I'm a human being and you don't get--you don't get to talk to me like I'm less just--just because..." He's fighting for breath, hands clawing at his shirt. "I have to... fear..."
His breaths are hitching, too fast, too shallow to draw in air and his eyes are closed tight. "I didn't....I don't want this...I wanna...home..."
Either he's got asthma or he's having a panic attack. Either way, Seunghyun has a flash of the kid's mom finding him dead in his room and it's way too fucking depressing.
One hand comes up to clutch at his shoulder. "Breathe, kid, you're not making any sense."
The kid crumples, sliding down the door to sprawl on his ass and Seunghyun goes down with him, crouching beside him.
Seungri's breathing sounds ugly, cheeks wet as he knocks his head back against the door. "Hate him...hate this place..." His chest rises and falls too fast, chin trembling with tears as yet unshed.
"Hate who?" Seunghyun presses him, insinuating fingers between the kid's head and the wood. "Who are you talking about?"
"My d-dad..." Seungri gulps in another breath. "It's his fault..."
Wouldn't be the first time, he thinks, trying to find the kid's gaze and hold it. "You had to move because of him?"
Rests a hand lightly on the kid's knee, trying to remember what he's seen Taeyang do for Daesung.
"Y-yeah..." Seungri chokes softly. "He ruined our lives."
He's seen this way too many times. One way or another he can fill in the blanks. "Calm down. You're okay. 's just you and me and your mom downstairs. You're okay."
The kid looks up at him with wet eyes, still dragging in painful sounding gasps of air. "How do...stand it here?"
"You make your bed," he sighs, because he has no words of comfort. Surviving out here isn't a game, it's reality. "Come on, let's get you off the ground."
He slides an arm behind the kid's shoulders, pulling him up to stand, letting him lean against the door as he tries to slow his breath. Presses his mouth together in a line and pushes the kid's hair out of his face. Gradually, the other's breathing starts to sound a little more normal.
"Thanks," Seungri mumbles, not looking at him, the words quiet in the bare room.
He doesn't move to pull away.
Authors: butterflyweb & rawthornewrites
Genre: High school AU
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jiyong/Seunghyun, Taeyang/Daesung, OT5
Summary: He hates them. Hates all of them. Especially those four. Hates the way they claim the biggest table, how they bark at every one who tries to take their last free chair.
Warning: sexual content, violence, mentions of non-con
The lady on TV is more makeup than person but she's selling some pretty nice shit and Jiyong is two-thirds tempted to pick up the phone and place an order. Who says he doesn't need a special machine to slice his carrots extra thinly? Or a home-gym appliance for perfect abs? He's got the phone in hand when the doorbell goes, Seunghyun's timing, as per usual, impeccable.
"Who is it?" he calls, just in case, because you learn in this neighborhood that you can't be too careful. Open your door and find a gun in your face and you'll lose half your stuff, if not your life.
"It's me," comes the gruff reply and Jiyong's tempted to string him along, but decides his stomach needs whatever Seunghyun's brought in the way of food more than he needs the entertainment. Jiyong goes to the door, undoing the deadbolt and the chain and letting the other man inside the matchbox of an apartment.
The first thing thrust at him is a pizza - after all, he did request - shortly followed by a slap against his ass. Seunghyun doesn't have much manners, he notes, amusement warring with outrage. "Pig." It bears saying. Wouldn't want Seunghyun to think he doesn't mind.
"Bitch," comes the retort from the couch, Seunghyun lounging in his seat with feet on the coffee table. Briefly, Jiyong wonders why he even has one except to provide a resting spot for Seunghyun's feet. At the time, he'd rationalized that it made his apartment a real one, not just an attic in a decrepit building.
He kicks Seunghyun's feet aside, sitting on the otherside of him, pizza on his lap. "What kind did you get?"
"The kind I hate," Seunghyun mutters without interest, eyes fixed on the screen and if it's one thing that can be said about teleshopping is that it'll draw anyone in. Even high school thugs. "If you're gonna eat in front of me," the other man adds, stretching like this is his home - and it might as well be - "at least bring beer."
Jiyong's face lights up at the topping, smirking as he leans in to smack a kiss on Seunghyun's cheek. "My hero." Grabs a slice and clambers off the couch, going to retrieve a beer for the other man and himself, looking to see if there's anything Seunghyun can eat. Returns with a bag of pretzels along with the alcohol.
"Don't kid yourself," Seunghyun fires back once he has a bottle in hand. "Didn't do it for nothing." And on anyone else, it would be an ugly look, but when Seunghyun smirks, it's familiar and in a roundabout way kinda comforting. Jiyong grins at him through anchovies and mushrooms and flops down on the couch, shoulder to shoulder.
"Right, you did it so you could hog the shopping channel."
There's a snort in response and Jiyong puts his feet up next to the other man, socked heels on the edge. Mumbles to himself through a mouthful of cheese and toppings. "I could use an ab lounger...", eyes never leaving the tv.
"What, I don't give you enough of a workout?" It's asked into the beer bottle, but the question is addressed to him.
He smirks even if Seunghyun can't see it, because some things they pretend they don't do and don't know. Some things they keep silent, hidden under too much fronting and sharpened self-preservation instinct. And then some things just slip through.
"Not for my abs," Jiyong tells him airily. "You'll have to work on your technique."
It earns him a smack to the side of his head and he can't help but laugh. Sets the pizza inside and draws his knees up to his chest. "I could let you get some practice in..."
Seunghyun takes one look at him and then the TV shuts off, couch springs squeaking loudly as he shifts his weight, shoving Jiyong down to the cushion and climbing over him. Hovering there a second and cutting off his airflow. "Why don't you get the other one to help you."
Jiyong's head whirls a moment at the sudden change in position, swallowing the last of his pizza when Seunghyun grants him a little room to breath. Licks his lips, looking up at the older boy. "He's not the one on top of me," he returns, voice as serious as he ever lets it be.
Fingers curl around his wrists, tugging him up and onto his lap. Seunghyun's grin tears down any sign of jealousy in the older man, although it's possible it's not all Jiyong's imagination. Just not highly likely. With his legs spread and the air knocked out of him, he fights off a mirrored expression.
"You look smug," Jiyong points out.
Seunghyun doesn't answer him, lips curved in a smirk. Grabs his ass possessively and settles him over his lap. He'll leave bruises, Jiyong knows. Craves it. He's used to finding them, days later, shower after shower, and watching as they change color. He doesn't fear pain.
With his hands on the back of the couch, he brings himself closer, lips inches away from Seunghyun's as their groins brush and grind. It's indecent, but so fucking what. They make the rules here. He leans in closer, mouthing wetly, obscenely at the other man's jaw, pushing his hips into his.
"Does it make you hard?" he murmurs softly, trailing kisses to Seunghyun's ear. "Thinking about the new kid?"
It earns him a tight grip on his hair and he hisses lightly through his teeth. Doesn't stop what he's doing, fingers curling around Seunghyun's biceps. "You wouldn't stop looking at him."
The older boy presses lips against his, biting rather than kissing, like he's making a point. His hips thrust up into Jiyong's, trying to dry fuck him into silence. And it works, for about twenty seconds. Jiyong has always liked to push buttons. Press limits. A person's affection is like a rubber band--he needs to see how far he can stretch it before it snaps.
He speaks against Seunghyun's ear, voice ragged with his arousal. "You'd be calling your own name when you come in his ass. You'd like that, wouldn't you, you narcissistic bastard."
And this must be when Seunghyun shoves him off and kicks him in the shin. When he steals his phone and his money and bails out of his life. In a parallel universe where they're just fuckbuddies, that's probably how it goes. In this universe, Seunghyun just glares and shoves a hand between them, grabbing at his cock.
"You want to fuck him, don't you?" he grits out. "That's what this is about."
Jiyong whines softly in the back of his throat at the rough touch, head falling back a bit. He doesn't respond, doesn't think he can check himself from saying things he's not supposed to say, not supposed to admit because there's no room for anything but pride and lust between them.
Seunghyun pries his zipper open, fingers rubbing over him through cotton. "That's what this is about," he nods to himself. "You wanna bring him here, spread him open..." He drags down his boxers, baring him to too cold air because Jiyong can't afford to heat his apartment properly.
He can feel anger flare up in his throat, all the defensive, reactionary bullshit he's welded on like plate armor. Jerks out of Seunghyun's touch but doesn't get far, a hand grasping the nape of his neck, another tight on his hip. Jiyong's eyes burn.
"I don't want him," he hisses.
"I know," Seunghyun murmurs, dark and angles in his smile. And of course he does, Seunghyun knows everything about him. He's under his skin so deep telepathy would work better than actual speech. It's why Seunghyun knows how to touch him just there, over his tailbone, fingers soft and insistence absent. It's a momentary reprieve but it does the trick. Jiyong folds. Curls forward, head on the other man's shoulder and shakes against him with the sharp pleasure. The need he feels coursing through his veins, the one he refuses to admit he possesses for anything or anybody.
It's been long enough that none of them have to speak, not in words when touch and giving explain so much more.
Seunghyun strokes him with a sure hand, wringing tremors from his body and he remembers, distantly, that he used to fight it. Used to think being at the other boy's mercy was the best way toward becoming somebody's bitch. Now even if Seunghyun whispers the word into his ear, even if he turns him face down into the couch and sinks wet fingers into him, it doesn't have to mean anything.
Doesn't have to scare him.
He can find release, here, in a filthy apartment on a secondhand couch with his best friend. Can let go just a little and let Seunghyun fix him. Jiyong lets out a harsh breath, eyes falling closed and this is the only time he can feel defenseless without feeling weak.
They don't talk much, meaning clear in touch and moans instead, but he nods furiously to give his permission when he hears Seunghyun's zipper slide free. He wants him inside him, he wants him in his mouth, but more than anything, he wants to feel him pressed up against him, warm where everything else is so fucking cold.
Seunghyun gets an arm around his waist, presses him down onto the couch on his stomach, his face into the cushions and the fingers of one hand dropping to curl in the rug. He's glad for it. Doesn't like the other man to see his face when they do this.
It's a hard fuck, but then it always is. Seunghyun snaps his hips in a punishing rhythm, merciless as he takes his pleasure and offers it back to Jiyong in scattered kisses over his shoulders. Words intrude, paper thin and flammable, little origami hearts Jiyong learned to make in grade school. He takes them all and grabs at Seunghyun's hip, trying to make him go faster. Fuck him harder. Drags in greedy gulps of air against the rough fabric, feeling like he's drowning with each heavy push inside of him. He winds his fingers in his own hair, pulling harshly until he chokes on a breath. Craves the other boy's touch so hard he can barely stand it.
And then Seunghyun cries out his release, shuddering as he spills into him. It's not enough to take Jiyong over in the same breath, but it doesn't matter. Seunghyun's never left him hanging, not in bed and not out in the world. He slides out of him heavily, panted breaths against his ear as he whispers: "turn over."
Jiyong feels come and lube on his thighs, face hot as he does with the other boy says, groaning softly as his cock brushes the rough fabric of the couch, the friction enough to make him shudder. He bites his lip hard, watching Seunghyun's mouth instead of his eyes. Hates himself for being a coward when he's supposed to be honest.
Fingers take his cock, Seunghyun's hand slippery with lube and precome and sweat as it circles the head. His hips shoot up off the couch, arching into his touch. Begging for it without words and it makes him feel like a a slut. Wanton and guilty of sodomy. He keens in his throat as Seunghyun moves above him, leaning on shaking arms to press lips against his.
"Fuck, make me come," he breathes, "please, fuck... please--"
A hand touches his hand, too gentle to be between them, to be a part of this and Jiyong surges up to find his mouth, kissing him hard and wet and completely desperate. He chokes on the noises that spill from his throat against the other man's lips, clutches him like he's the last safe place he has and maybe there's more truth to that than he cares to admit.
"Please," he begs, pushing up into Seunghyun's fist and then the other man turns his wrist just so and Jiyong is spilling between them, dirtying their stomachs with his come.
He shakes against him, riding out his pleasure at a pace set by Seunghyun and Seunghyun alone. It feels longer than it is, because the woman on TV is still talking about the super ab pro machine and urging him to call and order. Get one pair of weights free. Jiyong closes his eyes against the sight of the flashing phone number, breaths coming to him harsh and insufficient. Seunghyun has effectively robbed him of his self-control.
Otherwise, he wouldn't be asking - begging - him, in a plaintive, pathetic little tone to "come here". To lie with him.
And Seunghyun does, come slick between their bodies and on his hand and he doesn't care. He slips into the circle of his arms like he belongs there - and maybe, on some level, that's not such a huge stretch. It's only like this, with his forehead pressed against Seunghyun's that Jiyong will let such thoughts stray into his mind. It's only now, because he can't do anything else, that he'll let it out.
He tries to get his breath back, brushing his lips against dark, sweaty locks, hand running over the wide expanse of Seunghyun's back.
"Good?" he hears, the word soft and shallow against his chin. With anyone else, he knows Seunghyun wouldn't bother. He's seen it, been part of it. He knows Seunghyun isn't the caring type - and if he's truly honest he'll admit that's partly why he likes him - but he nods his head anyway because he's not a liar.
"Good," he breathes, counting the time they have left in millenniums.
*
He's not really awake when he trudges into school the next morning, hood pulled up on his sweatshirt and eyes half-lidded with sleep. He's no less aware--anybody thinking to catch him off guard would have a rude surprise in store--but aggression runs muted through his veins. Seunghyun knows himself well enough to know that he always gets like this after a fuck--the closest thing he could come to call being relaxed.
Tossing his bag down on the table, he steps through and clears. He's never needed a weapon to make his mark.
A security guard waves him to pass and Seunghyun resists the urge to make a choice comment about the man's mother. He's in a fair mood but he has a rep to keep up. Which means someone is getting beaten up today.
His eyes scour the hallway for a likely target - or, failing that, his crew. If Jiyong is planning to take another personal day because his ass is sore, Seunghyun can't help think he'll substitute him for a victim. It isn't fun if the younger man isn't around.
The form his eyes finally light upon is another entirely.
Smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, Seunghyun heads his way, watching him take thick books out of his locker to stuff in his bag. Clothes too neat, hair too styled. Seunghyun wonders briefly if he was a rich kid in a past life.
"Hey," he greets, shoulder hitting the locker beside him with a loud sound. It's meant to scare the kid alright and he flinches to Seunghyun's satisfaction. "You're back. We didn't scare you off?"
Thin shoulders square with every bit of confidence the kid doesn't possess. "Didn't have a choice."
"Too bad, that," Seunghyun notes with false sympathy, hands stuffed in his pockets. Arches an eyebrow at the last book the kid takes out. "What class is that for?"
Shoulders get even tighter and really, this kid is easy. Jiyong should fish for a creature less easy to bait. Takes all the challenge out of it. "It's not for a class."
"Planning to get in some quiet time?" he snorts, amused that the kid is planning to get a moment to himself today. Clearly he doesn't get how things work around here. "Are you trying to get picked on? 'Cause that's like a written invitation." He considers himself kind for saying as much.
Seungri--as Jiyong has dubbed him--looks up at him with a glare full of bravado. "Seeing as I'm already being harrassed, what difference does it make?"
Ouch. He thinks this is harassment? Seunghyun shifts forward, one hand on the open locker door, boxing him in. "If I were you, kid, I'd learn the value of silence. And fast." Good mood comes and goes like the tide, but there's a pecking order at stake. The sooner Seungri learns it, the happier he'll be.
The kid's eyes drop automatically, but he doesn't respond. Silent. Little smart ass. Seunghyun's thinking that the fucker needs to be taught a lesson on what being on the otherside of their fence entails. This place will eat this kid up.
Jiyong likes him. It'd be a shame to have something Jiyong likes be bruised and broken.
"Fine," he grits out, breath hot against a pale cheek. "You're on your own for the day. See if you make it to second period unscathed." He doesn't shove him for being such a stuck up, judgmental asshole, reigning in the urge. Why bother teach him a lesson when everyone else'll do it for him?
Shoulders past the little punk, headed down the hallway and keeping an eye out for Daesung and Taeyang. In this place...it's not cars or money or names that get you anywhere. It's numbers. That's how you survive.
He doesn't like the kid's odds.
*
Fuckers. All of them. Assholes and fuckers and bitches. He comes up with colorful name after colorful name to curse them in his head, hands picking up books scattered over the hallway for the umpteenth time that day. Thankfully it's lunch and the prospect of food makes the beasts less interested in kicking him upside the head when he bends to retrieve them. He wishes he'd been as lucky earlier that morning.
His head still throbs from that particular blow, but he doesn't waste time complaining or crying into his own sleeve. Like the smell of blood, that'll only attract them. Tries instead to suck it up and hold it back, hands shaking from anger as he gathers the last of his strewn belongings. Considers hiding in his locker for the rest of the fucking day. He doesn't understand the teachers. They're crueler than the animals they supervise, because they let it happen. They watch and sit and turn back to their crossword puzzles and spiked coffee.
He doesn't understand what the point of security guards is if they don't secure anything. Violence still happens. Kids still bleed. He should know.
Feet carry him slow and guarded down to the cafeteria, where the hubbub is louder but the promise of compensation from all he has endured looms in the shape of barely edible lunches and rubbery jell-o. He swallows past pride and panic and joins the queue. Watches as kid after kid cuts him in line and doesn't dare to say anything, even as his fists tighten in his pockets. The minutes are ticking by and he hasn't made it much more than a couple feet forward. Frustration rises in him like a well-spring.
He hates them. Hates all of them. Especially those four. Hates the way they claim the biggest table, how they bark at every one who tries to take their last free chair. What the fuck do they need it for? To stretch their legs?
The one who cornered him this morning blows smoke, eyes trained on him. It doesn't help that they share a name - it's all they have in common - he's nothing like that monster. They're bullies and thugs and lowlifes and he doesn't want within ten feet of any of them. Seunghyun swallows hard, finally getting up to the front of the line, taking the tray he's passed and handing over his lunch money.
Doesn't make it more than five feet out of the room, when he trips over a chair thrust in front of him, tray and contents spilling to the floor.
His cheek hits the ground hard, the bump on his forehead throbbing dully and for a second he thinks he'll just lie there. What's the worst they can do? Mock him? Been there, done that. Eyes sting with tears of pain and frustration and the sense that he really is fucking alone in here. He doesn't stand a chance.
The sound of jeers gives way to the sound of footsteps close to his ear. He realizes he forgot to consider that they aren't done.
He shifts over onto his back, painfully, trying to get to his feet. Not wanting to be an easy target. His stomach flops over when he sees that it's one of them, the short one with the cornrows that brush his shoulders. A hand closes around his arm, dragging him to his feet, tight enough to make him wince in pain.
Girls wave their fake nails at him and the guy who tripped him flashes a wide grin. "You're so dead!" they laugh and point and mock and Seunghyun finds himself inclined to agree. Fingers clutch at the hand that grabs him, trying to pry it open.
"Please--"
"Just shut the fuck up," the other boy snaps, expression far from pleasant and he tugs hard at Seunghyun's arm, pulling him through the rows of tables and chairs and out into the hall. Pushes him through the door of the men's room. Snaps at the kid and the urinal.
"Piss down your fucking leg for all I care, but get out before I beat the shit out of you, too."
Seunghyun flattens his back to the wall, mouth dry with fright and heart somewhere in his throat. He's alone with one of them. Gods, he's alone with one of them. Threats issued yesterday come back to mind with a vengeance and he feels his hands shake, the bruise on his head long forgotten.
The other boy glares at him like he's trash. "Fucking loser." Something Seunghyun can't define, won't define, flickers over his face. "Good thing Seunghyun told you to fuck off. Shit like you isn't worth our time." The words are defensive and beligerant. As long as he doesn't come near him, he doesn't care.
For a second, it looks like the man is going to go back on his word, but in the next he's turning on his heel and slamming his fist into the wall.
Seunghyun jumps in his skin. Presses himself back as if he can sink through cinderblock and get out of here. Run and run until he can't anymore.
A harsh laugh echoes in the space.
"I'll tell Daesung that you didn't want the seat he left for you."
Then the man is gone and he can breathe again, at least in so far as dry heaving involves drawing breath. Turns out being in the restroom comes in handy when his stomach turns and everything he's swallowed all day comes up in the shape of bitter liquid. It takes away all thoughts of lunch or fifth period, replacing them with tears.
Enough.
He's had enough.
He locks the stall door behind him, sitting on the back of the toilet with his feet on the seat, bent over and letting his tears soak the fabric of his jeans. He wants to go home. He can't survive here. He can't come here every day to this and know that there's nothing better outside of it.
The sound of a sharp siren ringing through the hallways shoves him from his perch. It's the fire alarm and it echoes with the stampede of high school kids as they rush out of the building. No one wants to die here. Seunghyun included.
He takes the stairs two by two, tripping over feet - his own, those of others - and rushing like cattle into the yard. Teachers, for the first time, look like they're earning their paychecks. They wave signboards and call out names and a few man phones. Hopefully with the fire department on the other end rather than a sex hotline.
"What's going on?" asks a girl, her hands clutching her sides like she's cold. Like her see-through shirt isn't doing much to shield her from harsh winds. "Is it a drill?"
Her friend pops gum. "Nah. I saw everything. One of those punks lit a locker on fire."
Seunghyun's eyes slip in the direction she points. Sure enough, there is the foursome, smoking and passing matchboxes from one to the other.
"Do you know whose locker it was?" he asks, wanting to cry because his books. His clothes. Everything was in there and he doesn't have the money to get new ones and he'll have to watch his mother shake her head before she pulls out her wallet--
Bubble-gum girl throws him a look as if to say 'who the hell are you to be talking to me' but her smirk is feral. "Kiwi kid. Blond, about a head taller than you are? Shoved a chair under your feet like fifteen minutes go? Ring a bell?" She bumps shoulders with her friend, arms looped together. "He's gonna be real pissed off now... Sucks to be you."
In the clearing air, between shouts and fire engine sirens - a little much but the faculty must be claiming they're taking no chances - Seunghyun tries to find his breath. Do they hate him that much?
*
School lets out early on account of Daesung's stunt and Jiyong hangs off of his shoulders like the other boy scored the winning point in an all-state game. Seunghyun leaves them to be all lovey-dovey together and takes advantage of the commotion the fire truck has caused in the street to follow the kid home. As much as he thinks Daesung has balls to pull something like that off and not get caught, he's not completely deluded. Suspicion isn't gonna go to them, not yet anyway.
With his too-heavy book-bag and his nice clothes, there's a likelier, easier target around. And it walks with bent shoulders and trailing feet, like it knows it's being scrutinized.
He, Daesung would correct, like he did at lunch before Taeyang flew off the handle. He.
Lee Seungri. He's got to hand it to Jiyong, the name sounds good. Maybe it's not so hard to figure out why the kid appeals to his friend's sensitivities. Maybe it's not hard to see why Daesung likes him and why Taeyang saved his ass before he got pummeled. He's kind of pretty, in a kicked puppy kind of way.
He also lives in a nicer neighborhood that Seunghyun's visited in a while. It's not quite the suburbs, but at least the doors don't have double locks and the windows on the ground floors don't need bars. The cars parked outside newly painted garages beckon at him. Maybe he'll try hot-wiring one later.
The kid turns a corner and Seunghyun picks up the pace, loathe to lose him to someone less well-intentioned. It's as far as he'll go to say he gives a damn what happens to the boy. But no sooner is he around the wall of a two story grocery store that he all but runs smack-damn into the kid.
"Fuckin--"
"Why are you following me?" he barks, fists clenched against his sides. "What do you want?" His eyes flash dark and angry, skin blooming with red flushes down into the collar of his shirt. Seunghyun can't help wonder if he blushes all over or if it's an upper body kind of thing. It colors his smirk as he towers over the boy.
"What do you think? You didn't stick around after the fire." He nods to the bump on the kid's head, hand coming up to touch his brow. "That looks like it hurt." But did it hurt enough to make him understand?
A sharp slap sent his hand flying to the side. "Don't touch me. Just leave me alone." He squares his shoulders, taking a slight step back as though afraid of repercussions. He's learning, alright, but not the right lesson. Being alone isn't gonna save his ass. It's just going to get him torn apart a lot faster.
Seunghyun nods to the building behind him. "This where you live? A crowded little townhouse for mommy, daddy and the little asshole who's gonna get my fist in his face in about five seconds?"
Another step back.
"No," he defends, backing into the door. It's just his luck that someone on the other side picks that specific moment to pull it open with "oh, you're home--"
Seunghyun catches him by the wrist, keeping him on his feet and out of a woman's lap. The resemblance is uncanny. The kid's lie dies a quick death. Cheeks flare with the knowledge.
The woman's features falter for a moment, before a smile is put in place. "Hello there. Are you...are you one of Seunghyun's friends from school?"
The kid is giving him what amounts to a pleading stare and Seunghyun tightens his grip on his wrist, gives himself a moment to consider it. "Yeah, I am." He smiles easily, the one he'd use on girls at school if he had the slightest fucking interest in those bitches.
"Oh, how nice." The woman's features relax, like he's just told her her kid doesn't have cancer or something. "Would you like to come in? I won't disturb you boys for long, I'm, uh... Seunghyun, dear, I was going to tell you I have to go out tonight."
Seungri's features shutter a little and his mouth tightens and Oh, Seunghyun thinks, Oh, because she's one of those. His resolve steadies itself. "I'd love to come in, Lee-nim, thank you." Manners never failed to get anyone anywhere, even as they taste strange in his mouth. He tells Jiyong please sometimes, but he's not sure if it counts when the guy is on his knees in front of him.
The door opens wide and Seunghyun takes over the kid's decision-making process because if he doesn't they'll be stuck out there all day. Turns out his house is just as quaint on the inside, furniture second-hand but well kept, little carpets here and there to cover old floorboards. Seunghyun figures this is how his house must've looked like when he was a toddler, but that was an eternity ago and it doesn't matter anyway.
"Have you boys eaten?" the woman asks, like a welcoming hostess but with a touch of falsehood added in. "I can make you--"
"We're fine, Mom." It's the first Seungri's said since they came in and unsurprisingly it's a little testy.
She smiles a little, hands folded in front of her. "Why don't you go up to your room, honey? I'll make something and leave it in the oven if you get hungry." She leaves on that note, but not towards the kitchen and Seunghyun watches Seungri's expression. Waits to be led to his room.
"Well?"
A finger is thrust into his chest. "Leave my mother alone," Seungri grits out and for the first time - for the first time - he sounds like he means it. "I swear, if you even look at her wrong, I'll..."
Seunghyun steps into his personal space, fighting to contain a grin. "You'll what, kid? Hmm? What would you do?"
Seungri swallows hard and Seunghyun watches as his throat works. He stands his ground though, and that takes balls enough. "I'd fucking kill you."
"I'll keep that in mind," he nods. "So, are you gonna show me your room or should I just get comfortable on your couch?" It's another challenge, another test.
Seungri watches him, hands curled into loose fists at his sides. "Why don't you just go home? What the hell do you people want with me?" He has guts in his own space, like they're kids again, playing tagging games, and home is base. Garunteed immunity.
"You sure you want an answer to that question?" He tilts his head as he considers the boy, the soft eyes and the lips set in a line. "I want to see your room." No reason, no explanation.
There is a silence as their gazes meet, neither giving, neither backing down, until finally Seungri's eyes drop and he starts towards the stairs. "Come on, then."
The steps creak as they climb to the first floor and the walls get narrower - if that's even possible. Seungri's room is a white, impersonal thing, with a computer that looks well out of use in one corner of a work-bench. It's where Seungri dumps his bag.
Seunghyun looks around at sparse walls and a plainly made bed. Wonders if he just hasn't had time to unpack or if he really lives like this. Thinks of Jiyong's flat and the chaotic mess of color and furniture and posters and junk that it consists of. Moves to sit on the edge of the bed, hands in his pockets.
"You've seen it," Seungri points out, sounding almost tired. "Happy?" His back is turned to him as he pulls off shoes and jacket and aligns them in his closet.
"Thrilled," he snorts, crossing his ankles. "You move in here recently?"
"A couple weeks ago," he replies, trying not to look at Seunghyun, to find something else to occuppy his attention. "My mom's a clean freak so most of the boxes are gone."
"Where'd you live before? Uptown?" It's asked casually. Both Seungri and his mom look like they're too good for this place, at least on the outside. "You clean up nice. You don't belong here."
Seungri turns to him with a sharp look, dark brows furrowed as if he's unsure whether to take offense. "What difference does it make? I'm here now, whether I belong or not."
"I wonder why," he muses, head tilted to the side. "Why does a rich boy like you end up in the slums with rest of us? What did you do?"
Seungri's eyes flash and the kid looks genuinely pissed. It's interesting to see the change in him when he thinks he has the upper hand. "I didn't do anything. I certainly didn't deserve this place or that hellhole back there."
Seunghyun arches an eyebrow. "And we do?"
The kid doesn't drop his gaze. "You made your bed." And he visibly doesn't give a fuck about it. No wonder Taeyang wanted to rip him a new one. Disrespect knows limits around here and gets proportional punishment. Everybody knows it.
Maybe it's time Seungri did too.
Seunghyun stands from the bed, covering the distance between them in two quick steps. "You don't know us. You don't understand us. So don't you fucking dare judge us, you little prick."
He crowds the kid back against the door, blocking his escape and watches as his throat works in fear. But there's still belligerence in his gaze and he won't be happy till he gets beaten properly, will he?
"You're fucking thugs," Seungri snaps. "You're the reason that place is hell."
"We're the ones who kicked your things all over the floor, huh?" he fires, sharp and thick with disdain because Seungri's insulted more than his own pride here. "We're the ones who gave you that little beauty mark?"
"You set fire to a kid's locker!"
"And who the fuck you think we did that for, huh?"
The kid blanches, looking away and who's out of insults now? Where are his snappy little comebacks?
"Name one fucking thing we've done to you except watch your ass, you little son of a bitch." He shoves him into the door with that, because he's seldom wanted to hit anyone more. "You're so fucking worried about attracting attention that you've pushed away the only people who could protect you." He sneers at him. "You want to lie in that grave? Be my guest. But you fucking disrespect my friends again and I'll end you, pretty boy. Got it?"
His fingers flex in and out of fists at his sides, gaze skewering the kid to the door because fuck if he'll just take this. Jiyong, Daesung, Taeyang...they've all had way to much shit in their lives to waste their time on someone like this. Some ungrateful little punk.
Seungri's eyes shine. "Disrespect... you've been doing nothing but treat me like a fucking toy since I showed up! I'm not your fucking slave, I'm a human being and you don't get--you don't get to talk to me like I'm less just--just because..." He's fighting for breath, hands clawing at his shirt. "I have to... fear..."
His breaths are hitching, too fast, too shallow to draw in air and his eyes are closed tight. "I didn't....I don't want this...I wanna...home..."
Either he's got asthma or he's having a panic attack. Either way, Seunghyun has a flash of the kid's mom finding him dead in his room and it's way too fucking depressing.
One hand comes up to clutch at his shoulder. "Breathe, kid, you're not making any sense."
The kid crumples, sliding down the door to sprawl on his ass and Seunghyun goes down with him, crouching beside him.
Seungri's breathing sounds ugly, cheeks wet as he knocks his head back against the door. "Hate him...hate this place..." His chest rises and falls too fast, chin trembling with tears as yet unshed.
"Hate who?" Seunghyun presses him, insinuating fingers between the kid's head and the wood. "Who are you talking about?"
"My d-dad..." Seungri gulps in another breath. "It's his fault..."
Wouldn't be the first time, he thinks, trying to find the kid's gaze and hold it. "You had to move because of him?"
Rests a hand lightly on the kid's knee, trying to remember what he's seen Taeyang do for Daesung.
"Y-yeah..." Seungri chokes softly. "He ruined our lives."
He's seen this way too many times. One way or another he can fill in the blanks. "Calm down. You're okay. 's just you and me and your mom downstairs. You're okay."
The kid looks up at him with wet eyes, still dragging in painful sounding gasps of air. "How do...stand it here?"
"You make your bed," he sighs, because he has no words of comfort. Surviving out here isn't a game, it's reality. "Come on, let's get you off the ground."
He slides an arm behind the kid's shoulders, pulling him up to stand, letting him lean against the door as he tries to slow his breath. Presses his mouth together in a line and pushes the kid's hair out of his face. Gradually, the other's breathing starts to sound a little more normal.
"Thanks," Seungri mumbles, not looking at him, the words quiet in the bare room.
He doesn't move to pull away.