coincidences.
arcmoonsoo:
“are you happy now that my hands are red?” he asks him, acid dripping from his tongue, twists the knife once with a grimace before he pulls his hand away and takes a few steps back, sniffs against the air and swipes his bloodied hand off across the thigh of his jeans.
“and you call me the fucked up one.”
as much as hanjun hates to admit, there’s a part of him that actually likes song moonsoo. it’s a separate entity from the anger, the jealousy, and the amusement, as if underneath all his snarling words and raging anger, he still thoroughly enjoys himself whenever song moonsoo is near. maybe that’s why he continues to wait at the bench, maybe that’s why he keeps playing their game no matter how much song moonsoo infuriates him with the wanton use of his powers.
hanjun likes song moonsoo because he’s apathetic and audacious, uncaring about what others think of him and uncaring of the consequences of his actions. at times, it seems like they’re cut from the same cloth that way, as if their consciences have been burnt away and they’re just the charred remains of a type of failed humanity that should never exist or be allowed to spread. yet here they are, like the bad seeds in a group of wannabe superheroes, and it feels like the only way for them to burn off the aggression and ego is to play amongst themselves until they both collapse from exhaustion. and so at song moonsoo’s words, hanjun’s lips slowly tug into a smile and he says, “show me the best you can do. i’ll take all of it.” and there’s excitement tinging his words, his eyes flaming with challenge. hanjun wants to be exhausted.
or... it could be too soon to say. it’s song fucking moonsoo after all.
song moonsoo calls him a coward and hanjun laughs. “and here’s the pot calling the kettle black.” hanjun knows himself well enough not to take song moonsoo’s bait. he’s proud of his actions, knows that he would never run away from his problems and instead would rather rush headfirst into them. after all, if it meant that he’d be taking a person down with him, he would readily burn himself down with them. one thing’s for sure, hanjun would never hide. “how typical of you,” he adds.
he then scoffs. “you’re hardly getting anything done,” hanjun says, revulsion in his tone. “not when you aren’t doing it yourself. it’s easy to order someone else to do it, isn’t it?” he nearly snarls, bares his teeth at the words. “but all you’re actually doing is moving your fat mouth.” and it’s the truth that it’s something that hanjun loathes, just like the rich businessmen who’ve been desecrating his island for the sake of profits, ordering masses of people to do their dirty work without lifting a finger. private resort after private resort after private resort they’ve built and profited from simply through the power of their words; and hanjun hates it. maybe it’s his work ethic, the way he belongs to the working class, the way hard work has to triumph over nepotism and silver fucking spoons or else there’s nothing to work towards. and song moonsoo’s powers are a true representation of that abuse of power, that the powerful will always exploit the weak, claiming all the credit and reward for someone else’s hard work just because they got a little lucky. even if it’s hypocritical, it’s a power that hanjun strives towards, and it’s the exact reason why hanjun despises his powers. wings and regenerative abilities do nothing for his higher purpose and hanjun is anything but weak. “i’d rather be a bird,” he grunts, “than a puppet of the arc. fuck the arc and whatever use they have of my powers. but it must be nice for you, being prized by them this way. their pretty little puppet. think they’ll ever let you go?” he pats song moonsoo’s cheek.
the tip of the knife digs into hanjun’s stomach and he hardly feels a pinch. “i know you more than you think i do,” he says nonchalantly, hands poised on the handle. “i don’t know, what do you think this is? would you believe me if i said this wasn’t a test? or do you think i’m just lying to you?” he raises his brow but then he grits his teeth just the slightest. it’s a slight tension that he releases almost as quickly as it came. “jealousy has nothing to do with this. learning how to use a gun is meaningless if you don’t personally put it to good use. anyway, a gun is nowhere as satisfying. it takes all the fun away.”
when hanjun feels the piercing protrusion of the metal, he grimaces at the pain and laughs, as if it was startled out of him, as if this was something he genuinely enjoyed. his hands are sliced open and he very obviously feels the pain in his stomach but he ignores them in favour of the grin and joy that takes over his face. “yes, moonsoo, that’s right! learn to get your hands dirty!” he laughs, even as he feels the blood trickling out of his wound which he does nothing to stop. maybe after all the months of the arc trying to test out his regenerative abilities, in afflicting all kinds of bodily harm to him just to test out his limits, song moonsoo’s violence is a welcome change. at the very least, hanjun had the autonomy to decide who could hurt him and amongst the other twenty-five, song moonsoo was the likeliest choice. “but that’s not good enough. if you really want it to hurt, you have to do... this.” hanjun then twists the knife in him and digs in with a finality, intentionally tearing up his insides; and does so in a way he knows hurts the most.
he winces, hunches and staggers a little, then takes a couple of steps back to flump on the bench. he coughs and then laughs again. “i never did say you were the only fucked up one.”
