Διονυσος

Kai (Kim Jongin) / Dionysus | 23 | Idol/DJ | Divine “Prepare yourselves, for the roaring voice of the God of Joy.” ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

[mghxyein-deactivated20150217]

Easily Forgotten, Easily Replaced || Haneul & Kai

[mghxyein-deactivated20150217]

The words that echo above him are overwhelming, and Haneul realises he hasn’t heard Jongin’s voice in so long. Not properly, at least – watching him on television doesn’t count, hearing him on the radio doesn’t count, listening to him as his grandmother’s ringtone doesn’t count either. None of that counts, and none of it compares to the sound of him in real life, right in his ear, only a few steps away from him. Jongin in real life was a concept he had forgotten entirely – he couldn’t remember what it was like to see the boy so often, play their video games and laugh like they didn’t have a care in the world. He had actually forgotten it all. Watching Jongin moving in front of him now, lifting his head away from the ground for a moment to eye the latter, and seeing that Jongin was alive, breathing and well, it overwhelmed him.

“You haven’t changed at all,” Haneul can’t help but chuckle, and he shakes his head slowly as he stands back up. His legs stretch out beneath him, and his phone is perfectly fine – it’s been scratched before, it’s even been submerged underwater before and came out healthy. There was absolutely nothing wrong at that very moment, except maybe for himself. “But you’re wrong, you know. You’re about a year too late to know me. I used to steal your pizza slices when we ate together, I was a sore loser when we played Mario Kart, but did you forget that we haven’t done that for a whole year? The only thing you know about me now is my name, which I’m surprised you haven’t forgotten completely, and my star sign, which I have no idea how you still remember that, considering you didn’t even care to call me on my birthday. And also, also, anybody who meets me for the first time would know I pull on my hair – I do it every other second, it’s not a big deal, you’re not an exception to any rule, Kim Jongin.”

The words leave him in a hurry, and it causes him to run out of breath, run out of energy entirely to deal with this at this very moment. He can’t even look Jongin in the eye – and it hurts to even call him Jongin, because is he really Jongin anymore? – so Haneul opts for staring down at his phone in his hand, his head still shaking from side to side.

“I just… should I be happy that you’re sorry?” It takes a few moments of quiet before he can finally lift his head to glance over at the latter, and the way Jongin’s face is contorted makes his heart ache. “I should be happy, shouldn’t I? You know that you just… left me, right? Did you know that the other day, I locked myself in the pharmacy’s back room, just so that I could hear your voice calling for me again? Just so that I could pretend that this past year was just some sick joke you’ve been playing on me, and that I was just dreaming? That you’d come and unlock it and we’d just go back to crashing at my place and playing video games until my grandma dragged us by our ears and basically threw us into bed.”

His chest is heaving, and he can feel a panic attack creeping up on him, but no, he couldn’t stop now. He had too much too say, too much of this pent-up frustration still buried deep within him, and Jongin knows he talks a lot so he should be let off the hook this time, shouldn’t he? “You knew this would happen, Jongin, you knew I would react like this, didn’t you? Surely if you couldn’t forget everything else, you wouldn’t forget about my own character, my own… ‘crazy moments’” – he accompanies these words with air-quotations, a twisted expression his face – “the times when I’m balancing between hating you and wishing you were still a year younger and a year less bitter. But same to me, I suppose. If I could rewind a year, I’d try to stay happy, try to stay a little stronger for the very reason that I had nobody else but you.” He breathes out, but has to press a hand on his chest as it tightens against him, and he can feel the tears burning the rim of his eyes.

“Fuck. Fuck! Jongin!” Haneul almost screams at him, shouts at him, but he manages to continue his disappointed shaking of his head. “Why? Why did I have to see you today or all days? Why not yesterday? Why not tomorrow, where I’ll undoubtedly be in a better mood? Why did you choose today to run into me for? Why did you never pick up my thousands and millions of phone calls? Why didn’t you just change your phone number? Why?”

[dionysus-twtd]

The feeling of being caged in after months of nearly absolute freedom is terrifying. It raises the hairs at the back of Kai's neck and trickles droplets of cold, unforgiving panic down his spine, freezing him in place and hindering him from moving with the lazy, confident ease he's been carrying himself with for the past months. For the past months. His mind is stuck in a loop, and he swears he can feel his fingertips trying to grasp on to the concept of time and space before it slips away again, leaving him with the feeling of being miles away and millennia old, and twenty-three and standing in the middle of the street listening to his best friend spitting his name like it's a curse.

He's itching for a drink. Truthfully, he's itching for anything but this, anything but being forced to stay still and listen and attempt to bear the weight of too much at the same time, but he can't bring himself to move no matter how many times Haneul's words cut through him like knives. He always did use to talk a lot, Kai muses idly, trying to ignore his own wince and the outraged pounding of his heart when Haneul tells him that he'd locked himself in, waiting for Jongin to come help him. The anger from before is still coursing through his veins, but it's subdued while he's frozen on the spot, unable to do anything else than listen. 

The signs of distress stand out as if someone's highlighted them for him, forcing him to notice how Haneul's Adam's apple bobs when he swallows thickly and how his breathing is uneven and messed up. Jongin would never call his friend a coward, but he knows that if anyone knows the pain of anxiety and panic, it's Haneul, and he knows that the other would avoid it if he could. But he powers on, stubborn, angry, wronged, and Kai's heartbeat picks up again when Haneul screams, speech pattern dissolving into why, why, why, and the edges of Kai's vision is tinged a vicious red when he opens his mouth.

"You don't fucking understand, Haneul." He finally barks out, feeling the muscles in his arms flex as he tries to force himself into relaxing. It isn't working. "You don't understand what this is like, you don't know what I'm-- Ah, do you think it's a joke?" Kai asks suddenly, voice harsh as he takes a step forward and regrets it immediately afterwards -- his mind is reminding him that he doesn't actually want to scare Haneul, but he's too angry to think straight. "That I thought it'd be a blast to leave my best friend and just sit in a corner somewhere for months, for no other reason than to mess with you? You're asking me why!? Do you think I would just up and leave you if I had any other choice?" His laugh is incredulous and cold, mirroring the November air around them that feels as if its closing in, and it suddenly doesn't chill him anymore. Jongin has never really yelled at Haneul before.

"You think I didn't miss you?" He pretends his voice doesn't crack because Kai is a fucking singer now, crooning at girls about how beautiful they are and howling out his ecstasy over large arenas to compel everyone to join him, and they always do. Kai's voice doesn't crack; it just doesn't. "Do you think I kept my old phone and my old number for some other reason? Do you think I still remember your habits, your birthday, your voice, your fucking scent, just because it's fun? Do you think I called you just now for any other reason than the fact that maybe -- actually, definitely, Haneul -- I fucking missed you too, and I didn't know what the fuck to do with myself." The words leave his mouth as if they're tinged with acid, because he doesn't want to taste the sincerity on his tongue or the guilt crawling up his throat like bile. His eyes find the ground before he squeezes them shut, trying to burn the image of Haneul's expression out of his mind.

"I missed you, and I'm sorry; regardless of if you accept it or not. I can't take the last year back." And Kai doesn't tell Haneul that he wouldn't even if he could, swallowing the words down and trying to uncurl his fists. "And you know-..." There's a pause, the silence thick and unfamiliar between them after all the raw emotion and the screaming, but eventually Kai continues. It's quieter now, the night calm as his gaze flickers up to meet Haneul's with an almost unnerving intensity, watching for the other's reaction to the words he murmurs next.

"... you know I'm not the same anymore, either."

[edanzgarden]

[mghxyein-deactivated20150217]

Easily Forgotten, Easily Replaced || Haneul & Kai

[mghxyein-deactivated20150217]

He’s dreamt about this moment, he’s not going to lie; he’s definitely dreamt about the day where they would finally encounter each other once more. This moment is quite possibly nothing like he’d ever dreamt of, however, but he can’t really remember the scenarios that ran through his head anyway. There’s just something about now that’s pinching painfully at his skin, sending wracked shivers that scrape along his nerves as they surf down his spine, and the hair on the back of his neck aren’t just standing on ends – they’re trying to escape his body entirely, just like how he’d much rather be escaping right now. Although he’s dreamt of meeting this man again, he’s dreamt of much better things than this situation – any other day, maybe he’d be okay. But not today. Not a day where he’s missed Jongin so much, a day where he seriously considered going down to the old arcade they used to frequent, only to remember that it shut down the day they stopped going, because they were the only patrons to ever visit that place on a frequent basis. Now, that old man’s passed away, long gone, the arcade abandoned, and Haneul wants to set the entire place on fire.

And maybe he will. After he deals with Kim Jongin. No, wait, it’s ‘Kai’ now, isn’t it? Haneul can taste the bitterness of his thoughts even on his tongue, and he lets a small frown set over his features.

The latter’s just staring at him. As if he were waiting, and it’s so unfair because doesn’t he know how long Haneul has been waiting? Doesn’t he understand how many lunch breaks he’s spent ignoring his fellow interns to try calling Jongin’s phone number? Doesn’t he get it, that what Haneul’s been through is really pitiful, and that he would definitely trade it in for death any day? If being abandoned by his only long-term friend isn’t bad enough, said friend just had to go on and live a totally happy life with all his power and fame and glory and not a single consideration for Haneul himself. The thoughts make him feel sick, and he scoffs in disbelief. How much longer does he have to wait before he gets answers, before he’s repaid for all the misery he’s had to put himself through? Then again, maybe that’s his own fault – he’ll pretend he hasn’t been miserable, and maybe that’ll be the exact sort of revenge he’ll dish out.

He tries to muster up a small smile, to say that no, I didn’t miss you, and I know you didn’t miss me, so we’re even, but Jongin moves in to hug him and it’s such a nostalgic feeling that Haneul’s smile instantly slips away. His hands move to reciprocate, because it’s very familiar and it’s really all he’s ever wanted – to know that none of it was on purpose, and yes, perhaps Jongin felt guilty for turning and leaving in the first place. Just to know that he’s not as easily replaceable as any other warm body Jongin’s seen on the streets. But instead of pressing his fingers against the back of the man’s shoulder blades to pull him closer, he grabs Jongin’s shoulders and roughly pushes him away instead. All that falls from his lips is the word “no”, and a small shake of his head as he looks away, gaze suspended and arms falling to his side. “No, that’s not fair,” he utters, almost in confusion, the frown painted along his eyebrows once more.

Haneul purposefully drops his phone to the ground, watches it land on a corner and dents the rim, watches as his phone rejects Jongin’s call, and good. “You’re Kai now, aren’t you? I don’t know you. Please don’t touch me like that. We’re strangers, nothing more, don’t hug strangers. It’s dangerous, you don’t know who I am, I could hurt you really badly, you know?” He’s rambling, he knows it – his hands are digging into his hair and they’re tugging almost painfully on the dark strands, a habit he’ll never forgo. He takes a step backwards and looks down at his phone, hands still gripping on tightly. “I could really hurt you. Hurry, turn around and continue on your way. Don’t waste your time here. Nothing to see.” He crouches down, finishing off his last words without even another glance up at Jongin – Kai – and picks up his phone, absentmindedly inspecting along the rim for any more scratches.

[dionysus-twtd]

There's blood in Kai's mouth, the wound on the inside of his left cheek stinging as he runs his tongue over it, and his jacket is still too thin to shield him from the chill in the air, but he feels strangely comforted with Haneul's smell all around him. He remembers how sometimes when they met, Haneul's jacket and hair would smell like the pharmacy, artificially fresh and sanitary. It was a sharp scent that sometimes came with a touch of the dustiness from the small backroom Haneul didn't like going into, or some old lady's overbearing flowery perfume. And although Kai never missed a chance to make fun of the other for it, it became familiar to throw himself onto his couch and be able to smell traces of old lady perfume from when Haneul had done the same just a few hours prior.

But even as he holds the other close, most of Kai's senses are filled with his own scent; a heady mix of make-up, smoke, alcohol and some expensive cologne he'd been given by his fans, and it jolts him almost violently, waking him from the reckless happiness that had taken him over. It brings him up to date in a whirr and mess of memories containing too much drinking and that familiar, buzzing overconfidence -- and suddenly, it's been months.

( He knows this not only because of how his chest had hurt when he'd realized how much he had missed Haneul's laugh, but also in the blaring silence that rings in his ears, and how he realizes that he isn't hearing it now, either. )

Kai is being forced back with a rough shove before he can react, his feet stumbling on the asphalt and his new designer shoes scraping against the damp ground before he can catch his balance. A million thoughts roar through his mind in the small amount of time it takes for him to look up again, most of them an incomprehensible mess of disbelief, guilt and anger, and the scowl is on his face before he can stop it.

It's been months.

There's anger pulsing through his veins with every beat of his erratic heart, a sudden flare of it so intense that it nearly scares the man himself; Kai doesn't get angry. Kai gets even; and Kai never gets hurt, because he's figured out a long time ago that it's hard to feel the sting of severed ties if you don't make any new ones in the first place. But despite all of that, he feels painfully out of control of the coiling in his belly and the guilt that's eating him up from the inside, rearing its ugly head in a battle with the insistent "I don't owe anyone anything." that's ringing in his head. He feels very old, all of a sudden.

"You can't hurt me." Kai has always been good with words -- Jongin never was -- but they fail him now, coming out too awkward and lacking the power he's become used to projecting over huge arenas. "And we are not strangers. You're Haneul. I know you're a Capricorn and you like stealing my pizza slices, you're a sore loser when I win at Mario Kart and you're always pulling your hair when you don't know what to do, like now--" There are too many thoughts running through his mind, frustration crawling through his body and Haneul has to understand. He has to, but words are slipping out of Kai's mouth before he can coordinate them, put them together into something understandable. Something apologetic.

"You can't shove me anymore." is quickly followed by; "I can buy you a new phone if it's broken." and Kai has never felt more confused and angry at himself in his life. It feels like he's in third grade doing his presentation on squirrels again, stuttering and repeating himself and finally giving up with a quiet--

"I'm sorry." He says finally, freeing the words from their cage in his chest. Kai curls his fingers into fists, frustration still boiling just beneath the surface and escape seeming like a more and more viable option. He needs a fucking drink.

[dionysus-twtd]

We Are Golden ✰ Kai & Dongwoo

There's the distinct sensation of not being able to catch his breath accenting the feeling that's buzzing beneath the surface of his skin; consuming him whole and somehow building him up at the same time until he feels as if he's going to burst into colours. Everything is too small because he feels too great. He feels as if he's too big to fit into the limousine transporting him away from the concert venue, too big for the passing scenery of Seoul's nightlife outside the toned windows, and too big for the entirety of the city. He's acting on pure, unadulterated instinct, the greatness swirling around in his chest slipping out of his mouth with every loud laugh, every playful comment and every appreciative press of his lips to the skin of one of his companions. 

The Maenads are buzzing today too, seemingly soaking up the pleasure that's oozing off of their god in waves and swallowing it down together with the wine that taints their lips and warms their bodies in the already heated space. Touch is a constant when he is with his worshippers, because they live to worship him in every way he allows; delivering reverent touches to his thighs and chest or running their hands through his hair until he's all but purring in contentment, almost unwilling to get out of the car once they've reached their destination.

The palace is always beautiful at night, and he feels his heart soar as he looks up at it while trying to navigate to the entrance, his security guards moving closer when the media descends upon him. The world is a pleasant blur, time moving fast in a way that would worry him otherwise, but Kai remains untouchable for tonight. The flashes of the cameras reflect on the glittery material of his performance jacket, and it's easy to smirk and bask in the attention until he eventually disappears into the building, leaving the world behind. The silence inside is nearly deafening in comparison to the chatter in his car and the shouts of the journalists outside -- not to mention the booming music in the concert venue -- but Kai finds himself not minding it. He's in possession of a melody of his own, one unending as it sings its way through his veins and reaches its climax in the center of his rapidly beating heart, filling him with energy that makes his fingertips tingle and urges him to do something drastic.

Kai doesn't knock on the door to the flower prince's room, too eager to see if the other has made it home from the venue yet so he can satisfy his sudden urge to dance with someone. His Maenads are most likely off on their own in his room, awaiting either his call or his presence, but Kai knows there's enough wine in there to keep them happy for quite some time. 

"Xochi," His voice is dripping with excitement as his senses are filled with the sweet scent of flowers, the buzz in his veins only seeming to increase at the sight of the other god. Kai inhales and feels like liquid gold; warm and shimmering and untouchable as he saunters further into the room, hips already swaying along to an imaginary beat as he extends his hands in invitation. "Come dance with me."

[mghxyein-deactivated20150217]

Easily Forgotten, Easily Replaced || Haneul & Kai

The countless, sleepless nights spent looking at his phone, scrolling through year-old conversations that were all so seamlessly and suddenly dropped, looking through his photo gallery to see two young men smiling and grinning with their arms around each other. The nights where Haneul would sit in his wardrobe and cry his heart out because his fear of enclosed spaces was all the more prominent when his friend was no longer around to help him. Sitting with his head against the wall behind him, letting his tears blur his vision and his sobs to wrack his chest, letting the demons inside of him terrify him. He immerses himself in his worst nightmare, just so that he could relive the memories that were so easily forgotten by the other. After all, if Haneul weren’t so easily replaceable, easily forgettable, they wouldn’t be like this now, right?

He remembers being locked in the backroom of the apothecary roughly a year ago on accident, and he remembers forgetting how to breathe and feeling nails scrape along his skin and the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He remembers barely being able to find his voice for long enough to scream out for help, for anybody to get him out into the open because he was so scared. He remembers the door being yanked open in a hurry and the one familiar face to help him out, to stop his erratic breathing pattern, to bring him a vast space of simple, fresh air that recycled itself through his lungs. He remembers everything as if it were yesterday.

And he remembers being shut off from that exact same person, suddenly no longer friends and not even acquaintances, no longer spending time together playing video games and fluffing around whenever Haneul didn’t have any work to do. He remembers seeing posters on the subway and being terribly confused, because one day he couldn’t see the boy, then the next, he’s seeing him everywhere. Or more, he’s seeing his face everywhere, but he’s yet to see the real thing in so long that he yearns for that friendship once more. Haneul doesn’t come by people often, and not often at all does he find someone worth latching onto. So why was it that he was so coldly thrown out into the streets like that? Didn’t he do everything by the book?

Lunch breaks at his internship when his mentor wasn’t looking, Haneul would always reach for his phone and dial that too-familiar number. Not that he’s ever gotten a response – he managed to ignore him for a good year, an entire damn year – but Haneul was nothing if not persistent. No matter how many times he received the same, automated message – the person you have called is not available, please check the number and try again; the person you have called is not available, please check the number and try again; the person you have fucking called is not fucking available, please check the number and try the fuck again – Haneul would still continuously press that dial button like his life depended on it. Until he was called back to work, until he would have to momentarily forget about the latter for a few more hours, and he didn’t care if he came off as clingy – the boy meant the world to him at one point, and why should he forget someone who treated him the way a friend should?

He doesn’t do it everyday – some days, he just has no strength. Some days, he just wants to go home and bury himself underneath his bed sheets, forget that he took the subway everyday from the inner city to his hometown where there were stupid banners everywhere he turned his head. Today is one of those days, a day in which Haneul is busy staring at the ground, clutching onto his phone as if it were his life source, turning every corner with a slow glance just in case a miracle happened. But he knows miracles don’t happen to those who don’t deserve it. So, he simply tightens his grip on his phone, almost screaming in fright when it starts ringing – his ring tone is too loud, and he tugs on his hair in annoyance as he looks at his screen.

But his blood runs cold when he smacks straight into someone from around the corner, and although the posters are pretty damn accurate, he never prepared to have the figure standing in front of him to be moving, breathing, looking at him with a phone in his own hand.

[dionysus-twtd]

The first thing Kai notices when he steps outside is that there's a chill in the air, one that easily penetrates the flimsy protection of his leather jacket and causes goosebumps to appear along his arms. It's November, he realizes, face trained into nonchalance as he forces down the reaction that bubbles up inside him and the feelings that have been resting far too close to the surface lately. It's an intricate matter, one with endless turns and twists and nuances and millenia on its back, all fit in between the walls of his mind whether he can handle it or not - and most of the time, it's easy. 

Slipping into who he is now, the god of intoxication, is only a matter of a few gulps or inhales of whatever he prefers for the night, allowing the gentle buzz of it to settle in beneath the surface of his skin as his actions and words tumble out on their own, filling a void as if it's being sucked out of him, as if it's just what he's supposed to do. And he reckons that it is as he grins at his fans and the cameras, squeezing as many minutes out of his day as he can before he collapses and succumbs to darkness, only to wake up a few hours later and repeat the process.

But there are days like this one.

Days when silence for once pleases his senses and he allows his mind to wander, recalling times that didn't involve much more than easy smiles, boring work and bachelor dinners eaten in only sweatpants while he tried to beat his friend at Halo. Haneul, his mind reminds him unhelpfully, and Kai shoves his hands deep into his pockets as he starts walking, fingertips curling around the phone in his pocket. He'd gotten a new one as soon as he'd arrived at the Pantheon, but his old one was still intact and fully functioning, often kept in one of his pockets or in his room. It rang almost every day, vibrating with text messages from concerned family members and blaring out a song that used to be his favorite every time Haneul would call him on his lunch break, and although it irritated him, he'd kept it around for reasons he didn't always understand -- but today is one of those days when he does.

There's a cold ball of guilt and confusion in his stomach, the two feelings competing and dividing him in a conflict of then and now, a dissonance between something that dates back millennia and something that Kai has known his entire life, and eventually, one of them wins. He knows Haneul's number by heart, and his fingertips tap out the numbers rapidly on his phone as he makes sure not to give himself time for hesitation or second-thoughts, instead raising the phone to his ear and unconsciously speeding up his steps as the dialing tone rings and he waits with a subtle, bittersweet taste on his tongue. 

It's abruptly replaced by the taste of blood as Kai bites into his cheek, letting out a loud yelp and nearly dropping his phone as both the pain and the sudden impact shock him. It takes a while for him to register what he's looking at, even as his eyes snap up to the person in front of him, then down to the glowing and vibrating phone in his hand and up again. The words he was going to say die in his throat with a weird groaning sound, and Kai stares at Haneul as if he's just seen a ghost. 

His first instinct is to pull the other into his arms and hold him there to make sure that he's real, and Kai hesitates for a few seconds, mind flashing with images of Haneul's shallow breathing and wide, fearful eyes when he feels trapped, and the last thing Kai wants is to scare the other away. So he waits for a few more seconds, the phone by his ear telling him "the person you have called is not available, please check the number and try again" before Kai decides that Haneul can probably handle it, and abruptly pulls the other into a hug.

Words are lost to him then, despite how often he is praised for his silver tongue in interviews and public appearances -- and all Kai can do is croak out a "hi" against the other's shoulder, hoping that Haneul will somehow understand that for him the past year has felt more like a decade.

[dionysus-twtd]

Just Our Luck ▲ Kai & Sayaka

"Stop here, please." The taxi driver's eyes flicked up at the rear-view mirror at the sound of the low murmur, a slight twitch to her hands being the only sign of surprise as she gave a quiet hum, doing as he'd requested without comment. The shadows in the backseat shifted as Kai lazily reached for the wallet in his back-pocket, fingertips tapping out a slow beat against the cold surface of his card. He mindlessly swiped it through the machine he was handed, wasting no time sliding out of the car and barely sparing the driver a glance as he stepped away from it, impatient to get off the streets now that he was out in the open. The driver had probably recognized him; these days, everybody did. 

Some days, the wonder of it all would make his fingertips tingle and his lungs feel full and ready to burst, and on those days he enjoyed walking through the city, welcoming the consequences of showing his face without any trace of hesitation. But today was not one of those days. It was a day of -- custom-made, of course -- large hoodies and sneakers, of bad posture and footsteps scuffling along the asphalt at a hurried pace, and impatience flaring up once he'd finally arrived at his destination and realized he would have to wait in line at the bank just like everybody else. Pulling the "Divine card" was always an option, but there was no guaranteeing the banker would even be impressed by his presence in the first place.

A soft sigh marked his resignation to his fate; the young god just about to turn around and take his place on one of the many uncomfortable chairs spread out through the room, when there was the sudden, distinct sound of glass being smashed in, and everything seemed to speed up after that. Kai's head snapped up to briefly take in the forms of four masked men rushing in through a broken window near the back, quickly spreading out and barking at everyone to get down on the floor unless they wanted to be shot; going as far as to hit a few of them with the backs of their guns if they weren't fast enough. It was such a painfully stereotypical image that Kai wasn't sure if he should laugh or not, and so he just so happened to be one of the slower ones to comply with the robbers' wishes.

A sharp pain to the back of his neck made him cry out, and he was forced down onto his knees and shoved forward towards a small group of other civilians before he had the time to react. 

"Don't be a hero, pretty boy. You're our bargaining chip now - play nice, and get out alive." The man behind him grunted, and even more so than the dull throbbing at his neck, Kai could feel the pleasure and intoxication oozing off of him in waves. The man was truly enjoying himself, he realized, unable to help the smile that teased at the corners of his lips as he sensed the same within the others. It was intriguing enough to convince him to stay still and lower his body to the floor completely, his fingers curling into the rough, brown carpet as he dismissed the idea of stopping them; it would only be a shame to end it before it had even begun, and he knew they posed him no real threat. 

But just as he was about to try to relax and wait for the police force's inevitable arrival, the other hostage to his left eyed him with a suspicion that he knew all too well until her eyes suddenly flashed with recognition and she choked. Kai knew that look, and his own eyes widened in surprise and warning in an attempt to stop what he knew was already unavoidable - all he could do in the end was grimace as she shrieked out his name and attracted the attention of the robbers in a matter of seconds. So much for relaxation, then.

For once, Kai genuinely wouldn't mind the presence of the police.

[unitedtwelve]