‘kiss with a fist’ csb + kji
it’s been only a few weeks since jongin has returned back to seoul, back to city of a thousand mistakes, the smell of japanese island shores still fragrant on his skin. the lull and tilt of his dialect now some sort of hodge-podge mess of french and korean and Japanese, his accent sometimes confusing even him. he still slips a few words of french and japanese into his conversation, forgetting momentarily how much koreans dislike foreigners, but at least his society friends pretend like it’s charming.
but the biggest thing about japan that has left a monumental impact on his life had definitely been the yakuza training he’d received by some miracle. it’s the only thing that’s kept him alive this long in all honesty.
jongin smashes his fists against the smaller man’s head, the feeling of his jaw unlocking and popping out of place something that shoots a jolt of thrill up his arm and into his cold, black heart. he can feel beneath it all, the tar being bumped through his system instead of blood, his soul long since bartered away for something more practical like a gun that won’t ever jam up or a get-out-of-jail-free card. he grins slowly at the broken-down boy on his knees before him, three other guys surrounding them, holding him down while jongin “interrogates” him. they’ve been at this for only about 15 minutes, and it’s been fun, but jongin’s time is worth more to him than this. he is still on the outskirts of the bigger operations and it frustrates him; he knows he can take on more projects, he can do better than this small-time bullshit.
“stealing from us isn’t good for your health, my friend,” jongin mutters at the man, whose lips are bleeding, face is bruised, breathing is haggard. jongin chuckles, straightening up and inhaling deeply, before reaching down grabbing the man by his dislocated jaw. at the same time, he unsheathes a gun out from its holster hooked to the back of his belt underneath his leather jacket. he shoves the barrel practically up the man’s nose, lowering his voice and dropping the smile, his eyes growing dark like death, as serious as a black hole. “now. i have better things to do than play with you like this. tell me where the money is and i won’t paint a smiley face on the wall behind you in your own blood.”
