#a:nswered

[zureo-blog]

"Yo, kid." Words are but an empty introduction for the frame of lenghty fingers is found coiled to the shape of a fist, a figure that shortly crosses through the latter's jaw into a firm punch charged by inhuman cells within. "Get your head straight and get over whatever happened between you and Jaehyun." The echoing of a click in annoyance echoes past the crevice of rose lips, lithe of limbs soon found crossing over his thorax. "That is nothing like you. It's pitiful. Man up, Taeyong."

Taeyong wanted nothing but opulent solitude, but he received more than he bargained for. 

He’s tempted to leave when he catches a glimpse of Baekhyun from the corner of his eye, but he decides to stick around and hear what they have to say before he makes a decision. Forearms remain propped upon the concrete baluster and his fingers have yet to untwine. “Look,” his gaze draws towards the elder, jaded and unamused. “If you’re here to stir up something with me, save it. I’m not in the mood to deal with your melodramatic bullshit.” 

It takes him a second or two to fully assimilate what had recently transpired, as he doesn’t recall ever having been confronted in this way before. He blinks, astounded, subconsciously tracing tracing the pads of his fingers over the area that became a victim of physical abuse. Copper plagues his tastebuds, and it is unsatisfying. Taeyong doesn’t realize he’s bleeding until he swipes at the blood tracing down his chin from pale lips that were once unmarred, gaze skimming over the contrast its created across his fingers. 

Now, it is mere thought of Jaehyun made his stomach twist and turn in ways he didn’t think were possible, as he has long since shoved every tantalizing thought he had of the younger to the back of his mind for sake of his own mentality and well-being. However, Baekhyun’s mention of the aforementioned inevitably brought each of them back into awareness, and he, quite frankly, could feel everything beginning to sink into the sensitive underbelly of his heart.

He feels the pain, but anger replaces it.

“How many times do I need to remind you to stay the fuck out of my life?” He harshly inquires, lurching forward and grabbing ahold of the wrist belonging to the hand that was used to assault him, and he throws the latter against the wall behind them. Taeyong leans forward until there’s little space separating them, fingers clenched into an exceedingly tight fist as he slams it against the wall, purposely missing and hitting the spot beside their head. His gaze is hard and his breathing is hitched. “You don’t know anything about me, Baehyun. You don’t know anything about what happened between me and Jaehyun, so stop going around and sticking your nose into my fucking business, and just leave me the fuck alone.” 

[zureo-blog]

"You're bleeding... You're bleeding bad..."

His body is nothing more than mere vessel for his corrupted soul, but he sins each time he tries to burn it down to the ground. 

He is standing in the middle of her bathroom, in front of the mirror and over the sink. His back is to the door and he has long since discarded both his shirt and jacket on the floor, tending to the unwanted “gift” his step father left him before they had split and parted ways. He keeps a hand compressed over the unsightly wound stretched across his shoulder, but it does nothing to stop the flow of blood currently pooling beneath his palm. Taeyong stills, averting his focus away from the aforementioned and surveys his surroundings until he spots something he can use to clean his wound: a white washcloth. 

After running the cloth under lukewarm water, he treats his injuries the same way one would treat a newborn baby; cautiously, tentatively. The damp cloth swaps positions with his hand, and he begins to dab at the wound, gently; afraid too much pressure would inflict further harm to what has already been damaged. It’s astounding, and almost pathetic, to say in the least, that even after years in this business, after the countless of times he’s gotten hurt, Taeyong still struggles with patching himself up. 

                                                                      “You’re bleeding… You’re bleeding bad.”

What comes as a surprise next in his life was when she appeared by the door, unexpectedly. He had received no indication prior to her arrival beforehand. No knock, no announcement, nothing at all. He wants to complain, he figures it would be best to keep his mouth shut for two particular reasons: one, this isn’t his home, it’s Sera’s, and two: she has ever so kindly let him in. 

“It could be worse.” He flips the washcloth over and, once again, presses it over his shoulder. The poor material was soaked (possibly stained) with his blood, and Taeyong makes a mental note to purchase a new set for her next time he’s roaming our and about in the city. “I could be on the floor right now, either unconscious or bleeding to death.” 

When he lifts his head, taeyong’s gaze settles over her through her reflection in the mirror. He’s hesitant before he speaks, plush brims pressed firmly together, momentarily. “Sorry about the mess. I’ll make sure to clean it before i leave.” 

@filenctfound

[zureo-blog]

Slender finger inch forward to capture the latter phone, building distance between them seconds after so orbs may hover over the screen with no disturbance. He stops for a second, reads, re-reads, and then turns back to face the younger, a brow raised as he extends out the phone with 'Edward Cullen' plastered over their exchanged text messages. "What the fuck is this?" Bitch; it's left burning on the tip of his tongue.

He was leaning against the wall when his phone was discourteously snatched out of his hands. His position remains unchanged, but his eyes have already taken towards the one of audacity. He hasn’t spoken a word since then, and he had no intention to until a question’s been thrown his way. Glancing down at the phone, he spends no more than a second or two looking at the screen, taking in everything that was being presented before him. Taeyong isn’t stupid, he’s an asshole; there’s a difference. He knows exactly what Baekhyun was referring to, but for the sake of his own personal amusement, he pretends to be oblivious. “A phone. Haven’t you ever seen one before?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, he doesn’t particularly care for what they have to say. Straightening his posture, he seizes his phone from the elder as he passes by them, spare hand pressing into their side and pushing them away from his entirety as to pave his own path. “Don’t touch my shit without my consent, Cullen.”

[zureo-blog]

"Here, lean on me."

Taeyong does not always ask for help because he is certain, if not positive, he does not need it; that he has the capability of doing everything on his own without unwanted interference.

That following evening, he merely went out for a walk to get some fresh air and clear his head. He would have had a considerably nice night to himself if he didn’t run into his ex-colleagues: Moon Jaehyeok, Won Daehwan, and Yoo Youngbae, a troublesome throng of three he used to supervise when he was working as an active assassin under his step father’s syndicate: Heisei. What was originally intended to be an act of rejuvenation ended with blood, sweat, and tears. 

He emerged as the victor of the four, relentlessly took out his anger and frustrations on a group he’s detested immensely for five years, all for the “measly” cost of his own physical well-being. He’s injured, somewhat, but it doesn’t bother him because he thinks that this was well worth it.  

There is an arm is wrapped around his torso and he’s limping, struggling to walk in spite of each step he has already taken down the cobblestone pathway. It’s progressively gotten difficult, and he occasionally needed to stop to take the break his body pleaded. Taeyong casts a glance at Sicheng through the corner of his eye as he perceives the younger’s exhortation. He would have answered with a simple “I’m fine,” if he didn’t act before he spoke. Overturning his principles, he drapes an arm over their shoulders and leans further into their side until he could do so no more. 

They’re invading each other’s space, bodies inevitably touching and warmth shared. He hates this, but what other choice did he have when he could barely bear the burden of his weight? 

“Thanks.” It takes more of an effort than he thought possible, to relay one’s utmost gratification. How so? The answer is simple: Taeyong is a man who rarely expresses himself, especially when it comes to sentiments like these They are foreign to him, to say in the least, and will probably take weeks of familiarization before he becomes accustoms to the taste it leaves behind on his tongue. He looks at Sicheng, again, fingers fastened against the material of his own jacket. “I’m staying at the JW Marriott Dongdaemun Square hotel in Seoul. If you can help me there, I’d appreciate it.” 

@filenctfound

[zureo-blog]

"Look at me. Just look at me and stay awake. Can you do that?"

Most parents warn their children about going out at night, but he’s never received the memo. 

It is 07:25 PM on a sullen Tuesday evening. 

He has been laying off the side of the road for approximately ten minutes now, covered in blood, drenched in Mother Nature’s tears, and peregrinating between consciousness and unconsciousness. It was difficult to keep his eyes open, as his lids were constantly being weighed down by something akin to that of agony and fatigue. His movements are slow, turning himself over until he was positioned on his stomach; and from there, he makes an attempt to push himself off the ground, struggles whilst doing so, and subsequently fails. 

There is an arm caught underneath him as his body meets the ground with a hard thud. Taeyong curses, inaudibly, to himself, and sets his own head upon the aforementioned. Frustration disguises itself in the form of a disheartened sigh, eliciting from his thin lips. 

Earlier in the evening, before he found himself in this unfortunate situation, he was being stalked. But, not just by anyone, by a man he recognized to be his demented step father. He’d been defiant during these past three weeks, ignoring each mission he was assigned, and doing what he pleased, solely as he pleased. It was once believed to be just another “teenage phase” by his father – perhaps the term “boss” would be accurate in this case – even though he was no longer in his teens. However, his intentions became clear in the beginning of the third week, where he refused to live his life as a fucking instrument.  

And the result? It’s just say this: there was a car was involved, and that car was no longer here. Fill in the blanks. 

This was his first warning. 

But before his eyes closed completely, he snapped out of his reverie when he felt something wet graze across his bruised cheek, the touch was accompanied by distant whimper from an – an animal? His brows narrow and his gaze falls upon the blurred visual of a what appears to be a canine in front of him; or more specifically, a husky. “Kuro,” He breathes out in a faint susurration. “Kuro, is that you?”

Not too far away from the canine, Taeyong could faintly make out the silhouette of a man. A closer look and he learns of their identity: “Jaehyun?” He might not be in the “right” state of mind at the moment, but the memories he bears of those who have once graced his life do not stray far from his mind easily. Especially not those he holds dear to his heart. He and the younger may undergone a downfall with which their friendship was put to the test, but his feelings for Jaehyun have not faded ( they’ve merely grown stronger ). 

His eyes squeeze shut when he coughs, blood spurting out from his mouth as a result. Taeyong tuts. “I’ll try, but I won’t promise anything.” He has difficulties speaking, short on breath. “Jaehyun, I’m so tired.” 

@jaenv

[zureo-blog]

"Look at me. Just look at me and stay awake. Can you do that?"

He lives a life he wishes he did not live, painted over with blood and marked for misfortune. But in this cruel, dark world of uncertainty, the power to control one’s own life is nonexistent. Taeyong knows this, and it is the reason behind why he has stopped trying to alter his fate.

When he becomes semi-aware of his surroundings, he opens his eyes, and finds that it takes a moment longer than anticipated to make sense out of his current situation. His vision refocuses only after a minute elapsed, running his gaze over the physiognomy of the man he sees beside him, and then he blinks; once, twice. He thinks he has seen them before, but he can’t seem to recall where and when, or if they had any tangible linkage to begin with. 

But he doesn’t spend too much time mulling over this thought, not when there were other that deserved more attention than that. Taeyong’s hand blindly meets the stranger’s chest, and he, with whatever strength he had left, makes an attempt to push them away from him. How humorous, even when it was obvious he needed help, he blatantly refused to accept it. “Don’t get so close to me,” He utters, unable to speak above anything other than a murmur. “It’s fucking suffocating.”

For the time being, he chooses not to answer their inquiry, and instead brings an arm over to his forehead. Slim fingers trace over once unmarred skin, clearing away traces of blood he could feel steadily pooling out from the wound slashed across his left temple. He wonders how much blood he’s already lost, and when will it stop. “Ah,” He breathes out  – continuing to prod the aforementioned even when it warned him to stop through each painful throb it effectuated.

Idiot. 

Using his hand as a makeshift gauze, he compresses the extremity against the open wound and struggles to sit upright again. His muscles tense, his body trembles, and gravity draws him back down to his previous position - on the cold, hard ground, where he lays, uselessly. 

@vetricol

[zureo-blog]

"What is that? Are there bandages under your shirt?"

There is always this inexorable desire to keep certain aspects of his life a secret from others, aspects that were just not meant to be seen by anyone other than himself and himself alone. But when those secrets are as plain as day, the urge to keep them to himself dissipates into thin air, and the truth is eventually revealed; blatantly and straightforwardly, with a second of hesitance. 

He could feel her eyes on him and it makes him fucking uneasy, almost as if he were some kind of lab rat being observed during an experiment from the sake of “scientific purposes.” He peers at her through the corner of his eye, gaze tracing down her delicate features until what she’d been staring at comes to light: his lower stomach, or more specifically, his side. He brings his hand to cover the area, the pain resurfacing beneath graces his system again. It’s difficult to restrain his features when he grimaces, pressure against the wound increasing as he grasps down on the aforementioned. “Whether I do or not, it’s none of your business.” He paused, “So, don’t worry about me and just leave.”

His eyes are naturally drawn to his hand when something warm – something wet – meets his skin. Taeyong knows, long before he’d even looked, that his bandages failed him, miserably. As predicted, random splotches of blood, varying in both size and thickness, decorated his palm; creating quite the beautiful contrast of bloodied crimson against his blanched skin. The word, “Fuck,” comes out as a breathless murmur under his breath, followed by an irked sigh.  

Lesson #1: Don’t purchase bandaids, or any medical supplies, from the fucking bargain bin. 

Taeyong’s attention returns to her and he realizes she had not yet taken her gaze off of him. Was he that amusing to watch? He bites down on the inside of his cheek out of frustration, grabs her shoulder with his unused hand and maneuvers her around until her back’s to him. Perhaps exerting a little too much strength, he pushed her towards the door. “Go home, Ara. It’s late.”

@oculvus​

[zureo-blog]

"I told you I would be here when you woke up."

HOSPITAL STARTERS ( source, currently accepting )

he bears no knowledge of where he is when he wakes up, nor does he know how long he has been asleep. everything leading up to this moment was but a blur, a distant memory that has been wiped clean from his mind; completely obliterated and long forgotten. taeyong’s once-calm, soft features have long since dissipated as his lashes slowly, yet ever so surely flutter open, blurred vision landing upon the silhouette figure he spots looming near what appears to be a window. were they a man or woman? a friend of foe? an acquaintance or stranger? it was difficult to due to his incoherency at the moment, but after he blinks; once, then a second time shortly afterwards, he was finally able to make out the identity of the aforementioned. 

to his surprise, it was the last person he expected to see. 

“jaehyun.”

or should he say, leo. 

silent again, taeyong spends the next ten seconds trying to assimilate why the latter was here. from what he remembers, a few days ago jaehyun told him he no longer needed him, and yet, here he was; looking over him, as if nothing had transpired between them. 

he makes an attempt to move this time, maneuvering an arm beneath his frame. however, he couldn’t do much thanks to the intravenous needle attached to his arm and the sharp pain he feels near his side. could he have broken a rib? returning to his previous position upon the mattress, his head falls upon the pillow and he closes his eyes, sighing. out of all the states the other could see him in, it would be this; wherein he was practically bruised from head to toe, housing a myriad of bruises, cuts, and wounds. 

“this doesn’t make any sense. i thought you were through with me, with us,” he barely manages to croak out, averting his attention over to them once he reopens his eyes and turns his head, the pillow shifting beneath it. after an inhale, then an exhale, he reluctantly continues. “if you told me that, then you must have been here with me since the beginning. what happened?”