damaged goods.
@kgxjun
at first the impact seems minimal, a bare fissure snaking it’s way along the spine of the case; then the whole panel collapses, a dissolving lattice, and glass digs into his thighs and knuckles, diamonds quite literally showering his feet. more than anything, it’s loud and it’s obvious, && as much as breaking and entering had appealed to dohyun, the process is messy and at once questionable. they’re counted in heartbeat increments: twelve seconds and the alarm shrieks, sirens come wailing, and hyun barely blinks before they’re out the back door. ( if only they’d left the store as pristine as coming in, but locks are forged for the sake of being broken, glass displays pleading for robbery ).
the pain is sharp, metastasizing, shards shifting in the current of every flexed muscle, and he can’t discern what’s running faster: his blood or red hot adrenaline. not that this was planned or desired ( fuck, he’ll have to get intel back for this ), but it feels damn good when his feet become parallel with the pavement, quiet in the night, wild && measured breaths ghosting autumn air as he checks back behind him -- once, twice. three times and they’re in his line of sight, neon vests and red faces, blowing whistles while chasing a lost cause.
it’s not like they stole anything. they just looked. and damaged. and possibly caused at least a million won in wreckage, but surely they hadn’t intended to. was it worth it? hell yes. the grimace on his lips blooms into a chuckle and he remembers the slim device bouncing against his ribs, invaluable footage stored inside a cheap prepaid ( he would never expect a nineteenth century jewelry store to actively launder money for some sick drug trade ) -- dressed handsomely with information up for grabs.
he makes a sharp, angular turn, frame twisting in one fluid motion; he’s pulled from center stage in a disappearance act, submerging in darkness so quickly it’s as if they’d never shown up to the escapade. “hyung,” dohyun breathes, hands against skinned knees and panting heavy, nose flushed pink from the twilight freeze, “junie hyung, you’re brilliant. absolutely fucking brilliant.” he works his lower lip beneath a straight line of teeth, stifling laughter, hooked up with rapture. “a crown, are you kidding? then call me british royalty, but this--” slim, calloused fingers reach into his inner breast pocket and he tosses jun the phone, exultant, finding personal pleasure in the irony of the situation. “check this out.”
