#krxseunghoon

[minhoxkr-blog]

Let’s talk about;

     When the soccer season ended, Minho expected to fully indulge and enjoy the time off that he believes he deserved. Of course, it’s not like he helped the team win the league championships or anything, but the team did rank high enough, or at least higher than it’s ever been on the scoreboards. Based on that, he thinks that he deserves this break to relax, rejuvenate and restart his training to become even better. 

     What he didn’t know, was that apparently, the breaks came with asterisks and disclaimers in tiny fonts. That he apparently still had a schedule. 

     Sighing for the umpteenth time, Minho checked his reflection in the mirror, making sure that he looked professional enough. While there wasn’t going to be a camera recording (thank god!), the athlete wasn’t the best at giving heart-to-heart talks with interviewers. Aside from his conventional ‘thank you for your support’ and ‘we’ll work harder to bring pride to South Korea’, Minho barely wanted to speak any more than that on screen. 

     And now a solo interview? What the management was thinking, he’d never understand. 

     Learning from his previous error, Minho made sure to leave his home thirty minutes earlier than planned, just in case he got lost again. With his eyes staring intently at the screen of his phone, he followed the GPS’s designated path to the cafe that his manager texted him a few hours ago. 

     The cafe, to Minho’s relief, was quite empty. He quickly ordered himself a drink - black coffee with no sugar or cream - and found a seat at a more deserted corner of the cafe, where he believed would remain undisturbed for the rest of the noon. One leg crossed over the other, Minho took a sip of the bitter concoction as he waited for the designated time to arrive.

[krjiyong]

‘irrational irritation’ past

@krxseunghoon

it’s been a long night, one of those haunted, evil, slow nights, where everything he does, everything he strives for somehow gets twisted and ends up harder than he could ever imagine. it’s a long night, the crescent moon hanging in the sky like an old paper cut-out, as weary of him and his bloodthirst as he is. the wind has been howling against his ears, the screaming unending, carrying the voices of those he’s murdered on and on against him, like spiritual revenge. it’s what he deserves, honestly, to never sleep well, to never be calm, to always have to listen to the moans and groans of the dead, the people whose souls he’s chained to his ankles. he bears their weight in more ways than one.

but tonight has been hard, his prey escaping for almost three hours, hiding away with his wife and daughter. jiyong doesn’t like playing the bad guy, not usually, not when it takes him to the lowest of the low, the darkness inside him growing exponentially as he has to come to the realization that in order to kill this man for whom he has been contractually obligated to do so, he will have to kill his family as well. there isn’t any other choice, there isn’t any back up plan, any masking his actions or theirs. there is nothing except the ringing in his ears, the wind carrying their voices far and wide, as they scream at him to stop. three bullets to three helpless, hunted humans. jiyong’s soul is deeply drenched in blood, and it’s nights like these that remind him that he is never getting into heaven.

which is why it’s so surprising that he’s managed to capture the attention and affection of an angel. he almost feels guilty every time he comes home and sees seunghoon sitting there on the couch, or in the kitchen, or in the bedroom, knowing that jiyong is all wrong for him, knowing that he is too much of a mess for seunghoon to clean. there is nothing this soft, gentle, smiling boy can do for one such as ares, battle-worn and mentally torn to shreds. most days, jiyong wants to tell him to leave, to go, that they shouldn’t be together, that they shouldn’t even touch, because that’s all jiyong seems to do well, is stain people with the blood he drowns himself in.

but then he walks into his apartment and seunghoon looks up at him, that same glad look on his face and it’s all jiyong can do to stay upright and not just collapse on him. he wants to.. he wants to rest against the other’s body, kiss the softness of his lips, bury himself in the warmth of his arms. seunghoon has become home, somehow.

but that’s a fairytale, an idea his loveless, addled brain has come up with the cope with the terror in that little girl’s eyes, and he knows there’s no salvation for him, there’s no happiness. he walks in through the door and looks at seunghoon for just a moment, but something twists inside his gut at the sight of him, and jiyong just keeps walking into the bathroom. he grumbles something like “don’t you have a job? what the fuck” he sighs again though and washes his hands slowly, being sure to get any spots of blood off him. “and if you’re about to ask me where i’ve been, don’t fucking bother, i don’t want to talk about it.”