❝I wasn’t either—at that, I mean. It’s terrible.❞ she tipped her head in gesture to the headline in newsprint, a seemingly disapproving expression taking over her features, the corner of her lips curved downwards. In reality, she had been laughing beforehand, a soft chuckle that had managed to escape her, but she was going to play it off as if she hadn’t seen the news that lay facing upwards between the two previously. She was going to play off as if she wasn’t involved, as if she wasn’t a monster in disguise. ❝ I know there has been a lot of crime recently but this is just…really something that makes me speechless. And worried for our community even more, you know?❞ If she wouldn’t have been trained, or more so if she had been completely off her rock, she would have laughed then as well. But she didn’t want to scare anyone, not in this situation at least.
Kim Mingyu never expected that this would be easy…
As a matter of fact, deep down, he knew that it’d be one of the most difficult things he’d ever bring himself to do. Never in a million years would he have imagined that he’d be the one having to turn his back on someone. That was the absolute worst thing you could do in his opinion. But, he couldn’t let it completely control or consume him. While, yes, he felt guilty about the entire situation, ultimately, he knew there was no other choice. He had way too many problems and, to top it all off, his life just got a hell of a lot more complicated. In any normal circumstance, he’d do everything in his power to not walk away from someone who trusted him but, at this point, he saw no other path. He was afraid that it’d hurt him or emotionally scar him, so he promised himself beforehand that he wouldn’t allow it to. He was going to numb himself and attempt to forget it had ever happened. That’d be the only way he could see himself coping with the aftermath.
Upon officially joining Vanguard, he knew that what small sense of normality he’d been managing to maintain throughout his life would be stripped from him. There was a huge difference between being a teenage boy being trained and actually having the profession of a hired hitman. He had one somewhat normal relationship, and while it wasn’t anything especially serious, it was the first time in the teen’s life that he could have seen it progress to being so. He thought that maybe he could love the other boy, someday. He wasn’t particularly proven wrong, but he allowed himself to believe that he was. He had difficulty trusting and allowing people in, as he always felt like he lost every person that would step into his life. His walls were harder to topple and his armor was difficult to pierce. Even if someone could manage these things, they seemed to be self-mending.
He pushed him away because he wanted to move on. He’d leave his past in the past, begin anew, and save himself from whatever heartbreak was surely in store.
He didn’t expect Hansol to understand. He didn’t expect him to take it lightly.
Red is the color they say you see when you’re angry. Red means that things are going to go wrong. The reasoning may not be as solid, something about bulls and matadors, but to Bjoo, seeing red is something he’s accustomed to. Today there was a paper due for his English class. Yes, English. He hated papers too start with. Writing was worse than reading because half the time he swore he was right, but no. He was never right with writing and it drove him insane. This was only made worse by the fact that the paper was intended to be in English. He had a hard enough time writing in his own language, writing in someone else’s was impossible! Everytime he started to do poorly in a class it was like he was failing more than just school. He was failing his family. He was supposed to be successful. He was supposed to be able to care for himself, but instead he was some idiot who couldn’t even write one lousy paper in English or read one book and it... was. INFURIATING. So here he was after having just turned in his travesty of a paper; walking down the street seeing nothing but pure red.
He had managed to avoid people for the most part. He just wanted to be home so he could lock himself away and scream. He would punch a bag a few times and probably tear his sheets apart and everything would be okay... Right? That was how it always went when he got thrown into one of these anger sprees. He just needed to get home without running into someone. That was easier said than done. The smallest idea of seeing another human being was only making his blood pressure spike. He wanted to hit someone. He wanted to beat them senseless and make them scream so that he could feel just a little better. It didn’t matter who. He was already seeing red, a little blood couldn’t hurt. No, it would only make him feel better.
It was here that he found his victim. A man who looked similar to Bjoo in age. The poor guy was just minding his own business when Bjoo walked by him, but it didn’t stop the brightly haired deliquent from reaching out and grabbing him. Any human would do. He didn’t care right now who this guy was or why he was even outside sort of late at night... All Bjoo wanted was something to hit. He slammed the other against the wall and glared. His breathing was heavy and his pulse in his ears. The little voice in the back of his mind reminded him that he wasn’t supposed to hurt other people. He was trying never to do it. Don’t hurt anybody. Don’t make someone else cry. He stared into the other man’s eyes for just a moment and pushed him even harder against the wall.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jongup stared at the other in disbelief, the other was near a car that was clearly broken down and smoking. “Dude, I’m a mechanic. I can help you, I won’t even charge you that much...”
❝ under the circumstances, i’ve been shockingly nice. ❞
★ sentence starters future.
“is this because of that one time I threatened that I’d spat in your fucking drink? seriously? all this fucking time and you won’t let it go? it’s been months, I’ve spat in plenty of coffees that weren’t yours since then.” (although he doesn’t suppose that’s much comfort.)
under the circumstances, wonwoo thinks this is pretty fucking ridiculous. hansol was being petty, he was sure of it. all this time — it had been months! — to give him this treatment, over one tiny incident of perhaps trying to trick him into believing he was about to drink wonwoo’s spit, and maybe— maybe that’s a little disgusting, sure, but wonwoo thinks it’s hardly worth this.
“you’re a dick, hansol. a shit, small dick. I fucking hate you.”
he slams his playing hand down onto the table. “this is the last time I play cards against humanity with you, you fucking bitch.”
The weather was a dirty liar and he was NOT okay with it. It was supposed to be clear all day. That was why he had gone a walk to clear his mind. He had been feeling on edge all morning and it had been starting to interfere with work. That was normal enough. He had issues working anytime he started to feel lonely (which was also common). Normally he would have wandered the streets and looked for someone to talk to, but when the bottom fell out of the clouds his plans were derailed.
He couldn’t even manage to drag himself home. The water felt like it was getting higher by the minute and as he crouched under a table he could only feel cold and wet. All of his earlier attitude on top of this was far too much. He felt like the rain was specifically out to get him today. His mood had dropped to a extreme negative and he felt like he could collapse at any moment. His body was shaking in combination of cold and fear. He felt like he would stop breathing soon. Maybe he would just black out and wake up alone in the street missing his wallet and anything else valuable. He’d be soaked and cold and alone... But he already was that, wasn’t he?
He pulled knees closer to himself. He was trying to maintain some sort of sanity, but it wasn’t easy. The sounds of the water rushing and the rain falling were enough to send his head flying through a loop. He wanted to scream and run but knew that if he left the safety of this table it would only be worse. He swore the water was rising; getting closer to covering his feet. It probably wasn’t that close. It probably wasn’t even going to cover the sole of his shoes... But it felt like it was going to completely surround him. He started to shake even more.
“Breathe. You aren’t drowning. You’re still here. You can breathe. You can BREATHE.”
It wasn’t that easy. He spoke to himself slowly in Mandarin but it didn’t improve his mood. He wasn’t going to just talk his way out of this. He put his hands over his ears and did his best to control his heavy breathing. It hurt to think. It hurt to exist. He wanted to collapse already so he could just be out of this nightmare... But he was too strong to allow it. He had to stay awake.
He couldn’t help it when he started to sob. This wasn’t what he wanted to happen. He wasn’t supposed to be trapped like this! He was stronger than this. Nothing scared him anymore. NOTHING.
At least the water masked the tears. The sobbing and frantic, unintelligible speaking, however, were easy enough to hear.
wonwoo does not pride himself on his patience. there are situations, of course, where wonwoo craves to wait, slowly dragging out time for every second he can possibly milk it for, but generally, wonwoo was not a creature of patience. a waiter, was probably not the best job he could have sought for a citizen life. but wonwoo took what he could get, what would be flexible with his sporadic hours of his almost only joy’s calling. wonwoo would thought people who had the time to sit on their ass all day sipping disgusting liquid tarmac, would have enough time to wait for their waiter, but alas. if you have a briefcase, apparently therefore your coffee is more important than wonwoo’s sanity (what’s left of it, anyway).
he sighs over the mug he’s waiting to fill, busying his fingers by tapping against the counter to the time of his heartbeat. he turns momentarily to the customer waiting at his table, fidgeting and huffing impatiently, takes one more look at the coffee, and spits. fuck that bastard.
“here’s your coffee. free spit for being so patient with the service. enjoy your day, sir.” calloused hands rub together, clicking fingers as he stretches up and returns to the counter. the next order is waiting to be made, so he wastes no time, glares at the stunned bastard as he walks back past his table, and gently places the mug down onto the table behind him. (by now, he’s well accustomed to the sting of burnt skin, so he’s learnt carefulness). “your uh,” what was that pretentious name again? “coffee.” close enough.
