Chapter Text
“Go see how Park Humin is doing.”
Hearing Bakjin’s request, Seongje could feel a grin slowly start to form on his face.
“Baku?” He parroted back, feeling the boredom of the day slipping away. “Okay, sure. I was in the mood for some action anyways.”
He ended the phone call and got up to leave the PC bang. He took a moment to lazily stretch before waving away the other Union members that began to get up to follow him. This was an errand he wanted to handle on his own.
That night through his connections he got information on where Baku would be during the weekend. That idiot had ended up being forced to volunteer at a local museum as punishment. Seongje would just swing by and probably take a few pictures for Bakjin, maybe leave some threats. Typical work stuff.
But if he was lucky, maybe he could make Baku angry enough to throw a fist.
After his father remarried, he moved with his new family to an even more uppity neighborhood. He has no doubt that his father would have rather left him behind in their old home, completely cutting himself free from the failure of his first marriage. But because he could not just do away with his unwanted son, Seongje was forced for the next couple years to coexist with a stepmom that looked at him with only contempt and half siblings that fearfully avoided him. It wasn’t until Seongje entered high school that he was able to wrestle out some money from his father to get him his own place to live. It was a small apartment but Seongje didn’t care, he was more than ready to finally be free. His father paid for his rent and fees, and Seongje never sought them out. It was a win-win.
He had built up a slight reputation for fighting in middle school, mostly for beating up idiots that got on his nerves. But once he entered Ganghak, like a dark horse, Seongje quickly became the school’s top dog.
He fought anyone who dared to face him. He was a force that no one had been prepared for. Once he started, there was no stopping him. He didn’t care if the fights were not one-on-one, or if his opponents used underhanded tactics, he was like a dog that wouldn't let go once he had something in his jaws.
Mad dog, people whispered, a real psycho.
Seongje didn’t fight to posture, he fought to maim.
There was nothing he relished more than watching the anger in his opponents eyes fade to fear as they realized they had never stood a chance against him. He made his opponents cry and beg for mercy before landing the final blows. There was nowhere he felt more in his element than in the middle of a violent brawl. The high was better than anything else he had experienced.
A fight was more than just punching, there was artistry in the violence. A feeling of vibrantly existing that nothing else could come close to. The more he fought, the more he improved.
And so, Ganghak became Seongje’s domain.
Students cleared the hallway for him, groups quieted when he passed by, teachers looked the other way. Everyone was conscious of one major specification, don’t piss Keum Seongje off. It might as well have been written on the school’s walls. And soon his fame spread to other districts.
When Baekjin had first approached him in a dark alley with an offer to join him, promising he would get paid to fight. Crazed grin smeared with blood and bodies broken around him, Seongje accepted.
Soon he rose to the position of second-in command, Baekjin and him painstakingly making the Union a gang to be feared. A proper gang that made real money.
Enough money that Seongje no longer needed to accept anything from his bastard father.
A ruthless gang that operated on a level that other high schoolers couldn’t even dream of.
But every once in a bluemoon, after a particularly brutal fight that would leave his bloodied knuckles with a deep ache, Seongje would sit on his apartment rooftop smoking and indulge in memories of the past.
He would open the box normally kept tightly closed in the back of his mind, and flip through his memories the way one carefully handled old faded photographs. As if going over them would only cause them to fade quicker.
Seongje would think of his mother, of her easy smile and endless patience. Of the delicious aroma her cooking would fill the house with. Of how she would always indulge his curiosity and energy.
Seongje would think about his only real childhood friend, little Sieunie. Those were a bit fuzzier memories to make out. Seongje couldn’t even remember the boy’s last name for the life of him. But he definitely remembered the kid’s big almond eyes. And how happy the time they spent together was.
Of golden afternoons, when it was just his mother and Sieunie with him baking cookies or fingerpainting in his house. Those were some of the best memories of his childhood that he had. He hoarded them covetously.
He tried to avoid thinking about the days leading up to his mother’s untimely passing, and instead imagined what his first friend was up to nowadays. Was he still even in Korea? Did he still remember Seongje too?
After reflecting, he would snuff out his cigarette and pack all the nostalgia away neatly into his little mental box. Then go off to game or find another brawl to keep himself entertained. He was constantly looking for the right dopamine fix to satisfy himself.
Which brings Seongje to where he is now, waiting crouched down in a bathroom hallway, playing one of the many games on his phone to try and stave off the boredom.
He had first spotted Baku in full period costume hanging around a couple of other side characters. He recognized Baku's favorite little sidekick Legs, but the other two boys were unfamiliar to him. Seongje saw the new faces at a distance and decided to bide his time till an opportunity arose to approach them. He wanted to get a feel of what other charity cases Baekjin's idiot had taken on. Maybe give them a good scare too.
Absentmindedly, Seongje registered the water tab being shut off, but it was not until he felt the silence settle over the space purposefully that he deigned to glance up from his mobile game.
At what he saw, Seongje couldn't help but scoff before looking back down to pause his game and open up the camera app. Baekjin was going to love this.
What the hell was Baku doing hanging around a small pretty boy? Probably some pitiful bullying victim that Baku just had to play hero for. Still, Seongje would be a good sport and give the kid a fair warning.
"You Baku's friend?"
As Seongje straightened up he got a better look. The boy looked like he would shatter after just one punch. He continued his light questioning.
"You know, you'll ruin your life if you hang out with the wrong people."
The newbie simply stood there quietly, eyes fixed on Seongje, as they had been since he first stepped into the hallway. What a strange guy. What the hell was he staring at?
Lifting his phone to take a picture, Seongje tried to get the kid to react. "Well, let's get this over with, yeah? Look here. One, two, three, smile!"
The boy did not smile. But the zoomed in photo Seongje took would have made a perfect passport photo.
Looking closer at his photography subject, Seongje couldn’t hold back his observation, "You have sad eyes don't you?" Like a kicked puppy.
It stirred up something in Seongje, an urge to knock down something so precariously balanced. If only to be the cause of noteworthy destruction.
Wait a damn minute.
Somewhere in his contemplation of how many hits to the newbie’s face it would take to make the teary shine finally spill over his eyes, a spark ignited in his recollection. An itch in the back of his mind, like an ache in one’s jaw that one couldn’t reach no matter how hard teeth clenched. In his confusion one single thought formed solidly amidst all the abstract. Those eyes looked familiar.
His heart began to beat faster, suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the room.
“Hey, do I know you from somewhere?”
The boy didn’t even move an inch. His eyes dark pools as undisturbed as isolated ponds.
“That’s my line” came a soft murmur that Seongje could barely make out over the sirens blaring in his head.
What the hell? There's no way. No one was that lucky.
But the more he thought about it, the more traction the idea gained, till his hope and fragile optimism burst forth in a final question for the possible piece of nostalgia standing and breathing before him.
“Sieunie?”