Work Text:
Pop.
They were getting herded out of their cells like sheep when Minhyuk had first confided his story in Jooheon.
“You know how people have those little habits that get you down?” he had started out of the blue, and Jooheon’s head snapped up from where his eyes had been trained to his shoes. He could only assume Minhyuk was addressing him, and watched as he pulled a box of matches from his pocket. He barely had time to even comprehend Minhyuk’s question before the man was continuing on, “Like Youngjae. Youngjae liked to chew gum.” He paused his words, and then side glanced at Jooheon. “No, not chew. Pop.” He practically hissed out that last word, and then looked forward seconds following, beginning to light matches and then put them out.
Jooheon was too scared to keep his eyes focused on him, seeing as he was already going crazy at the mere mention of the word ‘pop’. He kept by Minhyuk’s side, though, knowing damn well that having a friend in jail would keep you away from constant black eyes.
“So I come home one day,” Minhyuk starts up again, his voice dripping with casualty, almost pretending that he wasn’t in an endless loop of lighting a match, extinguishing it, tossing it. “And I’m really irritated—“ he tosses a quick glance to Jooheon, who looked back over instantly and stared on with eyes as bright as his bleached hair, “—looking for a little sympathy, y’know? And there’s Youngjae, lying on the couch, watching some television, and chewing—No, not chewing.” Almost as if in sync to his words, he lit a match and growled out, “Popping.” He put it out and then tossed it as he went on, his voice deep and angry, “I told him, ‘If you pop that gum one more time—‘“
Minhyuk came to a halt, both in his story and his footing, as the guards had stopped them. He pushed his matches into the pocket of his jumpsuit and turned to face Jooheon now, the younger boy watching him with the faintest of fear. How can someone get this angry over a small bad habit? How can something that impartial drive a person to murder?
“—And he did,” Minhyuk concluded, and Jooheon grew wary of the summary of the tale. “So I grabbed the shotgun off the wall—“ he glanced up as if seeing the gun displayed right beside Jooheon’s head, and his lips cocked up into a grin, “—and fired two warning shots.”
Jooheon and Minhyuk’s eyes met as Minhyuk’s mouth pulled up into a full smile.
“Into his head.”
A shout from the guards gave Jooheon a good enough excuse to throw his attention somewhere else, not wanting to expose his fear to the man who killed someone over something so simple. He bit the inside of his cheek and began walking with the rest of the group once more, his stomach now in knots.
Six.
It was after dinner a few nights later, and they were given some time before they had to go back to their cells for the night. Thus Hyunwoo had started up a game of poker, Minhyuk convincing Jooheon that he just had to join, and he did. Kihyun sat with them as well, but didn’t pay the other three any mind, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. Jooheon could feel himself growing anxious as it swayed, hanging nervously close to his hand of cards, but he looked away. He needed to stop being so fearful.
They were all mumbling to each other like normal, not really talking but not flat out ignoring one another either, until Minhyuk prompted, “Why are you in here, Hyunwoo?”
The man glanced to him and then looked back at his cards, smiling just faintly. “Well...” he murmured, shifting his cards around in his hands. “I met Yugyeom from Salty Lake City about two years ago, and he told me he was single.”
Jooheon knew where this story was going.
“And we hit it off right away,” Hyunwoo chuckled softly, and glanced up at Minhyuk, who had a gentle smirk and an intrigued look in his eyes. Jooheon could tell that he knew Yugyeom’s fate too. “So, we started living together—He'd go to work, he'd come home, I'd fix him a drink, we'd have dinner.” He laid his cards down, took a cigarette and match from his pocket, and placed the cigarette between his lips before lighting it.
“And then I found out,” he inhaled, exhaling as he realized Jooheon’s eyes were glancing between him and Minhyuk, wide, nervous, and fearful, and snapped his attention to him instead. “‘Single’ he told me,” he leant forward as he addressed Jooheon, who, on instinct, leant back, but was unable to tear his eyes away. “Single, my ass. Not only was he married, oh, no, he had six wives.”
He sat back with a laugh, motioning with his cigarette, “One of those Mormons, you know.” Hyunwoo leant back comfortably in his chair, taking another hit and blowing the gross reek of tobacco into the air. “So that night when he came home from work, I fixed him his drink as usual.” A smirk overtook his face, making eye contact with Jooheon intentionally. He leaned forward onto the table slowly and with purpose, before finishing with a proud smile,
“You know, some guys just can't hold their arsenic.”
Jooheon’s stomach overturned, and there was a pause, before Minhyuk erupted into laughter. “How colorful!” he cheered, sounding just as pleased as Hyunwoo appeared. Jooheon glanced at him anxiously, before turning his gaze to Kihyun, seeing a small smile on his lips as well, despite never lifting his head once during the story. It sent a chill down Jooheon’s spine.
Squish.
Jooheon had been behind bars at the Cook County Jail three weeks more before Changkyun admitted his story to him. They were outside, Jooheon sitting on the ground and leaning against the wall of the jail, watching the other prisoners—some in fights and at each other’s throats, some working out, some discussing under their breath. Changkyun stood next to him, leaning against the wall with a book in his hands. It looked well worn, thrifted—the spine was peeling away and the pages were all wrinkled.
“Hey, Changkyun?” Jooheon spoke up to him after a couple minutes, and when he earned no response, he glanced up, seeing the boy with his nose in the book, oblivious. “Chang—“
“I heard you,” he snapped, not daring to glance away from his book. He flipped a page, and then, “What is it, mantis?”
They sometimes called Jooheon that because he was skinny. He was skinny and small—weak. He may have been taller than some of the other boys—or men, rather—but he was still shorter when it came to his ego and courage. “Uh,” he murmured, his tongue dry, considering if he should ask or not.
The pause must have been too long, because then Changkyun was grumbling, “Okay, man, just ask. It’s pissing me off.” He had finally glanced away from his book, glaring down at Jooheon, and those brown eyes scared him so much that he quickly snapped away his own. He stared intensely at his shoes instead, before blubbering out,
“What did you do?”
There was a chuckle above him, and when Jooheon glanced up, Changkyun was back to his book, but with a smile on his lips. “Mm...” he hummed, and asked absentmindedly, “Did you know I was married?” When he received merely a pause of frozen silence from Jooheon, he smiled a bit more. “Well, I was. Kind of a wild card guy. Always yelling—And I dealt with it, until June 6, 2002. It was a Thursday night.
“Now, I'm standing in the kitchen carving up the chicken for dinner, minding my own business, and in storms my husband, Jaebum, in a jealous rage.” He flipped another page in his book, showing no signs of putting it down. It was all so casual. Too casual. Too casual for Jooheon to be comfortable. “‘You been screwing the milkman!’ he says. He was crazy, and he kept on screaming, ‘You been screwing the milkman!’” Changkyun laughed under his breath, and then looked down to Jooheon, suddenly straight faced. He then told him, “Then he ran into my knife.” He said this like he’d had it rehearsed, like he’d said it a million times. To the jury, to the judge, to his lawyer—Jooheon was sure.
Then a smirk twitched on his lips, and he whispered slowly, leaning down just barely,
“He ran into my knife. Ten. Times.”
Jooheon couldn’t take his eyes away, and they stared at one another for a 30 seconds that felt like 30 years, and then the bell that signaled their time outside was up rang. He sat there and watched as Changkyun dog eared his book patiently, held it in one hand and hung it at his side, and then met his eyes once more. “It’s lunch time, mantis. If you don’t hurry, you’ll get scraps like last time.”
Jooheon pushed himself up and out of the dirt as Changkyun began walking away, swallowing his nerves before setting off behind him.
Uh Uh.
The soft boy with white hair and dark roots was someone that Jooheon hadn’t spoken to before, but he noticed that he had a way of hiding in corners and under Hyunwoo’s wing. He spent most of his time in his cell, which was right beside Jooheon’s, only separated by bars. Jooheon would hear him praying at night, soft whispers in a language he didn’t know.
Jooheon was trailing behind Kihyun and Hyunwoo as the guards herded them all to the showers, and they passed Jooheon and the boy’s cells. He stared at the boy who was kneeling on his bed, white hair covering his eyes, and had a burst of courage and curiosity. He rushed to keep up with Hyunwoo, tapping his shoulder. The man turned quickly at the sudden touch, and blinked the anger and confusion just as quickly from his eyes when he saw it was Jooheon. “What is it?”
Kihyun moved over so the boy could stand behind them, and Jooheon was able to feel his wondering eyes on his back as he spoke. “Who is that boy—with the white hair?” he asked, hesitantly, scared it would strike a nerve. Hyunwoo didn’t seem to mind much, just glanced over his shoulder at the boy, and then back to Jooheon.
“Hoseok. But you won’t get much out of him—he speaks something else. Hungarian, I think,” he told the younger boy, who looked back at the small foreigner, staring at him for a good five seconds before Hyunwoo snapped at him to focus and watch his feet.
—
“Hoseok?”
Jooheon’s voice called out to his neighbor in the dark of night in a whisper, sitting in front of the cell bars that separated them two. He held onto the bars, sure that he would earn a response since he had interrupted the boy’s nightly praying routine. “Y-Yes?” came a shaky voice in a strong, nervous accent, clearly confused and taken off guard.
“I’m Jooheon—in the cell next to you. Can you talk?” he spoke, all slow and clear, hoping Hoseok could understand what he was saying, even in the slightest.
He earned a soft hum back, and then listened as his shoes hit the floor, stepping across the stone steadily, not wanting to wake up anyone else and make a scene. Cause any more trouble.
He sat in front of Jooheon, and then he could finally make out the mysterious boy’s features. He was thin but beautiful, the moonlight highlighting his nose, cheekbones, lips, and eyes. He looked scared and exhausted—like he’d seen too much in the many years he’d been in the jail. “Hi, Hoseok. I just want to be friends.”
Hoseok took a second processing the words before he smiled, nodding twice. “Friends,” he sounded out, and then said, “Barátok?”
Jooheon could only assume that was ‘friends’ or something of the sort but in Hungarian, judging by the smile on his lips and relieved look in his eyes. He nodded along, dropping his hands into his lap. “Yes,” he said, and then, tentatively, “Can you tell me how you got in here, Hoseok?”
There was a pause from the boy, his smile faltering and face returning to its solemn state. He glanced down, and repeated in a murmur, “Got in...?”
And then, before Jooheon could repeat himself and clarify, Hoseok began.
“Mit keresek én itt? Azt mondják, a híres lakóm lefogta a férjem, én meg lecsaptam a fejét. De nem igaz. Én ártatlan vagyok,” he looked up to Jooheon then, and continued more feverishly, “Nem tudom, miért mondja Uncle Sam, hogy én tettem. Próbáltam a rendőrségen megmagyarázni, de nem értették meg.”
Jooheon, not understanding a word he had said, watched as Hoseok dropped his head and began to sob pathetically. He found himself at a loss of what to do. He waited a moment before asking, softly, “Yeah, but... Did you do it?”
“Uh uh,” whimpered Hoseok, rising his eyes up again. This time, the moonlight reflected against the tears in his irises and on his cheeks.
“Not guilty.”
Cicero.
Jooheon was wandering around in the halls when he passed Kihyun’s cell, seeing two reporters in there with him as he sat on his bed, draped against the wall, cigarette in hand. He didn’t know much about Kihyun—he normally kept quiet, but he eerily hung around everywhere. He reminded Jooheon of a snake. His prying eyes watched everyone’s every move, glaring and judging, but he never spoke, just mysteriously slithered around.
So in a split second decision, Jooheon pressed his back against the wall just outside, close enough to hear the discourse but just out of sight.
He saw a flash of light illuminate from inside the room, and then he heard Kihyun’s voice begin. “My brother Jinyoung and I had this double act. And my husband, Mark, traveled around with us. With the last number in our act, we did 20 acrobatic tricks in a row--one, two, three, four, five, splits, spread eagles, back flips, flip flops, one right after the other!” Another flash came then, and Jooheon leaned in slightly closer to hear him more clearly. “Well, this one night before the show we were down at the hotel in Cicero, the three of us, boozing and having a few laughs. And we ran out of ice, so I went out to get some.” A gentle chuckle resonated from inside, and Jooheon glanced around quickly to make sure no one was around, abruptly getting pulled back into the story as Kihyun continued. “I come back, open the door… There's Jinyoung and Mark doing number seventeen. The spread eagle.” He lengthened those last few words, emphasizing them in a hiss. Jooheon winced.
“Well,” Kihyun laughed gently, not seeming affected at all by the memory. “I was in such a state of shock, I completely blacked out. I can't remember a thing.” There was a pause, and then Kihyun continued,
“It wasn't until later, when I was washing the blood off my hands, I even knew they were dead.”
He could hear his smirk from outside the cell.
—
Jooheon saw him later, talking to those same reporters as they made their way to the exit. He had just turned a corner and froze, hiding himself faintly, watching with prying eyes as Kihyun told them, “I didn’t do it, but if I had—“ he paused, and said softer, yet angrier, “How could you tell me that I was wrong?”
Kim.
He hadn’t met Hyungwon yet, but when he joined Hyunwoo, Kihyun, Hoseok, Changkyun, and Minhyuk for lunch, he was there, talking to Changkyun. Jooheon didn’t say anything to any of them, as usual, just picked at his shitty meal in silence, until Minhyuk prompted, “Hey, Hyungwon—why don’t you tell Jooheonie here your story?”
Both Hyungwon and Jooheon looked up and locked eyes, and Jooheon watched as his lips turned up in a smirk, and he went, “Alright, sure.”
Everyone was listening to him then, but Hyungwon kept his eyes on Jooheon. They all knew his story, but Jooheon was still blind and oblivious, making the tale just that much more intriguing. “I loved Kim Byeongkwan more than I could possibly say. He was a real artistic guy, sensitive, a painter,” he laced his fingers together and propped his chin up on them, watching Jooheon with an unusual interest. “But he was always trying to ‘find himself.’ He'd go out every night looking for himself, and on the way,” he sighed, squinting his eyes a bit, “he found Junhee, Donghun, Seyoon, and Yoochan.” He spat the last name, his nose scrunching up.
Hyungwon sat back then, shrugging a bit, focusing back down on his food. “I guess you can say we broke up because of artistic differences,” he mumbled carelessly, and then looked up at Jooheon through his eyelashes.
“He saw himself as alive... and I saw him dead.”
He went back to his food then, as if nothing had happened, and Jooheon looked back down to his without a sound. He supposed he wasn’t that hungry anymore.
——
Jooheon stared up at the ceiling as he laid in bed a couple nights later, and in his head, he could see all six boys after they had confessed to him. Hoseok was crying, Hyunwoo was dealing out a new hand, Kihyun was glaring at the reporters as they walked away, Minhyuk was lighting a match, Changkyun was putting his book away in his cell, and Hyungwon was setting down his cup of water. Everyone except Hoseok caught Jooheon’s eye and growled out in harmony,
“He had it coming. He only had himself to blame. If you'd have been there, if you’d have seen it, I bet you would have done the same.”