Chapter Text
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“Yo! That little punk just went around the building! Get him NOW!!” The boss, he supposed, of this stupid little group of ex-cons and petty offensers shouted from almost 250 metres behind him.
Woojin scoffed. These guys were real amateurs. They really thought they’d get the money back from him. No way. He would rather get beaten up badly than return the money he’d stolen from those losers.
They say to watch what you wish for: Here he was, three hours later in a stinky, dingy alleyway, all beaten up, several ribs bruised and some broken, a black eye, a ghastly cut over his right cheek, a severely bruised torso and a bloodied lip. Great. Exactly what he needed. Another scoff of annoyance puffed out through his split lips.
He winced from the pain in his face from all his scowling. He knows that sarcastic comments to himself won’t help, but talking to himself is the only thing keeping him sane at this point, so he might as well skip the denial part of this whole lifetime of loneliness.
Looking over the dumpsters in the alley and past the huge piles of garbage, he sighed at the setting sun, as the humongous ball of fire disappeared from the horizon and seemed to burn out, leaving him in the cold, lonely embrace of the night.
He didn’t always do this for a living, wasn’t always a thief, wasn’t always so messed up. He never meant for any of it to happen. But it did. And maybe it was better this way.
Maybe.
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Jisung stared at the cute owl-themed clock on the wall of the parlour. 6:03 in the evening, it read.
Finally, time to go home.
Don’t get him wrong, he really loved his job; albeit it only being a part-time thing, it was quite fun and the pay was good enough for a student who took a year off of his junior year in college where he was blessed with a scholarship. However, customers could be really annoying on some days.
Today was one of those days.
His day had been going pretty normal until a guy who came for a haircut began flirting with him in the most obnoxious. way. possible. He began with asking Jisung questions, simple ones- how old he was, if he worked here everyday, his favourite colour for dying his hair. All easy, not too personal questions, which the orange-haired male answered without much thought.
Until the older man asked him this: “Wanna have fun, doll?”
Jisung was startled, and disgusted. What the heck? “I’m sorry, no.”
The man sighed disappointedly. “Too bad.” Jisung hoped that the way-too-old-dude had gotten the hint. Boy, was he wrong.
The man kept trying to grab onto the younger’s waist, blatantly staring at his behind when the latter turned around to plug in the drier, and constantly making small comments about his body structure; how petit he was, how pretty he would look when--
“It’s all done. You paid already so you can leave now.”
“What a shame.’ The man said, frowning with slight anger morphed into his features, finally, phew, FINALLY leaving the parlour.
“Ahhhh, it’s finally over! Creeps like him really piss me off,” The ginger head said, voice laced with annoyance. “Hopefully, he won’t be coming here again, or I’ll really make sure he pays for all this.”
Hopefully.
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“So, which girl do we need to rob, Minnie?” Chan asked Seungmin.
Seungmin sighed. “For the fifth time, Chan, the brunette in the red dress. We need to steal her bracelet. And try to score her earrings too, if possible. They're all diamond and rose gold.”
Chan's face lit up. “You should've begun with that! I take dibs!”
Minho nudged Chan in the ribs. “Yah, wasn't it my turn?!”
Chan grinned at his friends. “Not if I woo her first.”
Seungmin remained seated on one of the couches in the high-class bar, while the elder two made their way over to the aforementioned brunette, Chan beside her on the drink counter and Minho watching the two closely.
“Hey there, princess.” Minho heard Chan say. Ahh, again with that cheesy dialogue? Aish, what do they see in this guy? They really need to change their charming techniques.
Despite the line being extremely cliche, the older looking female was immediately charmed by the blonde Australian boy. “Hey!”
Chan smirked. This was way too easy. “What's a beauty like you doing in this cheap pub?”
The woman's eyes widened. Cheap?!
Minho knew that look in her eyes. If Chan considered a pub so well maintained and high class as cheap, he must obviously be rich. Not even rich, the dude must be loaded.
He knew that look in her eyes very, very well. He'd seen it in Chan's, Seungmin's too, and especially in his own. Greed.
“Oh, it's not to my liking, but I hoped a sexy man like yourself would come whisk me away.” The lady said, voice sultry and seductive, a manicured hand on Chan's clothed bicep.
Bingo. The fish had taken the bait.
Now, it's time to eat.
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Felix had never felt more hollow. The music that made him feel alive, the dances which would lift up his spirits in the matter of seconds and elevate him to a level of inner happiness just gave him numbness now. More than a passion, it had slowly morphed into a duty which he felt reluctant to do. But he had no choice.
For he had already made one, years ago when he left his hometown in Australia to come to South Korea to become an idol. He had made the choice then, to become the beat and the flow of the music, and he thought then that if he achieved that, there would be nothing more he would want or desire for.
In a twisted way, he was correct. For he no longer wanted anything, nor did he have any desires, not even to live. He wanted nothing. Nothing to do with dance, with music, with himself.
The constant routine of dancing again, and again, and again, not for a sense of freedom but for perfection had turned his beautiful, lively soul to a hollow and numb body.
There was no more, a purpose to live for.
Just emptiness.
He's sitting on the floor of his trainee apartment, a razor blade in his right hand, and hundreds of small and big, old and new cuts on the left, wondering to himself why he had done it; why he had left his home, his family - which was very happy without him by the way - his life, only to waste it away like this. He should've just died. He should just be dead.
Shouldn't he?
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Jeongin really couldn't be more grateful to these singers. Bustling events in the streets of Seoul provided him with a lot of stuff. Watches, phones, rings, necklaces, and of course, money.
Jeongin is a pickpocketer. A small thief, not stealing anything too major, but enough to get him some food in his stomach, and maybe sometimes a few better clothes or blankets to put over his back, and to protect him from the cold on the bench in the park, his home.
Doing this wasn't a choice. It was a habit he'd picked up from an elder boy in the orphanage. He's gotta say though, it really helped.
Jeongin was a good lock-picker as well, but he didn't rob any houses. He had just learned that one as a way of surviving as his abusive adoptive parent killed his soul little by little every day of his life by tormenting him almost everyday after school, or even by making him skip school, leaving him in his room, locked all alone in the darkness for so long that he would almost forget what light looks like, wondering if this was how he would die.
He was lucky enough that one day before it was time for the bastard to unlock his room, he picked open the lock after having mentally prepared himself for whatever he was to do now, elbowing the drunk man in the face, swinging the metal plate of the only food that he had eaten in days and bashing it repeatedly onto the back of his head, until the man was knocked out completely, and the young boy's hands were bleeding from the corners of the plate.
He knew the man wasn't dead; he couldn't bring himself to kill the man despite how much he hated him, so he instead took some of his money, the only few belongings he had, and left his 'home' in Busan to go to the city of Seoul.
Seoul was beautiful, a haven to him, and even in the darkness that followed him, he could finally feel at peace, for every morning, he woke up with the light shining on him, illuminating his world and turning the darkness of the night to a bright and warm dawn.
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Hyunjin didn't consider himself fortunate.
He was born in a wealthy household, had good grades, plenty of passions, lots of friends. But there was a catch. Hyunjin- or rather, Hyuna- was assigned female at birth. A girl. He was not one. He was never a girl.
Even in the earliest memory he remembered, he never felt right. That feeling of not belonging, not even in your own self, was really difficult. He couldn't recall a night he didn't cry when everyone around him would call him a pretty lady, a beautiful daughter, a girl, a girl, a girl, DIDN'T THEY GET IT?!
He wasn't a girl, at all. He was a boy. He'd always been one.
So, trusting, naive, and sweet Hyunjin told his parents. Being grounded, and being deprived of his dinner was all he got as a response.
He tried again. And again. And again.
No matter who he told, although the harshness of the response varied, the main message was
clear.
You're a girl, not a boy!
It hurt. It hurt so bad.
Why didn't they understand him?! Why did they treat him like this?! Why couldn't he be what he wanted to?!
College began, and he snapped under his growing depression and hurt. Fuck his parents. Fuck the world. He was a boy.
He dropped out from college, ran away, far, far away from his family, and gave himself a new identity.
He wasn't Hyuna.
He was Hyunjin.
He was Hwang Hyunjin, and he could now be everything he wanted to be. Everything he already was. He could finally stop the hurt from everyone. He could finally be himself.
Finally.
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The ding of the door bell alerted Changbin of the presence of a new client in his Tattoo Shop. Changbin usually had customers who appeared to be in the age ranges of 20 to 40, he didn't allow minors but anyone of legal age was welcome here. But the client he saw that day looked physically mature enough to be of the legal age but his eyes…
They looked like that of a child after a night terror: frightened and scared of the nightmare, sad and weary as if these monsters in his dreams would come to haunt him in his sleep again, and naive, yet somehow experienced as if he'd seen all the pain in the world.
His eyes intrigued Changbin. A lot.
The boy spoke. “E-excuse me?” Changbin raised a brow. “Can I get a tattoo?”
Changbin smiled warmly, trying not to intimidate the boy and to ease him. “Of course. Can I get your name and age?”
The boy's frame tensed upon hearing the word name, as if it physically pained him. “I'm twenty-three and my name.. my name is Hwang Hyunjin.” Although he had been affected negatively when Changbin asked for his name, for some reason he spoke with confidence as he said his name.
“Okay. So, Hyunjin-ssi, what kind of tattoo would you like?”
The boy- Hyunjin- once again seemed unsure. “A tattoo saying HJ would be nice,” He paused, as if trying to make sure of what exactly it was that he wanted. “Yeah, I'd like that. On the back of my neck.”
Changbin smiled. What a cute kid. “Sounds great. 'Cmere, bud, let's get you that tattoo.”
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