Chapter Text
Visit 1
48 hours in captivity
-------
The door closed behind him with an imposing thud, and Si-mok grabbed at the black fabric over his head, snatching it away as fast as he could. The room was dim and dank, bare walls and cement floor, the stagnant air swirling with dust. One flourecent bulb was flickering from the low ceiling, giving the already glum room a sickly atmosphere. It was tiny, looking more like a basement someone dug out and poured themselves rather than one built with a house.
Dong-jae was clearly visible as his prone body was the only thing in the tiny room. Si-mok turned around slowly, assessing the walls and door he'd been pushed through. It was solid, no window, and it looked thick. There was no handle on this side. He reached out and pressed a hand against it, letting his weight lean against the cold hard surface. It didn't budge, and he could feel the weight of it decline to move against his gentle push. He wouldn't be able to force his way out, he would have to wait for them to come and fetch him.
The thin prosecutor was still blindfolded and gagged. The black fabric was tied tightly around the man's face, and Si-mok could see the blood both old and new seeping from the man's head. He couldn't see much of the actual wounds, which Si-mok hoped was good, as anything bad enough to be seen clearly through Dong-jae's hair would be a bad wound indeed. His shallow breathing was now echoing uncomfortably through the tiny room. His hands and ankles were bound tightly, and he was dressed in what Si-mok knew must be the suit he'd been kidnapped in two days before. Si-mok couldn't tell if he was looking partifularly pale or if it was just the awful buzzing flourescent light giving them both a haunted palor. Dong-jae's bound wrists were tied to a bar affixed to the wall. It looked like one of the bars some people installed in their showers for the elderly and infirm to hold on to in case of a fall; designed to take a body's full weight, it would be impossible to tear the bar itself free from the cement wall.
The sound of Si-mok's feet taking the few steps across the room was enough to rouse Dong-jae, who gave a forceful kick with his tied legs, thrashing himself violently and with surprising force for how crumpled he looked. Si-mok had to practically fall backwards to avoid getting his; fortunately Dong-jae's attack had been a blind jab, and he barely skimmed Si-mok's shins on the downswing. But the soft sounds and brief contact was enough to put Dong-jae on edge. He was pulling himself upwards as far as he could, attempting face his perceived attacker, ready to push himself off the wall and fling another kick, ready to throw as much of his bound and beaten weight as he could.
"Dong-jae," Si-mok spoke gently and clearly from just ouside of the tied man's range of kicking. After a moment he lowered himself to a crouch, letting his voice project from a lower, less aggressive angle. "Dong-jae, it's me, Si-mok Hwang. Do you understand me?"
A shudder went through Dong-jae. He didn't relax, but his head turned towards Si-mok's voice. He'd been moving for only a handful of seconds, but his breath was heaving in his chest, fast and hard and too shallow. Si-mok noticed the crust of snot and blood around Dong-jae's nose, the only clear airway with his mouth stuffed and gagged.
"Dong-jae," he repeated, voice even and clear. "It's me, Si-mok Hwang. Do you understand? We negotiated to let me see you, to see if you were still alive."
Dong-jae's demeanor changed in a heartbeat. He tried to speak, possibly yell through the gag around his mouth, and he pushed his wrists toward Si-mok as forcefully as he could. The message was clear: untie me.
"I can't untie you. They only let me in for a short while. If I disobey they will cause you more harm."
Dong-jae looked visibly deflated. Si-mok sometimes marveled at how expressive the man was even under normal circumstances, emoting with his entire body, his posture giving away his general mental state. Now Dong-jae went still, huffing out labored breaths. Then he shook his wrists again in Si-mok's direction, hands clenched into fists. He was leaning as far from the wall now as he could, offering himself to Si-mok. Please, please, please, said each shake of his hands, the plastic cords biting harshly into his skin.
"I'm sorry," Si-mok said softly. He was able now to recognize this softening he sometimes felt as guilt. "I'm sorry. Not yet. They have promised they will not kill you or hurt you too badly. I must obey them now if we have any hope of saving you."
Dong-jae thrashed again, but this time it wasn't toward Si-mok. The muffled yell that escaped him was pure frustration, and he pulled at his wrist ties himself, with renewed fervor, his hands already looking swollen.
Si-mok didn't know what to say. He looked again at Dong-jae's crusty, dirty face. He glanced down at the black bag they'd put over his head to get here- it seemed soft enough. As gently as he could he raised the fabric to Dong-jae's nose.
Dong-jae flinched at the unexpected feeling, reeling back a bit. Si-mok could see his adrenaline-fueled energy burst was to fade; Dong-jae's hands were a little shakey, his head lulled just a little as he jerked it away. "Let me clean your face," Si-mok said in his matter-of-fact tone. "So you can still breathe." His hand hovered for a few seconds in front of Dong-jae's face.
After a few moments of confused hesitation Dong-jae seemed to relax. He gave a strong puff of air through his nose, spattering more snot down the front of his face and the fabric that gagged his mouth. Si-mok slowly raised the fabric again. This time his imprisoned companion still flinched, but he didn't jerk away. As gently as possible Si-mok rubbed the fabric back and forth across Dong-jae's nose, pulling loose the crusty gunk that had build up there after days of being tied and gagged. Dried bits of blood and snot flaked away from his nostrils. Si-mok's guiding hand uncertain but determined. It was like helping a child, he thought, having seen that scenario on televsion a few times. Imagining Dong-jae, who had several inches of height over Si-mok, as a child so small he needed help wiping his face, was a strange and almost humorous image. It made Si-mok uncomfortable, and added a layer of disquiet and awkwardness to the physical contact that he hadn't felt when he started. But then Dong-jae took a deeper breath through his nose, his breath shuddering. Si-mok pulled the now-gunky fabric away, observing what little of Dong-jae's face he could see past the blindfold and gag. Pale, a sheen of sweat. Nostrils clear.
"I can't signal to them to let me out," Si-mok explained. "I have to wait here until they come get me."
Dong-jae gave a grunt that sounded so unimpressed it was almost like he wasn't bound and gagged and back to his old self, handing out judgement to Si-mok or another prosecuter he didn't have to suck up to in the moment. But his body seemed to wilt against the wall, prone with exhaustion and clenched with pain at the same time. Si-Mok watched him, the tug of guilt desperately trying to worm a larger hole into his amygdala, to make room for more emotions at this horrific scene in front of him. But he desperately tamped it down. He couldn't afford to feel. It was threatening to push him to the edge, and the ghostly echo of that ear-shattering, ringing pain was already haunting him. He was the only one who would be allowed to see Dong-jae until this was over; he couldn't afford to fail.
"I will be back in two days." Si-mok said with certainty. Looking at Dong-jae's pitiful form, not knowing if he was even processing his voice, made it hard to walk away. He felt the sharp injustice of not being able to take Dong-jae with him. "I will come back," he promised, giving a slight bow.
He held the black bag in his hands, careful to have it situated so when he would put it back on the mess from Dong-jae's face was on the outside. Then he sat, back to the door, and waited. It didn't take them long to come in, and he put the bag over his head obediently before being grabbed and forced out by a number of rough hands.
-------
Dong-jae had been in near-constant pain for almost 48 hours, when he wasn't simply unconscious, and he couldn't stop his eyes from watering when his mystery kidnappers had struck him over the head again a few minutes before Si-mok had entered. But he hadn't given in to despair, despite (or perhaps because of) his absolute loathing of being in pain or any kind of discomfort, his kidnappers has just succeeded in pissing him off. He mostly felt anger, long hot barbs of fury at being harmed physically, dominated and completely without agency. How dare they? He didn't even know who they were. Every time his hands went numb, and every time the feeling and pain came back, every time his head throbbed, every time they hit him, it made him see red all over again. Every time he tried to pull himself from the wall and every time his muscles cramped sharply, he got through it by being pissed.
But Si-mok had ruined hit. He'd felt so much hope at hearing the familiar voice, the one voice he knew who could never be in on this plot, he might have exploded right then and there. But Si-mok wasn't here to save him. Si-mok was powerless, Si-mok was going to leave without freeing him. Abandon him back into the darkness. And the giving and then the taking of that hope had been one of the worst things Dong-jae had felt in his entire life. He almost shattered right there- if he'd been alone he might have. Frustratingly, tears prickled at his eyes as his adrenaline faded and his body gave in to the pain and exhaustion again. He couldn't even yell properly. Dejected and, to his rising horror, fearful of the days to come, Dong-jae let Si-mok clean off his face and nose, grateful despite himself for the too-tight blindfold hiding his watering eyes.
The touch was at first abraisive, almost electric. It made his pounding head hurt even more. Two days of the only touch he experienced being hit with various objects or hauled and dragged across floors, and even some rough fabric felt like an assault. He knew it was Si-mok but his body was on autopilot, causing him to jerk away on instinct, unable to see it or anything coming. He jerked back involuntarily both times Si-mok approached him, and on impulse Dong-jae wanted to strike out. It was only Si-mok's all too familiar voice that kept him present, with no sight or speech to give him some leverage. In a way Si-mok was the best person who could have turned up. Nobody else could imitate that perfectly bland tone of voice. Only Si-mok would peel away his snotty crust like a nurse helping an invalid. At the same time Si-mok was feeling awkward about picking snot out of his former coworker's blocked and bloody nose, Dong-jae only felt pain and dread. It wasn't until his breathing actually eased up that he came back to the present moment- it was getting harder and harder to focus on things as the hours went by.
Above any other thought he had, Dong-jae desperately wanted to be untied. He would have given anything, or possibly anyone, for the chance at unbound wrists and ankles. But Si-mok said no, they'd only hurt Dong-jae if he disobeyed, and Dong-jae could neither physically protest or use his voice to beg. He'd willingly take another beating later just to have some relief now, just to lay down properly on the floor, stretch out his arms and legs. But he couldn't say this. He was reduced to a silent passivity: no voice, no choice, just waiting.
-------