Chapter Text
The gravel crunched under his boots- and then he off, feeling absolutely nothing underneath them anymore. Just the sensation of free falling.
This wasn't the first time he had been there, in this place, but at least back then, 3 years ago, his brother didn't look at him like that.
It's been 3 years and yet he still remembered that stare before being shot. The little shift in his eyes, the helplessness quickly shifting back into freezing coldness. Back then he didn't understand why Inho had looked at him like that. And now he knew.
And now he knew and he had to say goodbye to him. No time to talk it out, no time for a proper farewell.
No time for one last hug because there was too much blood and all the empty shells of bullets had piled up in front of them like a wall meant to keep them away from each other forever.
Now, the last look on his brother's face was one full of regrets and sorrow, realising that everything was too late. That one of them had to go forever. And Inho had decided it shouldn't be him, it should never be him. Even when Junho yelled, on his knees, blood seeping through his shirt, it should be him he denied, still making the decision for him as if he was still a child, his baby brother. And oh how angry he got because he was old enough now to make his own decisions even if it meant to die.
This also wasn't his first time falling and falling, desperately stretching out his arm as if he had any chance to reach for the person atop of the cliff, and being caught by the ocean. He had been there once, clinging onto his miserable life.
But this time, oh he was well aware . Of the water surrounding him, how it drenched his clothes and pressed against all the cuts littering his body. Blood was all around him now.
Had it been that bad the last time as well?
Somewhere deep in his mind he saw Inho’s face again.
How could he himself be a coward like that and just abandon him, leave him to die? He had to get out of the water and run, as fast as he could. He should push his way through the thick green, up the hills and climb if necessary.
If it meant to save his brother who didn't deserve to die here.
But the shore drifted more away with each second and the ocean didn't let him go either. Its claws dug deep into his flesh, licking at his wounds only to tell him he should just let go, there was no need to hold onto anyway.
For a moment, only for a moment, he wanted too- then his nightmares would stop as well.
Then an explosion rippled through the air. The impact shook up even the fishes as they swarmed around him, hiding somewhere.
You're such a useless little brother.
Move or you will die here. An inner voice said, sounding almost like Inho.
He wanted to scream at himself. Oh how bad Junho wished he could scream but he couldn't, of course he couldn't, no matter how much he wanted to.
And then there was another explosion- it sounded a lot more distant.
Move.
Move. He didn't go through all of this just to find his end here, where no one could ever find him. In a wet grave, everything from the island buried with him. He didn't want to die here, beyond nightmares.
So he did- pushed and pushed, seeing a bit of November sunlight glint on the surface of water, coming closer every second. Seconds that felt like an eternity down here.
He took deep fast breaths, finally, when he bursted through the water. The rough waves splashing against the cliffs and slicing through his open wounds made him feel nauseous. It took him a second to adjust before his bloodshot eyes ripped wide open, searched the shore then, darting around from side to side, the beating of his miserable heart picked up on speed.
He didn't know exactly what he was hoping to find- a trace of his brother, a sign he was still alive, really anything. Junho looked up to where he had fallen from, the delusions inside of him lying to him now, whispering sweet nothings into his ear.
If he went up there, Inho would still be alive and well and he would tell him he was alright and he'd join him back home.
He wished he could laugh, for at least a moment but this wasn't a joke. It was dead serious and maybe he had just lost the only person who truly ever cared about him.
About him and all the bad luck that had always followed him around, even as a child.
But finding the cliffs left untouched, so incredibly eerie- nothing even indicating a massive explosion had just erupted through this strange quietness- only added fuel to this hopeless fire.
Surely somewhere around there had to be his brother right? He had to find him. He couldn't just-
After everything he'd done. After looking for that island for two damn years while no one believed him, after sacrificing so much.
Junho had to return the favor- had to show Inho he knew how much he still cared, even after firing a bullet into his shoulder.
They would see each other again and talk things out properly without death lingering around them. They would, right?
His vision was dancing in front of his view when he dragged himself out of the water, the sea clinging onto him, calling him back because they had become such good friends over the years. His only friend actually- how sad was it that the only one who had only ever given him real comfort without betraying ultimately wasn't even human, but the sea and its little creatures in it.
How sad, yet somehow comforting.
Flinching as the cut in his abdomen made itself noticeable, he stumbled forwards. Wasn't it a bit too early to lose consciousness now?
Junho’s ears began to ring and he pressed a hand against the wound, hissing loudly.
What was it again?
What had Kim said before they raided the place?
He sucked in a sharp breath, trying to recall his exact words.
“You better make it out alive, I don't want to lose another one. Even if I have to stitch you back together.”
The man's stare had been intense. He had always noticed him staring at him like that. It was a strange look he couldn't quite put his finger on- maybe because he had never seen it on anyone else. Maybe because it was genuine, because for the first time someone didn't look at him in pity like he was weak and unstable.
Thinking about it made him stay awake.
And then it didn't as he collapsed into the sand, just like that, legs buckling under his weight. Stones and the sharp edges of shells dug deep into the palms of his hands when he tried to find balance. It didn't hurt more than the injury gaping on his abdomen, no, but it surely added to the reason why the world around him slowly began to lose its color.
Someone grabbed him by his arms then, pulling him upwards. He let out a low groan, squirming under the grip. It hurt- but what exactly hurt, he couldn't quite figure out. The salt and sand rubbing at his wounds? The hands which were too cold but also scorching hot, which he felt even through the layers of clothes, how they held him in a firm grip, steadying him?
Or the fact this whole rescue mission didn't turn out the way he wanted it to? Because in this perfect little world he had made up, Inho would stand right beside him now.
For a moment he wanted to free himself from the grip. Inho couldn't be far away, right? If he could just rip himself free.
But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't. The exhaustion spread through every part of his very being, clouding his mind. And then there was the blood, the sensation of how it seeped through his wet clothes, how it ran down his body leaving him looking like a mess.
The person behind him started to talk now, the voice sounding soft and worried but muffled- so so far away like he was still underwater and desperately gasping for air. Then their hand wrapped around his and the soft tone changed into something more angry, more impatient. It was the first time Junho felt he was holding onto something. The first time he looked down to see the horrifying image of a black mask without its owner staring straight at him.
Like some messed up trophy. Like he should be proud of leaving his brother for his death.
Tears ran down his face now. They were quiet but even then, so awfully disgusting. The last time he had shed tears like this was when- he blinked. When was it again? He hadn't cried in a while. Junho couldn't believe he was doing this right in front of that person who-
Turned him around to roughly cup his face, covered in sand and tears and fresh blood trickling down from the scratches. Against the bright November sunlight burning through his eyes, he couldn't make out who it was, not even when he squinted.
“You either drop this now or hand it to me. Who knows how they will react once they see you with it, especially-”
Interrupted by another bang as the ground shook, the faceless person ripped the mask out of his hand.
Then he felt being dragged away from the shore, away from the foot of the cliff.
Away from the reason he had spent all his time looking for that island like someone crazy and in return letting people make fun of him.
How could they just leave it like that? Leave Inho here, all alone, hurt or even worse… dead. His lifeless body lying somewhere, bleeding out. How could they-
Around him there were voices now. Too many, most of them he didn't know the owners of. They were scared and hurt, just like he was. He heard the sobs, the screams and the pain, the mumbles and whispers. Someone approached him, the footsteps steady and full of anger. He squinted once more, blinked but it was futile.
“We don't have time for that. He needs help. You may talk to him afterwards.”
In a matter of seconds, a door fell shut and then there was deafening silence surrounding him for a while. A while that stretched endlessly as he stumbled over his own feet.
“Just look at you.” The voice was circling Junho before it stopped right in front of him. “We did not agree to do this, did we? You promised me not to die. And then you almost did when I let you go with that awful cut.” Cold hands cupped his face again, a little more gentle this time, tilting and turning it from one side to the other. ”I should probably take care of the mess your brother left behind but when I said early I would stitch you back together, I meant it.”
The fingers carefully traced the outline of his face, the cuts, the stains left behind by tears.
His brother.
A simple word that snapped him right out of the trance he was stuck in, head shooting up.
He didn't know why he flinched when he saw Kim standing right in front of him, back turned towards the door, but he did. And maybe for just a second he saw something cross those deep eyes, surprise maybe?
“Alright,” Junho watched as he let his eyes wander across his body, the clothes clinging onto him like a second layer of skin. Hands found their way to his forehead now, gently grazing over it like he could break apart any second, then they wandered down to his neck, wrapping around it for a moment. It was as if the touch burned itself through his already sore skin, leaving permanent marks there. Just for a blink of an eye he wanted to pull Kim in closer so there would be no inch left between them, so he could feel something else again, something more than just pain and unfiltered anger and disappointment towards his brother and the system that enabled and allowed all these things to happen. He scoffed at himself under pain. It had come this far already, maybe he was really about to die.
“I told you I won't let you die. Take your clothes off so I can take care of your injuries and the fever. Before it gets any worse.”
Those deep eyes looked into his for a second, then dropped down, lingering somewhere on his face. Junho saw him biting down on his lips before turning away then, glancing over his shoulder for a moment, now crouched down to pull something out of one of the backpacks. In that moment Junho’s gaze flickered to where the mask laid- just in arms reach, on a small cupboard.
His most prized possession. A curse and a reminder alike.
This was so pathetic because what was he even supposed to do with it now? What did his brother think when he shoved it into his blood caked shaking hands before he pushed him off the cliff?
That perhaps if he couldn't come with him, so a small part could at least?
So many questions left unanswered, hanging in the air outside, dead and buried with him. Questions he would never get an answer to, not now, not in one year from now, not in 10.
Never.
Reaching out, Junho traced over the outlines of the polygon shape, then slipped under it to pick it up, letting out a shaking breath as he slowly did so. Just touching it hurt more than any bullet or knife could ever.
If he had been his brother's weak point, then the mask was Junho’s weak point.
He held it up then, a thin ray of the evening sun beaming through the small window opposite to where he sat, coloring it in a golden glow. Just like the room where Inho had been living all this time.
Or rather been trapped- whatever one would call it. For him it had always looked like a prison and it would forever.
It was also then when Kim turned back around to him again, perfectly aligning with the light and the mask.
For a moment the world around him stopped spinning. The boat wasn't swaying anymore either, there were no voices outside. The only thing he heard was the beating of his heart, the blood rushing through his ears and his shallow breaths.
The mask looked way too perfect on him. It was so messed up he just wanted to get up and scream again like he did at the top of the cliff.
He clenched his jaw instead, swallowing down resentment and frustration.
“Stop this, ” Junho flinched at the man’s words, as he slung his arm tight around his abdomen, stifling a gasp. “I’m not your brother.”
Something unfinished hung in the air too, it was thick and suffocating. Words which had been hanging between them ever since they stepped back onto the boat. Words which Kim swallowed down now.
“Sit down and take your clothes off. I won't repeat myself.” There was pleading in his voice now.
Maybe he should wear the mask instead? Just see how it felt?
Because weren't they the same? He and his brother? Always sharing everything? Burden, wounds, pain and blood?
Turning it around swiftly, Junho held it against his face, the material weighing heavy and cold against wet and sore skin- it was the first time he saw the world through his brother's eyes. So dark. There was no color. Everything was dull, drained out of all the good things. Was this how Inho had felt all those years?
Junho wondered of all the things he must've seen through it- all the bloodshed and the tears of the people he had forced to play those deadly games, the fear and desperation in their eyes. How this was how he had seen him from afar, in the lounge room sitting next to one of the vips
He scoffed at himself- remembering, once he had regained back parts of his memories, how much he hated his brother for letting it happen.
And then, not so long ago, Inho had told him in grave detail what he'd done to the pig afterwards.
Something so gruesome. Was it his fault his brother had changed into someone willing to murder so easily?
An iron grip around his wrist ripped him out of his daydreams once more and then the mask got yanked away from his face.
“You better stop this as well and do what I told you to.”
Arms crossed in front of his chest, Kim stared him down like he was a child refusing to eat up its meal, eyebrows raised at him.
Junho had been there once. When he woke up from the coma. Being stripped free in front of someone he didn't know. Not wanting to show off his weak side. Now he was there again. In front of someone he knew nothing about but who in return knew everything about him.
Almost everything.
Not about the ugly scar on his shoulder, not his nightmares, how disgusted of himself he sometimes felt, or the days when he wished he could travel back in time to the days when everything was better and places were filled with laughter.
Dropping his gaze, Junho weakly took a seat on top of an old rusty cupboard, the material creaking under his weight. Even now, it was impossible to not feel Kim’s stare on him, basically undressing him with his eyes, and how he followed each of his movements as he defeatedly began to unzip his jacket, covered in holes and cuts.
When he slipped out of it, he gasped in pain.
“Do you remember anything that happened earlier?” Kim said as he closed the distance between them, sitting down a pack of fresh bandages and antiseptic next to him.
“From the moment we made our way inside up to the moment when you met your brother? Or perhaps at the cliff?”
About to slip out of his shirt as well, motion stiff as Junho held his breath he stopped, feeling caught off guard.
No.
Whatever happened before falling off the cliff, most of it was still a haze. Maybe his mind had blacked out the whole time, as a way to protect himself from further harm? Or was it because he didn't want to remember? Always in denial because the truth hurt so much?
A wave of cold air hit him then and he bent forwards, excruciating pain jolting through his body. Gasping, he reached out, grabbing a fistful of Kim’s jacket, fingers digging deep into tense muscles.
Right now, he was his last anchor- his only anchor perhaps even. His last anchor to not collapse right then and there from the pressure, the agony, the feeling of loneliness and the heat sweeping over him in waves.
He felt the man's grip steadying him, around his hip, where his surgery scar disappeared into the waistband of his pants.
“It’s alright. Don't force yourself to answer if you don't remember it yet. You can do so later, once you know. Now,” gentle but cold fingers slipped under his shirt, grazing the injury slightly, pulling up over his head. Junho winced, biting down hard on his lip, the taste of iron spreading in his mouth. “Let me fix you.”
Let me fix you.
Four simple words echoed in his mind, weighing so heavy on him. Could he even be fixed after all this time? Too much broken, too many cracks and missing pieces. All because of what?
This all. His brother. Himself.
Junho's eyes flickered to Kim, who had one hand braced against the cupboard while the other hovered over his hip for like a second, quickly pulling away to reach for the cloth.
They were so close to each other, he could practically smell a mix of sea salt and dried blood on him. An odd combination that almost made him go crazy. He liked it, in some strange way.
Those weird feelings which had no place in his life. He especially shouldn't have them for someone like a mercenary.
“It will sting a little bit. Try to hold back, alright?”
He didn't even give Junho a proper warning before he pressed the in antiseptic dressed cloth against the injury.
Just a little sting.
Right, that's why he gasped for air now, letting his head roll backwards, hitting the wall behind him. That's why he hissed and his fingers twitched, nails scraping against the rust spread across the cupboard. He shivered at the sound, letting out another wince.
“Why don't you do it a little more gently?” Were the only words he could mutter out through gritted teeth, eyes rolled back. It was supposed to be a light hearted remark, nothing serious of sorts. He didn't need to be handled like something fragile. But then Kim stopped, reached out and brushed over hot glowing cheeks down his neck. Junho caught himself almost letting out a moan, swallowing it down.
“I’m sorry. I will try to be more gentle. If it still hurts just hold onto me.”
Junho felt something being pulled out of the wound right when he said those words. Something sharp. A small piece of shell perhaps.
He bit down on his lips once more, pressing his eyes shut before reaching out in a swift motion to get a hold on the hand, still on his neck.
A little scratch should really be nothing, not after the things he had already gone through. Yet, for just a moment, he felt like passing out. It was a different type of pain- one that made him want to tear up not because it hurt but because in moments like this, when he came home with scratches all over his hands, knees and face, his brother used to be right there to take care of it. No matter how busy he was with work. It made him remember the happy moments in his life- they replayed, over and over again like a broken record stuck in the past, too afraid to move on.
The ones of his own birthday, how, even when Inho was already grown up, in university, then busy with his job and ready to build a life on his own, he would still come over and spend as much time with him as possible. Because he was his baby brother.
When he was there at each graduation ceremony, making silly jokes nobody really laughed at and how he hugged him tightly.
Or when Inho was so so worried about his well being after being diagnosed with kidney failure, willing to give anything, everything, so he wouldn't die.
Those were his happiest moments, and the ones he would never get back again.
Swallowing hard, he almost caved in. Almost cried again because while his brother didn't even dare let him die this easily- he did. He did and it would haunt him forever.
And maybe Kim must've noticed it too as fingers slowly began to rub gentle circles around his neck, right where the pulse sat. It felt strange, knowing under what circumstances they've met, but also so comforting when he thought back of those few times he had made him crack a broken smile or saved him. Like the night prior.
Ever since, he had wondered why the man treated him like this.
“Any particular reason… why do you treat me like this?”
Junho let out a muffled moan as Kim grazed over the old scar on his waist. A pathetic, embarrassing sound that maybe wasn't just because of the pain but also because the scar tissue was still so sensitive, even when years had passed. Silence stretched between them when the man in front of him stopped, giving him a moment to breathe and collect his thoughts.
“Why shouldn't I? We're on the same team as of now so I don't see why I shouldn't.” Dabbing over smaller cuts on his chest, Kim continued.
“It's fascinating how you don't even seem to realize what type of impression you leave on people just with your presence alone. I see it. I saw it from the moment we first met at the motel. You piqued my interest with how good you handled the different types of firearms. You're fast and leave no ammunition to waste. I was being told you're a cop, so I didn't expect much. You did in fact surprise me. Don't know when I last met someone as interesting as you.”
Junho heard him take a step back, the hand sliding away from under his grip. Then something rustled and the next thing he felt was something dry grazing his naked skin. When he opened his eyes there was a jacket being wrapped around his shoulders.
“Perhaps I’m returning a favor. You told me about who the man was who ran the games the night prior. I figured it's a secret you tried to keep from the others. Our work is based on mutual trust, is it not?”
Junho’s eyes fell shut again, for a moment, exhausted from the pain and the wave of fever rushing over him. The same thoughts and feelings from earlier clouded his mind once more- how close they were, the sensation of legs pressed against his, the hands on his chest.
He was doomed. Not long ago he would've laughed at himself.
A mercenary.
Instead of waiting for an answer, he reached for the clean bandage, wrapping him up. It was a little rough but Junho didn't complain.
“I think you did something to me. Maybe you should apologize.”
The last words sounded more like a joke to Junho than anything else. Still, he couldn't deny the feelings they sparked inside of him. Maybe the fever truly played dumb little tricks with his mind.
“Your hand. I saw it bleeding earlier too.”
Kim gestured with his head, pointing to the dark shade of red painting his hand. The bleeding had already stopped so he didn't understand why it was of such importance.
“When we're back at the mainland, you better get your injuries checked up first.”
Reaching out for Junho’s wrist, he pulled him in. And then his fingers traced along the lines of his palms, over his knuckles. Over fresh bruises, cuts and little scars he brought into the present from his childhood
“Your-”
A knock, turning into frantic hammering, interrupted their alone time. The shift in Kim's mood was impossible not to notice, his mimic neither. Brows furrowed, he let go of his hand.
“I will take a look at what's going on. You wait here. A certain someone seems to be out for your blood. It would be unfortunate if another fight breaks out.”
Zipping the jacket up to his chin, a familiar smell making itself home around him, Junho pushed himself off the cupboard, regretting it immediately with the pain jolting through his abdomen.
“I can watch out for myself. It's not like-”
Kim swung around, the smile now replaced by a furious expression, a finger raised and pointing at him.
“This is non negotiable. You stay here until further instructions.” Eyes scanned him up and down, then he shook his head in disappointment. “We'll have to work on this later.”
Then he disappeared through the door out of the room, leaving Junho alone with his thoughts running wild and with whatever he meant with they'd have to work on this later as the boat gently swayed from one side to the other, the sun already below the horizon.
And then there was commotion outside and someone mentioned his brother's name in a furious voice. Something along the lines of I deserved to pull the finishing blow. Or maybe he already started to imagine things, things that never were there, things that never been said.
Tunnel vision. A rush of adrenaline and anger at the tip of his fingers as he charged through the door, brushing past one of the people they'd just rescued, pushing Kim aside, who's hand he felt on his arm, trying to hold him back.
“Leave me.” Words rushing through his mind. He didn't know what he was saying anymore, what part of it was real, what part of it was just pure imagination running wild.
He didn't know when his heart began to race like this or when he grabbed the man's collar, pushing him backwards against the railing.
Making everything most likely so much worse than it already was.
“You're not the only one who has lost things. People.”
Junho snarled at him. Vision still blurry from all the adrenaline but just the voice was enough to know who he was facing.
“You act as if it's just your trauma to carry but it's also mine. You told me I should forget about my brother when you were the one who couldn't let go.” Tightening the grip on the fabric with shaking hands, he felt the eyes of the others on him. “Do you have any idea how angry it made me? Now you say it should've been you to deliver the final blow? He's dead already, what more could you wish for? Everyone is rescued, the games destroyed, and he dead.”
It hurt, realizing that his brother really was dead in front of everyone. How he had to live like this for the rest of his life. That yes he may had found his brother, been able to reconnect with him amongst blood and gunshots, but now it's all over, ruined.
What the hell was he supposed to do now? When it hurt so much he wanted to rip himself open.
“You're so greedy.” He whispered, shouldn't have said it. He knew about the damage done now.
“Junho”
No.
“Hwang Junho!”
No.
There were arms around him now, dragging him away, a door slammed again.
He wasn't finished yet.
“Didn't I tell you to stay here and wait? Now look at you.”
Now look at you?
He was angry and rightfully so. He only went back to this forsaken place so he could free his brother, to convince him to come back with him so they could fix what's broken. He was mad because Inho was still his brother and would always be, no matter the atrocities he'd done in the name of trauma. He was furious because he knew he should hate him for what he'd allowed to happen because that was his job as a detective- wasn't it? He should not be defending Inho in front of everyone, he should not have yelled at Gihun like that and yet he did.
Gihun had no right to speak of him like that. To accuse him of stealing his opportunity to avenge family and friends.
Pulling himself free from the grip, Junho scoffed at his own thoughts, shifting into a painful and pitiful sob.
Maybe if he would've tried more hard enough, maybe if he never even ended up in a stupid coma, maybe if he never was led astray by the only person he had trusted- considered a friend, an ally, the only one who had believed him- then maybe things would be a lot more different than they are now. Maybe in the end it was all his fault, right?
Maybe if he didn't care so much about his brother then he would've told Gihun and everything would've been over so much sooner.
This would be the most idealistic outcome of it all but Junho knew the world didn't work like this. Never did.
“Listen, I understand you're angry and upset and I and I fully understand. But you need to pull yourself together. Just look how much you're hurting yourself. You don't even seem to notice.”
Kim stepped closer, almost no inch left between them, as his hand found its way around his neck, wandering upwards to his glowing forehead. Junho hissed under the touch, it was as if he was burning him up from the inside.
“The fever will only keep getting worse if you don't get immediate rest. You need rest and I mean it. I don't want to lose another one on this forsaken ship. Drink up and go to sleep.” Unscrewing a bottle, Kim held it out. The cold plastic grazing his skin. Junho's eyes dropped down to his lips and perhaps, in his delirious mind, he was imagining a soft smile.
Perhaps in his delirious mind he wanted more than just a smile.
Wanted to see just how much the man in front of him could calm him down, what else he could-
Sucking in a sharp breath, he ripped the bottle out of his grip, silently chugging down the contents.
It was cold.
Just like his brother's dead body. Doomed to never leave the island.
He couldn't remember exactly what happened afterwards, exhaustion running him over, but when he fell asleep, he hit something soft A warm and safe embrace holding him tight. Guiding him to security.
Something had followed him back home that day.
It was the dead of the night when he rose up from the couch, where he had fallen asleep on earlier, a stack of loose documents sprawled across the floor, some of which tattered and torn. It was quiet, all around him, the rain hammering against the large window not far away from him, the only noise disrupting it.
The quietness wasn't peaceful, and neither was the rain- even when, not so long ago, he had found comfort in it. Comfort of how it reminded him of the sea, just like the neon signs in the distance, drowning parts of the room in a deep shade of blue.
But this was no more. Long gone were the days where the sea and everything were his friends. Now it only made him incredibly angry of everything it had taken from him.
It was almost every night when he felt like he was right back there.
At sea.
A year ago.
When everything went down the drain. A failed rescue mission, a failed attempt to get his brother back. A failed attempt to start new again, stitch together old wounds. The only things he gained that day was what? Disappointed looks, whatever happened between him and Kim, more scars.
And then, when he had stepped from the boat, back turned towards the vastness of the sea, barely able to walk because of the injury, he didn't know he was saying goodbye, welcoming something entirely new into his world.
The mask that would haunt him like a ghost, lurking in the shadows of his room- Even when he had buried it deep inside the closet, there where in his childhood, the monsters would reside.
He has pushed it away like everything else.
Like he ignored and pushed the glaring signs away- signs of how bad things had truly become for him, in around a year. Because if he'd push them away long enough they would definitely go away on their own.
Just like the blood staining his fingers, his clothes.
Blood replacing tears he used to spill at nights when the emptiness of the apartment was too loud and too suffocating.
Moments when he missed his brother.
Moments when he missed his mother.
Their mother, who had died only a handful of months later after he had returned home, covered in injuries and an odd sense of longing.
No chance of even telling her, delivering her those dreadful news her oldest son was gone.
He never had the heart to tell her.
Up until she died, he had carried all of it with himself.
Because how hilarious was it really that, even after everything, even after so many people testifying, still not a single one believed him. For them, he was still a fragile broken little piece, someone who just couldn't move on and accept the fact his brother was no more. No proof of the games, no one to hold accountable- no case. That's what they said. The police. The people he once used to work for.
At one point he stopped bringing it up.
And at another point he stopped caring- just living life day after day with whatever was left of his sanity, this broken home.
There were the moments when he wondered if the others had been able to adjust, how life was treating them. If they were just as messed up as him, if they were doing better.
Though he had to admit that most of the time, he was too busy to even care, swallowing down anger when he would hear his former superiors repeat themselves over and over again- how he should return back to them because they all needed him. It would bring back a sense of normalcy, it would help him adjust again.
How ironic this all was, really. When all these words came from the same people who had never listened to him once, always only ever smiled at him in pity.
And now that he was gone they oh so needed him so bad.
He hated it.
Sometimes he wished he could wipe these smiles away from their faces for good.
Junho lifted a hand against the faint neon glow. A fresh cut adorning his palm. Palm covered in dried blood. It would just be another scar, as if he didn't have enough of them already. Clenching it into a fist, sending a burning sting through his body, he swung his legs over the edge of the couch, making his way over to the bathroom. Even in the darkness of the room, he could only make out those faint outlines of red spilled all over the ground, mirror and sink, used bandages thrown away carelessly, a poor attempt to stop the bleeding and get rid of the stains.
He had begun to take matters into his own hands because had the police ever been this useless?
All while being haunted by something, or rather someone. But he had been able to adapt fast.
When he looked up in the mirror, lines of blood painting an eerie picture, his eyes fell down to the outline of the bullet scar. The scar lingering like a reminder that he had already dodged death not once or twice, but thrice. It would always remind him- just like the two, down on his abdomen.
Turning the tab on, he let ice cold water fill his hands, washing out the dried red stains.
Maybe some fresh air would help clear his thoughts, get rid of everything he didn't want to remember. At times like this a walk through the streets at night had always helped him, though this was all before she had died, when she was still alive and his mind less plagued by these strange voices, by the shadow lurking in each corner shaped in the form of something that had latched onto him that day on the island and came back with him.
Perhaps the rain would wash it away, down the drain. He watched as the water dripped down the faucet.
Would he even want to be free from it? With the way it gave him a sense in life? He could barely remember how his life was before, how he managed to uphold the law, abide by it so easily.
Which part of him was he actively betraying?
The one that only wanted his brother back and work his job- or the one that loved to swing fists, in the shadow of the night, making its own rules?
Grabbing the jacket thrown carelessly over the edge of the bathtub, the sleeves covered in blood, he slipped into it on his way out of the bathroom- passing an array of photos decorating the wall. The only reminder of what he once had. Like an altar. Reminding him of how his mother would've scolded him by now if she saw him looking like that.
His sweet mother, who didn't deserve all that. Until her last breath, she begged him. To find her son and tell him how sorry she was she couldn't do anything, how useless she was. And Junho couldn't do anything. Could only hold her hands in his and lie to her face, to let her pass in peace.
He held her hands in his.
The same hands which had long adapted to the feeling of pointing the gun at people begging on their knees in front of him in the dirt, desperate to be forgiven. The same hands which never had an issue pulling the trigger, spilling a little blood. The ones which would be covered in bruises, blood dripping from them.
He had told himself a year ago that he and his brother would always end up sharing everything.
Including this side
The hateful side nobody knew about. Perfectly tucked away because he was so good at pretending.
The mask has, ultimately, just been a foreshadowing of what was to come.
Grazing softly over one of the photos, he pocketed the gun on the table, like he always did, after everything. Inho being gone, the games being eradicated- none of it meant things truly were over now. Maybe he had imagined seeing people whisper behind his back, plotting, when it was never the case because how would they know who he even was, right? That's what he had thought until earlier, when the knife was buried deep into his palm, slicing through the skin and he swore he could hear his brother's voice. Then he knew safety wasn't granted.
He walked over to the door where he slipped into his shoes- dried specks of red covering the sole and tip.
The door fell close behind him as he made his way down to the ground floor where he was met by the cold night air, rain permeating the concrete and filling some of the few lonely potholes across the street.
He took a glance up in the sky, drumming down on his face and hair, leaving traces as it dripped down, disappearing into the collar of his sweater. The grey clouds hung deep the same way they did on that day , at the motel.
The way up ahead, leading away from his home, was almost completely shrouded in darkness, only a few of the streetlights lighting up the way. Somehow a perfect illustration of how he had been feeling for a long time.
Sucking in a breath, he began to make his way down the street- soaking up the noises of the nightlife. Junho had no specific destination in mind, just wandering. Keeping up with the small little routine in the cold- as warmth didn't really mean anything if there was no one around to share it with.
Right, he never had a destination in mind, yet somehow, whenever he would find himself outside, he would also find himself there.
This all too familiar place. A small restaurant, run-down, overgrown with wilted flowers, broken windows covered in layers of s newspaper.
When he was younger, Inho used to take him here quite often. There weren't many memories left of those days, but he remembered how much he liked it. How much it made his brother smile too.
It was unfortunate.
Unfortunate enough that he had to bite down tears and swallow up all the thoughts so he wouldn't spill it all on the ground.
Nothing was getting better, everything kept getting worse- him included.
How would it feel it he could just get rid of-
Something rustled behind him. He tensed up. The broken dirt covered windows giving him no chance to see who it was so he swung around, slamming the in shadows covered person against a wall, the umbrella they're holding dropping to the ground. He drew his gun then, pressing the cold shaft against their chest, there where the heart was.
“Such an interesting way of greeting an old acquaintance. Very welcoming.”
It was only thanks to the light illuminating the streets could he see the one in front of him.
Kim.
He vaguely remembered how they left off.
Hands on his abdomen, zipping up the jacket he'd lend him, somewhere at a hospital.
The one he wore now.
Junho searched in his eyes. The expression on his face gave nothing away, not even with the gun pressed to his chest, which- he assumed- probably wasn't that uncommon for him anyway. Eyes narrow, he let go, still a little weary. His sudden appearance, at this hour, here, could mean anything.
A threat, just like so many others he had to fear now.
“What's with that gun?
Pocketing the gun he took a step back, but not without wincing in pain from the stab wound. “What are you doing here?” He started, immediately interrupted by Kim.
“What's with your hand?”
If they kept talking over each other, Junho would certainly pull the trigger soon. If the man in front of him kept staring, he would, too. The same expression like back on the boat, when he held his hand.
And if they wouldn't be here right now, under the pouring rain, in a city he could no longer really call his home, where everyone he only ever truly cared about was buried feet below, it could feel like he was right back there at sea. Hearing the waves clash against the boat, the occasional clink of a glass, a laugh and some bad jokes he didn't laugh about.
The ghost of a touch grazing over his fingers, barely noticeable but he felt the stare on him and how strange it made him feel. Not in a bad way, it was different. Perhaps he liked it way too much. But it was over sooner than he wanted it too. And then he found himself questioning himself because that's not why he was there and he needed to focus on the mission and getting his brother back and-
Sucking in a sharp breath, he tensed up. The feeling of those hands on top of his now again, back in the present. They were always so gentle. If Kim only knew everything they did to him, would he still keep doing this?
“Should I help you?”
“Can you?”
Was there pity on his face? Something soft?
Clothes rustled, brushing against each other, when they entered Junho’s apartment in strange silence.
Maybe it was then, looking at it from afar when he finally realized just how awfully lonely it really looked, that the blue light of the neon sign illuminating the room only added to the depressing feeling. The blanket laid tossed away on the ground, stacks of documents sprawled around the couch like an array of flowers decorating a coffin and with the blood splattered everywhere on the ground it looked like he had been buried there.
And maybe he had been, because he couldn't remember when the last time was he had slept in his bed, when the last time was he had peaceful dreams not haunted by painful memories from the past 4 years.
He hadn't been feeling much alive if he was honest to himself. Anger and this excruciating pain and sadness sometimes came hand in hand, even when he was out there in the dead of the night going against the law he had sworn to abide by.
Nobody to talk to, nobody who would understand him weighing him down.
He sighed, tossing his dripping wet shoes off- next to him, Kim did the same, arms brushing his in the cramped space. Junho shuddered, brushing it off as if it was nothing, then made his way over to the kitchen table where he sat down the gun.
“Shouldn't you at least turn on the light?”
“No.”
The man huffed, then he was right behind him, cornering him against the table.
“Then how do you expect me to take care of you exactly?”
“I don't.” He cringed at his own words, not knowing the reason for his sudden change in mood. It just happened sometimes.
And when it happened, then it was really bad.
Catching him off guard like a tidal wave- sometimes he was afraid, a shaking bundle on the ground, crying out his brother's name, wishing him to be there, afraid of his own words, thoughts. Like a child at his grown age because Inho had been his entire life, depending on him so much.
Then he was angry, yelling, blaming himself for everything. A mess, covered in traces of touches he could probably never get rid of, no matter how hard he tried. Junho felt pathetic then because it could've been so much worse. He still loved his brother and yes, he may have killed the man who had done this to him, but it had been done- the damage. Impossible to forgive.
Not when Junho knew, he had been enabling all this, the whole time.
If it wouldn't have been him, then it would have been someone else, someone unable to protect themselves. Someone who had to give in.
It was ridiculous how, even now, he hadn't found closure. Maybe he would never.
“You brought me here after I offered you help. So I’m going to do exactly this.”
He felt Kim grab his wrist and he instantly wanted to pull away, bumping against the table as he took a step back. Even in his peripheral view in the darkness he could see the frown on his face, how he rolled his eyes at the way he was behaving.
“You weren't like this a year ago. Talk to me if you're in need of it, I’m a good listener.”
Junho scoffed. What was he even supposed to tell him? About his mother's death? How much he was afraid at night, some days, to the point he couldn't sleep? How it pissed him that no one believed him, even now? The lingering touches and how used he felt? How much he missed his brother? It was all just things he probably didn't even care about. So he said nothing, making his way over to the bedroom in silence, the man following close behind. There was blood on the doorframe and handle, leading inside, left undressed for the moment and Junho was glad about it because how was be supposed to tell him that he had been sitting there in the doorway, as the time ticked oast, waiting for death to arrive- which of course never came because he was just so unfortunate like that.
And that when he felt panic rise up his throat, as the blood kept on following, he rushed over to the bathroom to get it fixed but he didnt know how to because he was torn apart, confused, shaking wailing in pain as the red colored the floor and the sink- seeing the world spinning in his view, afraid it would be over soon in just some seconds. That he was pathetic, wishing, wanting, to die but when he was close to it, he was too scared to give in.
He switched on the light, the glow dim. Junho couldn't remember when he had last changed it. It wasn't like he cared anyway. The amount of times be had spent here the past couple of months coming down to maybe around-
It left him frowning.
How often had it been?
A concerning few.
“That's quite a lot of blood. How long did you leave it untreated for?”
A bitter laugh was stuck in his throat, not making its way out.
Of course he would address it. Had been too grateful too early.
“That's nothing in comparison to the mess in the bathroom.”
Not waiting for a reply, he made his way over around the bed, reaching the nightstand. The contents of it was emptied on the ground- some bandages, disinfectant, a scissor. There was even more blood on the otherwise clean white bed sheets.
He should've at least cleaned that up. It would only be a hassle to get the stains out now. Needed to throw it away.
Just like-
Pressing his eyes shut for a moment, he turned back around to face Kim who still stood there, unmoved, in the doorway. The stern expression still on his face.
“If you want to help, you should come over.”
Taken aback by his own words, how they sounded like an invitation to more- to something else entirely- he froze for a second, could only watch as Kim crossed the distance between them, sitting down on the bed right in front of him.
There was a faint glow illuminating the room when Kim took Junho’s hand into his, pulling him down onto the bed. The touch was strangely soft, really something the polar opposite to how he presented himself. Fingers grazed over bruised knuckles, drawing circles around them.
When was the last time anyone had ever touched him like this? Had anyone ever?
“We've done this already, remember? Let's get you fixed one more time.”
Junho watched him as he said those words, watched him as he slowly wrapped up the cut. All in disbelief because was he really worthy of it? Not after all the pain his brother had caused.
“You're thinking if you're deserving of this, your thoughts are pretty loud. I wonder why you shouldn't be. It's not like what your brother did was in any way shape or form your fault. You did your best, no one should blame you. The ones who do, don't know how much it can hurt. A betrayal.”
Junho frowned, shifting in his position.
“Do you know what it's like?”
Kim halted, thumbs hovering over his pulse as he smiled heavily.
“Let's just say I’ve got a lot of experience because of my job.”
Fixating the bandage, he pulled him in closer, making Junho flinch at the sudden motion- Long forgotten how being close to someone could feel like. He let out a breath then, one he had been holding in for a long time, a year, finally getting rid of it.
The quietness of the room almost swallowed them up when he felt Kim intertwining their fingers.
Finally letting go of the weight crushing his heart.
“I don't think I have ever told you how pretty you are.”
Words spoken in such a calmness, his voice echoing in Junho's ears. He wanted to laugh. This was honestly one of the funniest jokes he had heard in a very long time. He wanted to laugh, yes wouldn't it be for how the man in front of him looked at him now.
So serious.
It threw him off a little, could barely hold eye contact. Intense, it trapped him, caught like an insect in a spider's web.
“I mean it.”
Warmth crept up on him and his gaze dropped down to those lips serving him fresh lies on a silver platter.
“Let me show you.”
Junho had expected a kiss. It had been right there between them ever since that day in the corridor when he had been bleeding into his hands, when it threw him off, seeing Kim like that- so sick of worry, yelling at the others to keep moving he'd stay with him, when he had told him that it wasn't that bad, that it didn't hurt at all. It had been there, waiting so hungrily. But he didn't expect it to be so careful, a hand gently brushing over his face, sliding under his chin. There was a glimpse of hesitation behind those eyes, like maybe for a second he was afraid to ruin something that wasn't even there between them to begin with.
Junho let loose in that moment, when the heat embraced him, melting right in, wanting more.
In one quick move, Kim pulled him closer in even more.
Lips ghosting inches from each other, barely brushing before they finally connected.
The world blurred around him, only them and what was left of the light.
Junho loved the feeling, even when he probably would never admit it. He wanted more, needed more because he was only half alive.
More.
Just-
And then Kim pulled away, leaving him breathless, perhaps a little angry as well.
There was never a time in his life when he had ever been this greedy.
“What?” The man whispered, a teasing smirk dancing on his face.
A hand ran through his hair now. And Junho's heart began to pound when he felt it, breathing becoming shallow, eyes still fixated on the lips. How they had tasted against his own.
“The hair suits you really well. I wonder what it will look like the morning after.”
They connected once more.
Fully embraced now by Kim, claimed by him in a kiss that was so much hotter, so much more personal.
The hands sliding through his damp hair down his neck, grabbing it tight but instead of feeling trapped he felt safe. For the very first time in a long while. Even as he felt his tongue slide inside his mouth, chasing his like a predator its prey. Junho softly moaned into it, an embarrassing sound he couldn't believe he let out, doing it once more when the grip around his neck tightened, feeling his own pulse hammering against the palms of Kim's hands. He wanted more, so he did- leaning in further, trying to gasp for air, because the man in front of him was stealing all of it right out of his lungs.
“When was the last time someone treated you like this?”
He whispered into his ear, planting a kiss there, thieving him off all his thoughts. Junho could only bring out a pathetic mumbling of words that sounded something like I don't know.
He really didn't know. He was sure no one had ever. And if, it was all forgotten by now. By the lips wandering down, leaving marks on his neck- by a man he barely knew. By his hands which found their way around the zipper of the jacket, pulling it down slowly, only to disappear under the hem of the shirt he wore under it.
Fingertips grazed over old scars, carefully, upwards, then downwards again.
Junho flinched, biting down a low groan. He could see stars for a moment, speaking of pleasure.
“You can let go of it. I want to hear more of it.”
“More.” He brought out, shakingly. Swallowing down parts of his pride, the parts that told him he shouldn't be doing this. Swallowing down the voices whispering into his ears he was being used again. Junho grabbed Kim by the collar of sweater, just when the man himself pushed him against the wall, knocking something over on the nightstand.
“More? I won't hold back then.”
Stripping him off his jacket and shirt- dropping it down on the ground- Kim buried his face in the crook of his neck, biting down there, leaving marks on lonely wet skin which had felt so much but never love, inch by inch, charting it like a map holding a secret, when lips found their way to the scar left behind by the bullet.
“Looks so damn pretty on you.”
Junho whimpered, silent begs filling the room. It wasn't enough- a little more, he needed more to feel whole again. To make him forget the darkness and imprint new memories inside of him. He let his head roll back, against the behind him, eyes closed, holding tight onto the fabric clenched between his fingers. With each kiss, each bite, each breath grazing over burning hot skin, he was losing more and more control of himself, only held back by clothes.
“How far do you want me to go?” Kim breathed.
Junho tugged at him once more before pushing him back, swinging his legs over his lap, straddling him.
“All the way. Until I’m out of air.”
In the dim light, casting a glow against both, he saw Kim smirk, biting down on his lips as he moved his hips so desperate to feel him closer. So desperate to forget, for at least one single night, that he was beyond repair.