Chapter Text
The barrel of a gun is cold and heavy when pressed against a cheek. They don’t tell anyone what it’s like. He reeks of desperation, a desire to be helped but no willingness to ask for it, the flesh of his bone and body quivering with regret.
“Please don’t…” There is a sort of fear in his tone, one pull to the thread of his being and all composure is lost.
It’s a sight to see a kid with a cigarette in his mouth, Han Dongmin doesn’t know how to smoke. He only pretends he knows how to smoke, half an inhale and his throat feels tight, it feels like it’s suffocating him. He coughs harder than he meant to, fuck . The unruly, older man laughs at him, pitying him perhaps.
“Are you stupid?” The man asks in a thick Satoori accent. He snatches the cigarette from between his lips, throwing the end onto the ground and squishing it under his dress shoe. He couldn’t tell the brand, but it was something you don’t see an everyday business man wear. They were nothing like his father's shoes either. The older man wore fancy cologne, his body adorned in a white button up and black slacks held on by a belt with a gold buckle. He was conventionally handsome by any standard, he couldn’t have been older than thirty-five, not younger than thirty if Dongmin had to guess.
This grief is lingering, dirty and unchaste, like the stained knife from slicing the ends of a pomegranate. Han Dongmin, a child who grew up to be a grieving child only knowing two things out of survival: to cry in silence or to have a reason to cry that was greater than being hurt. The soft shell of once he was is no longer there, peeled like the skins of peaches. He will never feel the gentleness of any word, any kindness that is there wears a faux expression to trap prey.
“ Aish , you kids these days think you can do anything.” He continues on, Dongmin doesn’t try to fight him back. He stands there, bruised and beaten, blood staining his skin not knowing if it’s his or the other person’s own blood. He had to fight in order to gain a sliver of recognition from anyone older than him. Or any recognition to his existence. A child either unloved or unhelped will act out as an adult.
“I’m not a kid.” He argues back so boldly, standing up against him. It was never proper to fight against any one, no proper term spoken to address him by titles either. It was true, he wasn’t a kid, but he wasn’t exactly an adult either. He was in the middle of transitioning from being someone who had no say in his life to someone who had little say. This act of rebellion felt treacherous in his mouth, causing him to feel ill, but it’s all that his heart craves. To be seen and felt, to be understood for once, with the out stretched empty hand waiting to be told there is pride in what he does.
“Go home, before I make an example out of you.” The man says again, despite Dongmin’s urge to defy his words, his body betrays him in that second, “Your name isn’t Dongmin anymore, is that understood?”
Whether this name change was for protection or to keep anyone else out of this mess, the man was considerate. He was the head leader, a soft spot for a kid doesn’t come without a price to pay. Dongmin would have to give everything up that he knew, everything.
♘
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The waves of the blue water reach out in desperation for his lover, trying his best until he breaks out as a typhoon, his anger unrelenting, his cry for a love of any kind becomes something painful like the last sound of the Kaua’io’o. Of course he knows something painful as this, when the last living thing breathes and disappears within the second, it devastates an ecosystem entirely. Did the bird itself live in fear in the last seconds of its life? A last pair of lovers found in 1981, devastated by two hurricanes that swept the islands, one last heard in 1987 for its mate, for familiarity.
Though beneath the warm rays of sunlight embrace him– it doesn’t make him angry, it soothes the ache in his chest; unlike his grandmother, unlike his father. Unlike the unkind hands of his grandmother, their, being his father, his grandmother– patience wore thin to Dongmin’s demands, resulting into violence, inflicting pain onto him, how could they? It was a linguistic barrier between a child who could not form words for his feelings and the adults in his life. He never cared for the pity from his mother, left alone craving the safety in which he lacks from her.
He watches as the fish swam to the surface, their scales shining and tempting to touch. Dongmin knows nothing about these fish. Nothing beyond the colors and sizes, it would be funny to reach out and touch something that could potentially kill you. It wouldn’t be beautiful, death is tragic, it’s terrible.
That same night his boss threatened to him that he would be made an image out of is when he got his name. Taesan. Han Taesan. It’s hanja is powerful, a name sure enough to make people quiver, but he was merely a kitten compared to tigers. Shorter than the rest of the men who stood inches taller than him. He was only trying to achieve words of affirmation, instead he got himself tied into this mess that would be hard to get out of no matter how much he tried.
He reaches downward, fingers touching at the surface of water. Walking alone with his thoughts got him to a space unfamiliar, he knew he was standing beside a tidepool, absent mindedly walking along the shore got him here. The scent of salty air tickling at his nostrils, clear water at the surface until his hand disturbs the mud.
“It won’t kill you.” A boy mutters, standing back in the sand. He held a pail in one hand, it was covered in slime, in dry blood, and who knows what else it had on there. A lanky, brown haired boy with wavy hair stood tall. His pants carefully folded up at his ankles, a short sleeved shirt, tanned skin. His nose was long, eyes as cute and round, he possesses features like no other. It made Taesan feel some sort of way, not that there are any words to put it though.
“What?” His patience is a thin veil, wondering what the hell this kid was on about, showing no interest in anything else he had to say, it could wait.
“Ah, fuck.” The inside of his shoes becoming wet, feeling the water.
This fucking kid
. He things as if he’s not one himself, “When did I ask that? I don’t care.”
Who was this foolish boy to bother him? Distracting him in his own alone time.
Taesan came here to get away from things, not to be a bothersome to anyone around him.
“They’re not gonna kill you, but they’re not fun if you step on one either.” He continues to mumble along, the knowledge coming to him so effortlessly. It was striking to witness in real time, but Taesan hadn’t cared for much of it. He lacks a sort of patience many have developed over their most formative years. Unable to endure any of it anymore he brushes off the other boy immediately. There isn’t thought to why he would put himself into this.
“Can you leave me the fuck alone? I’m asking nicely this time.” It’s sheer annoyance in his tone. These circumstances were unusual for him, if Taesan grew up in an environment where he was raised with love and affection, would he be less bitter towards him?
♚
Lee Dongyeol, often known by many as ‘2-10’ for short and clever play on words for his name derived from Sino-Korean numbering system. He was a well respected gangster, a single look from him often made other quiver in his presence. Dongyeol hated the scent of cigarettes, he detested alcohol but he made his dealings with drugs; he made people trust him for his caring personality. Though beneath the welcoming surface was a wicked, evil being. Yet, Taesan had not a single care for this, the warnings of his peers around him were unlistened to. Desire was one hell of a drug, it was a thirst that could not be quenched with measly praises from just anyone else but rather authority.
Dongyeol’s presence made others too nervous to breathe around him, making the air stiff with just a single step forward. Men in a row stood tall, staring at him with sweat trickling down their foreheads, nervous what could potentially happen. The real power was intimidation, to have people fear the idea of being harmed, how painful it is to endure such a thing.
Text:
Meet us at xx on xx.
Taesan stares at the message bubble, bright blue text with orders to meet next month, he knew Dongyeol wasn’t idiotic enough to have texted him any location for his safety.
His first quest was with another person recruited, Shigeta Harua. A young boy who ran away from Japan to Korea, having nothing to his name he and Taesan became instant friends. He knew nothing but survival for this long, having no one to rely on until Taesan. His features were soft, gentle but his demeanor was that of a stubborn bull. He was hard to get through to anything, nothing seemed to have cracked him.