Work Text:
It felt so natural, almost like fate.
Shin Soobin had imagined this scenario play out inside of his head dozens of times, but in real life it felt so surreal, so—
The damp alleyway illuminated by stray streetlights scattered along the road. No cameras. No witnesses at this time of night.
It’s not like he was going to live much longer.
“Just think of today as your unlucky day.”
“What?”
Once.
Twice.
A twist in his gut.
That was how many hits the great, the perfect, the godforsaken Nam Woori born with a silver spoon in his mouth to collapse.
His clenched hand finally let go of the knife buried deep in his abdomen, warm blood soaking into Woori’s designer jacket. That arrogant bastard’s face, previously flushed with alcohol, now all pale and limp and his clothes stinking of cigarette smoke masked by the metallic taste in his mouth. The moment he mentioned that little, ungrateful brat, Shin Soobin knew it was time. The moment he dared to act clueless, as if didn’t know what he did, what he did to him. A smirk curls on his traitorous lips.
It was liberating.
The walk back home from work was all the same, except for the lightness in his chest. Shifting his cap lower, he ducks between the crowd, the blood painting his hand failing to draw onlookers, people unwilling to get involved with someone such as himself.
Shin Sei.
If it weren’t for that extra pair of shoes in the narrow doorway, Shin Soobin wouldn’t have noticed the depressed lump of blankets lying in the cramped bedroom so early. It was one of the few days she returned home from god knows where. Not like it’ll make a difference from how he usually lived.
Shuffling under a single thin bedsheet beside her, he closes his eyes.
/
“Murderer!” she cries out, tears streaming down her face, “Mom and now Woori oppa!?” Between trembling breaths, she claws at his clothes, manicured nails straining the weathered fabric in vain. He can’t bear to see her expression.
“You just can’t let me be happy, can you?”
It had to happen. It wasn’t his fault—Nam Woori—that thief was the reason they were living like this. He deserved to die in agony for the suffering he put them through all these years.
“Shin Soobin, you shameless bastard look at me.” A burning strike sears a throbbing mark into his skin.
/
Gasping for breath, Shin Soobin startles awake, immediately sobering from his drowsiness, hand clamping to his cheek. The pain ghosts his fingertips, but the lingering bitterness rises up his throat like sour vomit. What would that pampered brat know when she’s been leeching off of his hard work for the past decade?
The bedsheets beside him were empty and cold.