(no subject)
The second chunk of my Nanowrimo from last year... This is a lot more coherent than part one, I promise.
Characters: Siwon, Hankyung, (Heechul)
Rating: No sex, mild violence
Part One
~~~~~~~~~
when you wake up again you’re on a bed that’s far more comfortable, in a room illuminated by a sun beaming in through a break in the curtains. the fabric is red and velvety, and it matches the blanket covering your body. which matches the thick carpet as well, you notice, blinking your eyes to take in the plush opulence of the room. the color of wine, you think, decadent and slightly bitter. the walls are a light cream and you wonder what they would look like with red wine splattered across them-or blood.
you don’t fully remember what brought you to this room. you remember weaving through crowds in the street, then a crowd in a dark basement, you remember the taste of alcohol and sweat, a heavy head in a dark room, and you remember meeting hankyung. you remember you talked but you don’t remember what you said-don’t remember what he said. only that it was bad, and his hands were soothing.
you remember loving heechul.
you remember hating heechul.
the door opens and shuts to reveal a small boy with a dangerous smile, and suddenly you remember him, too. he’s dressed nicer than he was the night before, but the night before feels like a dream and you aren’t sure of anything anymore. there’s a stack of folded clothes in his arms, and he deposits the pile onto a wooden chest at the foot of the bed-your bed? you don’t remember.
he raises an eyebrow at you and you realize that you’re naked under the plush red blanket. he cocks his thumb at a door in the corner of the room. “bathroom,” he explains, then points at a second door on the adjacent wall. “closet.” you thank him and take the clothes, cheeks flushed red at his mocking smile as you cross the room in the nude to get to the bathroom.
you wash your face and the soap smells delicate and chinese. it makes your nose itch. you dress in silence, the dark slacks and white button-down perfectly fitted to your body. a red tie, not the wine red of the bedroom but the blood red like you imagined.
when you emerge the boy is sitting cross-legged on the wooden chest, the covers on the bed stretched taut and the blanket folded neatly and the pillows arranged to perfection. “jian,” he says, pointing proudly to himself. then he points to you. “shiyuan”
no, no. you want to stop him, say shiwon and make him repeat, but the smug set of his jaw tells you that would be useless. instead you stand awkwardly in the middle of the carpet, unsure of where to go from here. jian saves you by leaping to his feet and heading to the third door in the room, the one he’d entered from. “here,” he says, and swings it open. the hallway is plain and empty, wooden floors and light blue walls with peeling paint. jian pads down it confidently and you follow with a ghostly step. it feels like the floor might fall out from under your feet, like you’ll stumble on a bump that isn’t there. none of it seems quite real. you shouldn’t be here, you think, then correct yourself because part of you remembers that yes, you should be here, but that same part can’t remember why.
he disappears around a corner and you follow carefully and what you see makes you stop in your tracks. a room, huge and airy, a high ceiling emblazoned with suns and dragons, golden and red and marvelous. walls draped in cloth, hanging in giant folds, a marble floor with intricate designs laid into the stone, and the centerpiece, a wooden table, dark and polished with chairs dotting the sides. hankyung is seated at one end and your heart jumps.
jian turns and sees your awestruck face and grins in delight. moving behind you, he shoves you forward to the table and you avoid looking at hankyung’s face. you watch jian instead as he pulls a chair out for you to sit, thanking him softly. he disappears without a word and you’re left alone with hankyung at the table.
it’s surface is bare, except for a bowl in front of hankyung and a wine glass filled with something in a vivid orange. you make a face and hankyung laughs. he picks up the cup with graceful hands, swirling it and its contents. the liquid circles the glass, and hankyung sets it down. “orange juice,” he says simply, and your eyes widen slightly. he picks up a spoonful of the contents of the bowl and slips it into his mouth and swallows. “cereal.”
you don’t know what to make of this man who’s all mysteries and contradictions, underground dungeons at night and cereal for breakfast, orange juice in a wine glass, with a house that doesn’t match at all. you sit a little straighter in your seat and clear your throat. “i think,” you start, then clear your throat again. “i think we should get down to business.”
“business isn’t important” he dismisses your proposal like that, taking another bite of cereal. he sips at his orange juice, lips pressed soft against the glass. jian is back, slipping a matching bowl of cereal in front of you. your orange juice comes in a coffee mug. the boy is gone as fast as he came, and you ignore his offering.
“hankyung,” you staccato his name and he raises an eyebrow. “just geng” he says it softly, in a whisper, and your memory twinges as you remember those words from last night. with that memory also comes the memory of warm hands, delicate but strong as they massaged at your skin. your cheeks flush and you harden your expression.
“hankyung” and you repeat it stubbornly, and his face seems to fall. maybe it’s your imagination. you continue, laying your palms flat on the surface of the table. “despite what happened last night, i am here on business. i don’t have times to play games with you and your boy; heechul will be expecting me by the end of the week.”
he flinches when you name the other, and you allow yourself a smirk. you’ve found a weakness. “heechul has sent me specifically to speak with you about matters of his personal interest, and i trust that you’ll be willing to cooperate.” hankyung doesn’t flinch this time, but he smiles sadly, sipping vaguely at the orange juice. he still doesn’t speak, and anger builds in your stomach.
“what, you’ll refuse the message? he’ll be upset if i return with nothing. you don’t think he’ll let you ignore this without consequence, do you? it would be quite foolish to assume such a thing.”
when hankyung sets the wine glass down, it’s with enough force to send the orange contents splashing onto the wooden table. he stands, palms slamming down on the table’s surface to rest in a position mimicking your own. his eyes are blazing, and they remind you of heechul, and that’s enough to make you recoil in something not unlike fear.
“what’s foolish is you putting on all these fancy airs.” he’s clearly furious, but he doesn’t shout or screech like heechul. his voice goes cold instead, void of emotion and somehow that’s even worse. “i know all about you, shiyuan.” he sneers your name with the foreign tone that jian had used. “i know you were just a regular guy, just another university student with no life and no future until heechul found you. you talk like a prince, you stupid kid, but you were nothing before heechul and you’re nothing without him. you’re nothing now.” there’s a promise in his voice like razor blades, and it cuts through your skin.
rage blinds you and you lunge from your seat, you’re going to rip out his throat and he’ll never laugh again. but hankyung is in your face before you’ve taken two steps, one of his graceful hands wrapped tight around your neck. you can’t see the other, but you can hazard a guess that it’s wrapped just as tight around the handle of the blade that’s pressing against your lower stomach, cut through the cloth of your shirt but not hard enough to break the skin (not yet). you take a breath and it rattles down your throat and you pretend to be brave and stoic but you know he sees the fear in your eyes. tension’s brought him up onto the balls of his feet, like a dancer except deadly. “coward,” he hisses through his teeth.
you lower your eyes in defeat and he sinks back, slightly deflated. the knife is withdrawn into the folds of his outfit (suit and tie) and his other hand moves from your neck, sliding up your skin to pat your jaw with something almost like fondness. his face is unreadable. “don’t take it personally. i was nothing before heechul, either. and now i have this.” he waves his arm to indicate the extravagant room, but you don’t think that’s quite what he means.
“stop acting like a prince. that’s probably why he sent you away. just be shiyuan and maybe things will work out.” he spins on his heel and moves to stride out of the room. you startle yourself by calling after him in a voice that’s more confident than what your stomach would have you believe you are.
“it’s shiwon.” he turns around and looks at you curiously. your courage wavers slightly (your stomach still tingles where the blade pressed cold steel) and you explain yourself in a softer voice. “not shiyuan. shiwon.” he waits a beat, then nods. “then i’m geng, not hankyung.” another beat, then as an afterthought, “only heechul calls me hankyung.” he sounds like he’s reminiscing and you don’t like it. but he’s gone before you can say anything else.
you’re lost until jian reappears, clucking his tongue at your untouched cereal. he refuses to let you leave the room until you’ve eaten it, milk and all, and downed your orange juice on top of that. afterwards he ushers you back to what you can only assume is your room, sitting you on the bed and assuring you he’ll “be right back, it’ll only be a minute.” he slips out of the room and you can hear the lock turn behind him. you can’t help but laugh a little at the absurdness of the situation, flopping facedown onto the bed and contemplating suffocating yourself with the down pillows.
after debating whether or not to call heechul and beg him to explain what’s going on, you realize that it doesn’t matter whether you decide to call him or not, you have no idea where your things are. you’d woken up naked, you remember with a blush, and jian never mentioned where your own clothes might be, or more importantly, the contents of your pockets. your wallet, your cell phone, your passport, your gun. all necessary items. all missing.
in a sudden panic you fling open the doors of the closet jian had pointed out earlier. hanging in a neat row are a line of outfits similar to the one you’re wearing-slacks, a button down shirt, and a tie. the only difference between each ensemble is the color scheme. several pairs of shoes are rowed up at the bottom of the closet, and the upper shelf holds only two small throw blankets, folded and waiting for use.
furious, you turn next to the bedside table, the wood slamming angrily as you yank out each of the three drawers. nothing- nothing- nothing. all empty. you slam them shut again and remember the wooden chest. sinking to your knees in front of the stained wood, you bite your lip and pull up on the ornate metal latch-it’s locked.
a helpless little whine escapes your throat as you fall back onto your bottom, defeated, the blow cushioned somewhat by the plush, wine red carpet. the door opens and jian walks in, clutching a small wooden box to his chest. you heave yourself to your feel, glowering at the small boy in what should be an intimidating manner. it doesn’t even faze him. striding past you, he sets the box on the bed and makes grabby hands at your chest. you stare for a moment before he rolls his eyes, exasperated, and says in an impatient voice, “your shirt.”
numb, you unbutton the piece of clothing and hand it down to him, leaving the tie draped around your neck. he hoists himself up onto the bed and sits cross legged, taking the shirt in his lap and opening the small box beside him. it’s filled with thread of different colors, scissors, and a pincushion stuck full of needles. you reach for one of the colored spools and he slaps your hand away, narrowing his eyebrows at you. sheepish, you take a seat beside him on the bed and watch in fascination as he unwinds a length of white thread the exact color of your shirt. he takes the pincushion up next, inspecting it with one squinted eye before deciding on one particular needle for no apparent reason. the scissors now, as he snips off the measured out thread and knots it through the eye of the needle. the tip of his tongue peeking through his lips in childish determination, he takes up your shirt and you belatedly realize what exactly he’s doing-sewing the hole hankyung’s knife sliced through the fabric.
and then you laugh, starting out with a weak chuckle that quickly builds to something uncontrollable. hysteric laughter that leaves your body shaking and your eyes tearing and your hands rubbing desperately at your face. everything- about- this- is- insane- your mind protests with each breath, and you so desperately want your phone-could give a shit about your wallet or passport or gun-you just want your goddamn cell phone so you can call heechul, hear his voice, snarky and fantastic, telling you to shut the fuck up and stop being such a baby and do your job. you feel like a child to admit that you just want to go home, hankyung was right, you’re nothing without heechul and you don’t belong here. it was stupid to think you could actually accomplish something, that you could actually do something important for heechul and his work. you belong at home, tucked safely away in the indulgent rooms that make up heechul’s mansion.
you think all of this as you laugh, on your side on the bed. you laugh until you can’t breathe and then you finally stop, panting and rubbing at your eyes and still letting loose a few weak snickers as you flip over onto your back. jian is on his knees looking down at you like you’re a raving lunatic, and maybe you are. you stare at each other for a moment and you think-he’s just a boy. a little boy. how could he be dangerous? and jian seems to challenge that with the jut of his chin but he’s still just a kid, so you reach your arms out and grab his sides and pull him down to the bed. your fingers dance against his sides to tickle him and he wriggles like your younger brother used to back when you still knew your family.
except when you got into tickle fights with your little brother, he never rolled you off a bed and pinned you to the ground and held a knife to your throat. you freeze, stunned and amazed at the cold lack of emotion in jian’s eyes. the steel is cold against your skin and with a flash you remember icy fingers at your temple. you shut your eyes lightly and swallow hard, your adam’s apple straining dangerously against the blade.
jian snorts, removing the weapon and standing up with a sneer on his face. “ge was right. you are a coward.” he kicks lightly at your shoulder before leaving the room, taking his sewing box along with him. you watch him leave, still hardly daring to breath, waiting for the click of the lock once he shuts the door-one, two, three… ah, there it is. you sigh, and bang your head back against the floor one two three four five times. rolling onto your side, you curl into a ball, wrapping your arms tightly around your own body. it’s only when you imagine that it’s heechul’s arms holding you close that you finally fall asleep.
you sleep, and you dream, or maybe it’s just remembering. heechul’s eyes are bright and shining as he holds a shirt up against your chest, looking you up and down with a critical eye before nodding his approval. “gorgeous,” he says, and you’ve never been so happy in your life. “you’re gorgeous,” you reply, a wide grin at the cheesy line. but it’s true, so true, and heechul knows it. it doesn’t stop him from leaning in and kissing you on the cheek, leaving you blushing and staring at the ground.
you can practically hear him smirk as he lifts your chin up with a bony hand, ignoring the scandalized whispers of the salesgirls behind the make-up counter as he leans in again, this time kissing you straight on the lips. his mouth is warm pressed against yours, his lips full and smooth where yours are thin and chapped. the two of you are still for a moment, loving the feeling and afraid to move, when heechul’s bodyguard clears his throat unobtrusively in a silent warning. heechul pulls away with a grin, smacking the guard playfully on the shoulder and flouncing away to shove the shirt at one of the sales attendants. “ring this up for us,” he demands, tossing his hair as if he were daring the man to object to his rude command. and of course he doesn’t-they never do. heechul runs this city and everyone knows it. you swell with pride as you exit the store, heechul linking his arm in yours, the bodyguard always two steps behind.
you wake up to a dark room and the sound of water running. at some point you’ve moved-or been moved?-onto the bed, tucked into a warm nest of blankets. the water stops and the bathroom door opens, washing the room in a soft light as jian emerges. he glances at you awake on the bed, folding his arms and sticking out one hip. “slept through lunch,” he informs you matter of factly, then gestures towards the bathroom. “you should wash up for dinner. ge will be angry if you miss that, too.”
what else can you do but slide out from the covers, mourning the loss of warmth, eyes trained warily on jian as you cross the floor into the bathroom. you leave the door open as you splash your face with water, warm water, and pat it dry with one of the many soft, fluffy towels that populate the room. a quick brush through your hair and you deem yourself presentable, inspecting your face in the mirror. dark circles are starting to form under your eyes from stress, you suppose, or an irregular sleep schedule.
“don’t be such a prince.” your eyes widen and you turn your head sharply to see jian leaning against the door frame, a smirk on his lips. his eyes glitter like a lion stalking its prey and you know he’s purposely parroting hankyung’s words from before. you grimace at him and step past through the doorway. “isn’t there anything nicer for me to wear? i feel as if i’m under dressed.”
“why?” he asks, and you think of dinner meetings at heechul’s, all dressed up in your best tux, eye candy at heechul’s side as he and his guests exchanged small talk littered with thinly veiled innuendo. but you’re not at heechul’s tonight, you recall with a drop of the heart, and you shake your head at the boy who’s still waiting for an answer. “never mind. let’s just go.”
once more you follow him down the hallway with the chipped paint and the creaky floorboards, exchanging that for the grandiose splendor of the dining room. and again, the splendor is wasted on a room empty to everyone except yourself, hankyung, and jian. this time hankyung isn’t already eating, instead he’s waited for you with an empty plate, his elbows resting on the table and his chin resting on top of bridged fingers.
you steel yourself to step forward and sit confidently down at the table across from him, where a second plate waits, empty. you stare straight into his eyes with what you hope is a defiant look, palms flat on the table just like earlier. “i have some questions about this-“ you pause a moment, searching for the right word that you want to use. “this situation. and i want you to answer them. i refuse to cooperate with this insane game until you do.” stubbornly you fold your arms as jian slips from the room.
hankyung watches you, expressionless. after what seems an eternity he speaks, voice calm and collected. “whatever questions you have, they can at least wait until after we’ve eaten.” jian returns with a platter of meat, and you wonder just how much there is to this house that you haven’t seen. he dishes equal portions of the food onto each of your plates. you wait until he’s gone again before continuing. “so i can ask you my questions after dinner?”
“yes.” you’re slightly taken aback by how easy that was, until hankyung continues. “you can ask whatever questions you want, but i can’t promise that i’ll answer them all.” you slump in your seat, disappointed. “i especially can’t promise that i’ll answer truthfully,” he goes on, “but i do promise to tell you everything i’m allowed.”
jian’s back, this time with servings of rice and fried vegetables for the both of you. hankyung begins to eat, but you only poke at your food warily. you can’t trust anything in this house-both times you’ve ingested something involved with hankyung’s property, you’ve ended up knocked out in sleep for unnecessarily long periods of time. it takes a minute before hankyung notices and stops eating, glancing from you to your food and back again. “oh, for god’s sake-“ he rolls his eyes and switches your plate and his without another word. he resumes eating without missing a beat. you eye the new plate, noticing a piece of meat with one bite off the end. making a face, you pick it up delicately with your chopsticks and place it onto hankyung’s new plate. he stops swallows and stares at it for a moment, and then laughs and breaks into a smile so genuine and infectious that you can’t help but smile a little yourself.
jian returns for a third time, bearing two glasses of wine the same thick, rich color as the trappings in your room. he sets them in front of hankyung and yourself, then bows once and exits, presumably for the last time until your meal is over. you take some of the meat and rice into your mouth, chewing and watching as hankyung reaches over to take hold of your wine glass and then brings it to his mouth, pulling a sip from the contents. he sets it back down with a playful grin. “it’s safe. no drugs, no poison.” you roll your eyes and smile again when he laughs.
finally you take the last bite of your meal into your mouth, chewing quickly and watching as hankyung finishes off the last of his wine. his adam’s apple bobs in his throat and you swallow your mouthful impatiently, shoving your empty plate forward.
“we’re done eating. i have questions now.” you announce sternly. hankyung holds up a hand in warning, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “be patient. we have all the time in the world.” you’re not sure you like the sound of that, but you shrink back into your seat, knowing that if you want any answers at all, you should just listen to what he says. he turns his head over his shoulder, calling jian’s name. the boy takes seconds to appear, whisking the dirty dishes away in a stack. hankyung stands, stepping around the corner of the table to offer you a hand. you ignore it and stand on your own, folding your napkin from your lap and setting it on the table. hankyung shrugs and turns around, striding out of the dining room and into the rundown hallway. you follow him as he turns the opposite direction from your room, trotting at his heels like an over eager dog. you feel a sudden urge to shoot yourself, but hankyung (or jian-you’re not sure who) took your gun.
you almost run into hankyung when he stops in front of a door, so unassuming you hadn’t noticed it until hankyung reached out to turn the knob and swing it open, revealing a cozy little room that still manages to make you nervous. the walls are a soft blue, a sofa in the center of the room facing a fireplace, of all things. packed bookshelves line one wall, with a desk pressed up against the other, a thin laptop shut and laying on its surface. there’s another door at the other end of the room, but hankyung makes no move towards it, gesturing instead for you to sit on the couch. you tuck yourself at one end, spine pressed straight against the back of the sofa, eyes fixed on the empty fireplace. you hear glasses clinking from behind you and you turn to see hankyung with a full bottle of vodka, pouring the liquid into two shotglasses. he sets the bottle on the desk, carrying the glasses over and handing one to you. you take it, unsure in your grasp, your eyes searching his. he only smiles, throwing his head back and downing his own with an exaggerated smack of his lips. you stare at yours for a minute then swallow it fast, grimacing at the strength of the liquid that runs down your throat. hankyung collects your empty glass, setting them on the end table with a grin. “the very finest you can buy in this city. i save the best for my most important guests,” he teases, falling onto the middle cushion, torso faced towards you and one arm slung easily across the back of the couch, a little too close to your own shoulder for your comfort.
you shy farther into the corner of the sofa, fingers picking nervously at the soft fabric. “now. what are these questions you’re so worked up about?” his voice is quiet, probing. purpose renewed, you lift your head to face him, only a little taken aback by how close he is. “i want to know exactly what’s going on here. i want to know why you drugged me; i want to know why you lock me in that room. i want to know what you know about heechul. i want to know why you keep refusing to talk about the real reason that i’m here.”
“the real reason that you’re here is that you don’t know the real reason that you’re here,” he murmurs, voice soft enough to volume that you have to strain to hear him. as he speaks, his voice gains in volume until it’s back to a normal sound and your ears rejoice. “what i know about heechul isn’t important. obviously, i keep you locked in that room so that you can’t leave my property. i didn’t drug you at all, you only assumed i did when in reality, you just can’t hold your moonshine. finally, exactly what’s going on here is… let’s call it classified information. it’ll be explained on a strict need to know basis.”
you bite your lip, obviously disappointed, but hankyung raises a hand before you can complain. “i only promised that you could ask, and that i’d answer where i could to the best of my ability.” he’s right, and you sigh. “any other questions?”
“where are my things?” and your voice rises in tone. anger boils inside you once more. those were your things, your personal belongings, and he had absolutely no right to take them away from you. hankyung lifts his foot up to rest on the couch cushion, bringing his knee up to his face and lacing his fingers comfortably over the joint. “they’re in a safe place. they’re also not important right now. i can’t let you have the gun for obvious safety reasons, and the other stuff may only tempt you to escape.”
“at least let me have my cell phone,” it sounds like you’re begging and you hate that, but what other choice do you have? he shakes his head with a small, sad smile. “it would be useless. i know who you want to call. i also know that-
he doesn’t want to speak to you.” he hesitates before he says it, carefully watching your expression. you want to yell, to tell him that he’s wrong, that whatever happened between him and heechul has nothing to do with you. that you and heechul are different, better, special. but you know that that would be foolish, and you suppose a small part of you knows that maybe he is right.
Characters: Siwon, Hankyung, (Heechul)
Rating: No sex, mild violence
Part One
~~~~~~~~~
when you wake up again you’re on a bed that’s far more comfortable, in a room illuminated by a sun beaming in through a break in the curtains. the fabric is red and velvety, and it matches the blanket covering your body. which matches the thick carpet as well, you notice, blinking your eyes to take in the plush opulence of the room. the color of wine, you think, decadent and slightly bitter. the walls are a light cream and you wonder what they would look like with red wine splattered across them-or blood.
you don’t fully remember what brought you to this room. you remember weaving through crowds in the street, then a crowd in a dark basement, you remember the taste of alcohol and sweat, a heavy head in a dark room, and you remember meeting hankyung. you remember you talked but you don’t remember what you said-don’t remember what he said. only that it was bad, and his hands were soothing.
you remember loving heechul.
you remember hating heechul.
the door opens and shuts to reveal a small boy with a dangerous smile, and suddenly you remember him, too. he’s dressed nicer than he was the night before, but the night before feels like a dream and you aren’t sure of anything anymore. there’s a stack of folded clothes in his arms, and he deposits the pile onto a wooden chest at the foot of the bed-your bed? you don’t remember.
he raises an eyebrow at you and you realize that you’re naked under the plush red blanket. he cocks his thumb at a door in the corner of the room. “bathroom,” he explains, then points at a second door on the adjacent wall. “closet.” you thank him and take the clothes, cheeks flushed red at his mocking smile as you cross the room in the nude to get to the bathroom.
you wash your face and the soap smells delicate and chinese. it makes your nose itch. you dress in silence, the dark slacks and white button-down perfectly fitted to your body. a red tie, not the wine red of the bedroom but the blood red like you imagined.
when you emerge the boy is sitting cross-legged on the wooden chest, the covers on the bed stretched taut and the blanket folded neatly and the pillows arranged to perfection. “jian,” he says, pointing proudly to himself. then he points to you. “shiyuan”
no, no. you want to stop him, say shiwon and make him repeat, but the smug set of his jaw tells you that would be useless. instead you stand awkwardly in the middle of the carpet, unsure of where to go from here. jian saves you by leaping to his feet and heading to the third door in the room, the one he’d entered from. “here,” he says, and swings it open. the hallway is plain and empty, wooden floors and light blue walls with peeling paint. jian pads down it confidently and you follow with a ghostly step. it feels like the floor might fall out from under your feet, like you’ll stumble on a bump that isn’t there. none of it seems quite real. you shouldn’t be here, you think, then correct yourself because part of you remembers that yes, you should be here, but that same part can’t remember why.
he disappears around a corner and you follow carefully and what you see makes you stop in your tracks. a room, huge and airy, a high ceiling emblazoned with suns and dragons, golden and red and marvelous. walls draped in cloth, hanging in giant folds, a marble floor with intricate designs laid into the stone, and the centerpiece, a wooden table, dark and polished with chairs dotting the sides. hankyung is seated at one end and your heart jumps.
jian turns and sees your awestruck face and grins in delight. moving behind you, he shoves you forward to the table and you avoid looking at hankyung’s face. you watch jian instead as he pulls a chair out for you to sit, thanking him softly. he disappears without a word and you’re left alone with hankyung at the table.
it’s surface is bare, except for a bowl in front of hankyung and a wine glass filled with something in a vivid orange. you make a face and hankyung laughs. he picks up the cup with graceful hands, swirling it and its contents. the liquid circles the glass, and hankyung sets it down. “orange juice,” he says simply, and your eyes widen slightly. he picks up a spoonful of the contents of the bowl and slips it into his mouth and swallows. “cereal.”
you don’t know what to make of this man who’s all mysteries and contradictions, underground dungeons at night and cereal for breakfast, orange juice in a wine glass, with a house that doesn’t match at all. you sit a little straighter in your seat and clear your throat. “i think,” you start, then clear your throat again. “i think we should get down to business.”
“business isn’t important” he dismisses your proposal like that, taking another bite of cereal. he sips at his orange juice, lips pressed soft against the glass. jian is back, slipping a matching bowl of cereal in front of you. your orange juice comes in a coffee mug. the boy is gone as fast as he came, and you ignore his offering.
“hankyung,” you staccato his name and he raises an eyebrow. “just geng” he says it softly, in a whisper, and your memory twinges as you remember those words from last night. with that memory also comes the memory of warm hands, delicate but strong as they massaged at your skin. your cheeks flush and you harden your expression.
“hankyung” and you repeat it stubbornly, and his face seems to fall. maybe it’s your imagination. you continue, laying your palms flat on the surface of the table. “despite what happened last night, i am here on business. i don’t have times to play games with you and your boy; heechul will be expecting me by the end of the week.”
he flinches when you name the other, and you allow yourself a smirk. you’ve found a weakness. “heechul has sent me specifically to speak with you about matters of his personal interest, and i trust that you’ll be willing to cooperate.” hankyung doesn’t flinch this time, but he smiles sadly, sipping vaguely at the orange juice. he still doesn’t speak, and anger builds in your stomach.
“what, you’ll refuse the message? he’ll be upset if i return with nothing. you don’t think he’ll let you ignore this without consequence, do you? it would be quite foolish to assume such a thing.”
when hankyung sets the wine glass down, it’s with enough force to send the orange contents splashing onto the wooden table. he stands, palms slamming down on the table’s surface to rest in a position mimicking your own. his eyes are blazing, and they remind you of heechul, and that’s enough to make you recoil in something not unlike fear.
“what’s foolish is you putting on all these fancy airs.” he’s clearly furious, but he doesn’t shout or screech like heechul. his voice goes cold instead, void of emotion and somehow that’s even worse. “i know all about you, shiyuan.” he sneers your name with the foreign tone that jian had used. “i know you were just a regular guy, just another university student with no life and no future until heechul found you. you talk like a prince, you stupid kid, but you were nothing before heechul and you’re nothing without him. you’re nothing now.” there’s a promise in his voice like razor blades, and it cuts through your skin.
rage blinds you and you lunge from your seat, you’re going to rip out his throat and he’ll never laugh again. but hankyung is in your face before you’ve taken two steps, one of his graceful hands wrapped tight around your neck. you can’t see the other, but you can hazard a guess that it’s wrapped just as tight around the handle of the blade that’s pressing against your lower stomach, cut through the cloth of your shirt but not hard enough to break the skin (not yet). you take a breath and it rattles down your throat and you pretend to be brave and stoic but you know he sees the fear in your eyes. tension’s brought him up onto the balls of his feet, like a dancer except deadly. “coward,” he hisses through his teeth.
you lower your eyes in defeat and he sinks back, slightly deflated. the knife is withdrawn into the folds of his outfit (suit and tie) and his other hand moves from your neck, sliding up your skin to pat your jaw with something almost like fondness. his face is unreadable. “don’t take it personally. i was nothing before heechul, either. and now i have this.” he waves his arm to indicate the extravagant room, but you don’t think that’s quite what he means.
“stop acting like a prince. that’s probably why he sent you away. just be shiyuan and maybe things will work out.” he spins on his heel and moves to stride out of the room. you startle yourself by calling after him in a voice that’s more confident than what your stomach would have you believe you are.
“it’s shiwon.” he turns around and looks at you curiously. your courage wavers slightly (your stomach still tingles where the blade pressed cold steel) and you explain yourself in a softer voice. “not shiyuan. shiwon.” he waits a beat, then nods. “then i’m geng, not hankyung.” another beat, then as an afterthought, “only heechul calls me hankyung.” he sounds like he’s reminiscing and you don’t like it. but he’s gone before you can say anything else.
you’re lost until jian reappears, clucking his tongue at your untouched cereal. he refuses to let you leave the room until you’ve eaten it, milk and all, and downed your orange juice on top of that. afterwards he ushers you back to what you can only assume is your room, sitting you on the bed and assuring you he’ll “be right back, it’ll only be a minute.” he slips out of the room and you can hear the lock turn behind him. you can’t help but laugh a little at the absurdness of the situation, flopping facedown onto the bed and contemplating suffocating yourself with the down pillows.
after debating whether or not to call heechul and beg him to explain what’s going on, you realize that it doesn’t matter whether you decide to call him or not, you have no idea where your things are. you’d woken up naked, you remember with a blush, and jian never mentioned where your own clothes might be, or more importantly, the contents of your pockets. your wallet, your cell phone, your passport, your gun. all necessary items. all missing.
in a sudden panic you fling open the doors of the closet jian had pointed out earlier. hanging in a neat row are a line of outfits similar to the one you’re wearing-slacks, a button down shirt, and a tie. the only difference between each ensemble is the color scheme. several pairs of shoes are rowed up at the bottom of the closet, and the upper shelf holds only two small throw blankets, folded and waiting for use.
furious, you turn next to the bedside table, the wood slamming angrily as you yank out each of the three drawers. nothing- nothing- nothing. all empty. you slam them shut again and remember the wooden chest. sinking to your knees in front of the stained wood, you bite your lip and pull up on the ornate metal latch-it’s locked.
a helpless little whine escapes your throat as you fall back onto your bottom, defeated, the blow cushioned somewhat by the plush, wine red carpet. the door opens and jian walks in, clutching a small wooden box to his chest. you heave yourself to your feel, glowering at the small boy in what should be an intimidating manner. it doesn’t even faze him. striding past you, he sets the box on the bed and makes grabby hands at your chest. you stare for a moment before he rolls his eyes, exasperated, and says in an impatient voice, “your shirt.”
numb, you unbutton the piece of clothing and hand it down to him, leaving the tie draped around your neck. he hoists himself up onto the bed and sits cross legged, taking the shirt in his lap and opening the small box beside him. it’s filled with thread of different colors, scissors, and a pincushion stuck full of needles. you reach for one of the colored spools and he slaps your hand away, narrowing his eyebrows at you. sheepish, you take a seat beside him on the bed and watch in fascination as he unwinds a length of white thread the exact color of your shirt. he takes the pincushion up next, inspecting it with one squinted eye before deciding on one particular needle for no apparent reason. the scissors now, as he snips off the measured out thread and knots it through the eye of the needle. the tip of his tongue peeking through his lips in childish determination, he takes up your shirt and you belatedly realize what exactly he’s doing-sewing the hole hankyung’s knife sliced through the fabric.
and then you laugh, starting out with a weak chuckle that quickly builds to something uncontrollable. hysteric laughter that leaves your body shaking and your eyes tearing and your hands rubbing desperately at your face. everything- about- this- is- insane- your mind protests with each breath, and you so desperately want your phone-could give a shit about your wallet or passport or gun-you just want your goddamn cell phone so you can call heechul, hear his voice, snarky and fantastic, telling you to shut the fuck up and stop being such a baby and do your job. you feel like a child to admit that you just want to go home, hankyung was right, you’re nothing without heechul and you don’t belong here. it was stupid to think you could actually accomplish something, that you could actually do something important for heechul and his work. you belong at home, tucked safely away in the indulgent rooms that make up heechul’s mansion.
you think all of this as you laugh, on your side on the bed. you laugh until you can’t breathe and then you finally stop, panting and rubbing at your eyes and still letting loose a few weak snickers as you flip over onto your back. jian is on his knees looking down at you like you’re a raving lunatic, and maybe you are. you stare at each other for a moment and you think-he’s just a boy. a little boy. how could he be dangerous? and jian seems to challenge that with the jut of his chin but he’s still just a kid, so you reach your arms out and grab his sides and pull him down to the bed. your fingers dance against his sides to tickle him and he wriggles like your younger brother used to back when you still knew your family.
except when you got into tickle fights with your little brother, he never rolled you off a bed and pinned you to the ground and held a knife to your throat. you freeze, stunned and amazed at the cold lack of emotion in jian’s eyes. the steel is cold against your skin and with a flash you remember icy fingers at your temple. you shut your eyes lightly and swallow hard, your adam’s apple straining dangerously against the blade.
jian snorts, removing the weapon and standing up with a sneer on his face. “ge was right. you are a coward.” he kicks lightly at your shoulder before leaving the room, taking his sewing box along with him. you watch him leave, still hardly daring to breath, waiting for the click of the lock once he shuts the door-one, two, three… ah, there it is. you sigh, and bang your head back against the floor one two three four five times. rolling onto your side, you curl into a ball, wrapping your arms tightly around your own body. it’s only when you imagine that it’s heechul’s arms holding you close that you finally fall asleep.
you sleep, and you dream, or maybe it’s just remembering. heechul’s eyes are bright and shining as he holds a shirt up against your chest, looking you up and down with a critical eye before nodding his approval. “gorgeous,” he says, and you’ve never been so happy in your life. “you’re gorgeous,” you reply, a wide grin at the cheesy line. but it’s true, so true, and heechul knows it. it doesn’t stop him from leaning in and kissing you on the cheek, leaving you blushing and staring at the ground.
you can practically hear him smirk as he lifts your chin up with a bony hand, ignoring the scandalized whispers of the salesgirls behind the make-up counter as he leans in again, this time kissing you straight on the lips. his mouth is warm pressed against yours, his lips full and smooth where yours are thin and chapped. the two of you are still for a moment, loving the feeling and afraid to move, when heechul’s bodyguard clears his throat unobtrusively in a silent warning. heechul pulls away with a grin, smacking the guard playfully on the shoulder and flouncing away to shove the shirt at one of the sales attendants. “ring this up for us,” he demands, tossing his hair as if he were daring the man to object to his rude command. and of course he doesn’t-they never do. heechul runs this city and everyone knows it. you swell with pride as you exit the store, heechul linking his arm in yours, the bodyguard always two steps behind.
you wake up to a dark room and the sound of water running. at some point you’ve moved-or been moved?-onto the bed, tucked into a warm nest of blankets. the water stops and the bathroom door opens, washing the room in a soft light as jian emerges. he glances at you awake on the bed, folding his arms and sticking out one hip. “slept through lunch,” he informs you matter of factly, then gestures towards the bathroom. “you should wash up for dinner. ge will be angry if you miss that, too.”
what else can you do but slide out from the covers, mourning the loss of warmth, eyes trained warily on jian as you cross the floor into the bathroom. you leave the door open as you splash your face with water, warm water, and pat it dry with one of the many soft, fluffy towels that populate the room. a quick brush through your hair and you deem yourself presentable, inspecting your face in the mirror. dark circles are starting to form under your eyes from stress, you suppose, or an irregular sleep schedule.
“don’t be such a prince.” your eyes widen and you turn your head sharply to see jian leaning against the door frame, a smirk on his lips. his eyes glitter like a lion stalking its prey and you know he’s purposely parroting hankyung’s words from before. you grimace at him and step past through the doorway. “isn’t there anything nicer for me to wear? i feel as if i’m under dressed.”
“why?” he asks, and you think of dinner meetings at heechul’s, all dressed up in your best tux, eye candy at heechul’s side as he and his guests exchanged small talk littered with thinly veiled innuendo. but you’re not at heechul’s tonight, you recall with a drop of the heart, and you shake your head at the boy who’s still waiting for an answer. “never mind. let’s just go.”
once more you follow him down the hallway with the chipped paint and the creaky floorboards, exchanging that for the grandiose splendor of the dining room. and again, the splendor is wasted on a room empty to everyone except yourself, hankyung, and jian. this time hankyung isn’t already eating, instead he’s waited for you with an empty plate, his elbows resting on the table and his chin resting on top of bridged fingers.
you steel yourself to step forward and sit confidently down at the table across from him, where a second plate waits, empty. you stare straight into his eyes with what you hope is a defiant look, palms flat on the table just like earlier. “i have some questions about this-“ you pause a moment, searching for the right word that you want to use. “this situation. and i want you to answer them. i refuse to cooperate with this insane game until you do.” stubbornly you fold your arms as jian slips from the room.
hankyung watches you, expressionless. after what seems an eternity he speaks, voice calm and collected. “whatever questions you have, they can at least wait until after we’ve eaten.” jian returns with a platter of meat, and you wonder just how much there is to this house that you haven’t seen. he dishes equal portions of the food onto each of your plates. you wait until he’s gone again before continuing. “so i can ask you my questions after dinner?”
“yes.” you’re slightly taken aback by how easy that was, until hankyung continues. “you can ask whatever questions you want, but i can’t promise that i’ll answer them all.” you slump in your seat, disappointed. “i especially can’t promise that i’ll answer truthfully,” he goes on, “but i do promise to tell you everything i’m allowed.”
jian’s back, this time with servings of rice and fried vegetables for the both of you. hankyung begins to eat, but you only poke at your food warily. you can’t trust anything in this house-both times you’ve ingested something involved with hankyung’s property, you’ve ended up knocked out in sleep for unnecessarily long periods of time. it takes a minute before hankyung notices and stops eating, glancing from you to your food and back again. “oh, for god’s sake-“ he rolls his eyes and switches your plate and his without another word. he resumes eating without missing a beat. you eye the new plate, noticing a piece of meat with one bite off the end. making a face, you pick it up delicately with your chopsticks and place it onto hankyung’s new plate. he stops swallows and stares at it for a moment, and then laughs and breaks into a smile so genuine and infectious that you can’t help but smile a little yourself.
jian returns for a third time, bearing two glasses of wine the same thick, rich color as the trappings in your room. he sets them in front of hankyung and yourself, then bows once and exits, presumably for the last time until your meal is over. you take some of the meat and rice into your mouth, chewing and watching as hankyung reaches over to take hold of your wine glass and then brings it to his mouth, pulling a sip from the contents. he sets it back down with a playful grin. “it’s safe. no drugs, no poison.” you roll your eyes and smile again when he laughs.
finally you take the last bite of your meal into your mouth, chewing quickly and watching as hankyung finishes off the last of his wine. his adam’s apple bobs in his throat and you swallow your mouthful impatiently, shoving your empty plate forward.
“we’re done eating. i have questions now.” you announce sternly. hankyung holds up a hand in warning, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin. “be patient. we have all the time in the world.” you’re not sure you like the sound of that, but you shrink back into your seat, knowing that if you want any answers at all, you should just listen to what he says. he turns his head over his shoulder, calling jian’s name. the boy takes seconds to appear, whisking the dirty dishes away in a stack. hankyung stands, stepping around the corner of the table to offer you a hand. you ignore it and stand on your own, folding your napkin from your lap and setting it on the table. hankyung shrugs and turns around, striding out of the dining room and into the rundown hallway. you follow him as he turns the opposite direction from your room, trotting at his heels like an over eager dog. you feel a sudden urge to shoot yourself, but hankyung (or jian-you’re not sure who) took your gun.
you almost run into hankyung when he stops in front of a door, so unassuming you hadn’t noticed it until hankyung reached out to turn the knob and swing it open, revealing a cozy little room that still manages to make you nervous. the walls are a soft blue, a sofa in the center of the room facing a fireplace, of all things. packed bookshelves line one wall, with a desk pressed up against the other, a thin laptop shut and laying on its surface. there’s another door at the other end of the room, but hankyung makes no move towards it, gesturing instead for you to sit on the couch. you tuck yourself at one end, spine pressed straight against the back of the sofa, eyes fixed on the empty fireplace. you hear glasses clinking from behind you and you turn to see hankyung with a full bottle of vodka, pouring the liquid into two shotglasses. he sets the bottle on the desk, carrying the glasses over and handing one to you. you take it, unsure in your grasp, your eyes searching his. he only smiles, throwing his head back and downing his own with an exaggerated smack of his lips. you stare at yours for a minute then swallow it fast, grimacing at the strength of the liquid that runs down your throat. hankyung collects your empty glass, setting them on the end table with a grin. “the very finest you can buy in this city. i save the best for my most important guests,” he teases, falling onto the middle cushion, torso faced towards you and one arm slung easily across the back of the couch, a little too close to your own shoulder for your comfort.
you shy farther into the corner of the sofa, fingers picking nervously at the soft fabric. “now. what are these questions you’re so worked up about?” his voice is quiet, probing. purpose renewed, you lift your head to face him, only a little taken aback by how close he is. “i want to know exactly what’s going on here. i want to know why you drugged me; i want to know why you lock me in that room. i want to know what you know about heechul. i want to know why you keep refusing to talk about the real reason that i’m here.”
“the real reason that you’re here is that you don’t know the real reason that you’re here,” he murmurs, voice soft enough to volume that you have to strain to hear him. as he speaks, his voice gains in volume until it’s back to a normal sound and your ears rejoice. “what i know about heechul isn’t important. obviously, i keep you locked in that room so that you can’t leave my property. i didn’t drug you at all, you only assumed i did when in reality, you just can’t hold your moonshine. finally, exactly what’s going on here is… let’s call it classified information. it’ll be explained on a strict need to know basis.”
you bite your lip, obviously disappointed, but hankyung raises a hand before you can complain. “i only promised that you could ask, and that i’d answer where i could to the best of my ability.” he’s right, and you sigh. “any other questions?”
“where are my things?” and your voice rises in tone. anger boils inside you once more. those were your things, your personal belongings, and he had absolutely no right to take them away from you. hankyung lifts his foot up to rest on the couch cushion, bringing his knee up to his face and lacing his fingers comfortably over the joint. “they’re in a safe place. they’re also not important right now. i can’t let you have the gun for obvious safety reasons, and the other stuff may only tempt you to escape.”
“at least let me have my cell phone,” it sounds like you’re begging and you hate that, but what other choice do you have? he shakes his head with a small, sad smile. “it would be useless. i know who you want to call. i also know that-
he doesn’t want to speak to you.” he hesitates before he says it, carefully watching your expression. you want to yell, to tell him that he’s wrong, that whatever happened between him and heechul has nothing to do with you. that you and heechul are different, better, special. but you know that that would be foolish, and you suppose a small part of you knows that maybe he is right.