The Boss's Dog
Title: The Boss's Dog
Summary: Park Kyung will always be Jiho's most loyal ally. Implied Zico/Kyung.
A/N- this is a drabble-ish piece that acts as a prologue to the Hitman AU I'm currently developing, but I figured it works well enough as a stand-alone short to post it now.
Jiho was a genius.
Park Kyung had come to that conclusion within minutes of meeting him.
He was not the type to make such bold claims so easily, either; he'd always thought himself a good judge of character. Unfortunately, he had a bit of a knack for getting himself into trouble with the wrong sort anyway.
Kyung had a big mouth, see. Always had. He was a small guy, plucky, he had to compensate somehow, but usually it ended up with him speaking before his brain could register the words coming out.
Sometimes it was a curse, sometimes a blessing, and on the fateful day he met Jiho, it was one disguised as the other, like a dagger hidden in a shawl.
That mouth of his, or rather his well-exercised tongue, had been playing up again. Usually he was good at talking himself out of tight situations, but this one was too tight, the kind of tight that was so tight that it was about to snap- well, you get the picture, right?
Anyway, the details were irrelevant, but it ended up with Kyung thinking he could take on a couple of guys on his own. He was small, yeah, but he'd always been scrappy, and he'd acquired a few underhanded tricks from the street kids he knew. Well, by underhanded it meant he carried a knife in his pocket, but it was for self defence, yeah? They started it!
Blah, blah, it wasn't Kyung's fault. It wasn't his fault he got overpowered either, or that those street friends of his ran away when the two other guys brought out their own knives. Bastards. He still remembered being shoved up against the wall of the underpass, plunged deep in the shadows, shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm, but only because it was cold out. He was braver than that (really). When those two guys shoved the credit card in his mouth and told him to smile real wide, he still fought back, even though they said he pissed his pants. Liars, they just shoved him in a puddle before, that was all.
But those were the boring bits, they didn't even matter! What mattered was that when He came, like some kind of shinigami emerging from the shadows, black hood pulled over his head and his bat over his shoulder like a makeshift scythe, everything stopped.
In the end, Woo Jiho did not use a weapon. He was the weapon. It was over so soon, Kyung missed most of it in truth. One moment he felt a knife ready to tear his face from ear to ear ('lets cut this long chin of yours down to size') and the next he'd been dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
What he did see, though, well. That was the kind of stuff that stays with you for life, printed into your mind like a movie you can project in your own mental cinema, replaying it for old time's sake.
He moved like some kind of wild cat, loose and unpredictable but so damn fast, like woah! You know? You get it, right? If you don't, just watch any kind of animal doc, the ones where they fight and tear each from limb to limb. Like a force of nature, a natural instinct, a few well perceived punches, kicks and snapping of bones and both the men fell to their faces, groaning, crying. It was pretty funny. They were like babies desperate for their moms, goo goo gaga.
Woo Jiho, though. He found it the funniest of all. His cackles filled the underpass, filled the darkness, took over it. Kyung only realised after that Jiho had been laughing the entire time, circling, spinning and springing forward to attack, manically giggling as he did so.
Some people said Jiho was insane. A lot, actually. Kyung knew they could be right, but they were also idiots, because they didn't realise what he also was; a genius. The kind that you can't emulate, no matter what you do or study, because the gap of a natural born prodigy to the average man is way too wide. Kyung was a firm believer in that.
Jiho had dipped down to pick up their knives, giving Kyung a mockery of a bow, swooping down low and making a loud popping noise with his lips as if sending a kiss to an applauding audience. For once in his life, the Mouth Park Kyung could not speak, as if Jiho had found too late and his tongue really had been cut out.
He only found his voice when Jiho had turned to leave
"Let me come with you!"
There had been no protest.
It wasn't just some misplaced idol worship brought on by being saved. It was more. Kyung had been drawn to Jiho, like the way the rats scurried to the music of the Pied Piper of Hamlen when he played, following him wherever he went. Dancing to his tune. Subservient, loyal. There had been a time when Kyung would have spat at the idea but now that he served below Jiho, was his right hand man, he wore it like a badge of honour. It was a bragging right in itself, and Kyung liked to brag.
What, you think a guy can't be Hot Shit if he's only second string? Don't be an idiot, think of it this way;
If someone were to say 'Ah, Park Kyung, what's he even good for?' then the reply could be 'Are you crazy? He's Woo Jiho's dog, and Woo Jiho keeps his pets rabid'
Makes sense, right? Right.
Kyung had fancied himself a Big Deal once, but that was until he met Jiho. Then he was shown otherwise. In the face of the kind of rare genius that only comes about once in a hundred years, Kyung was nothing. He was in fact a Small Fry.
So he realised his place. He was the moth to Jiho's flame.
'Yah, Park Kyung, what are you, a homo?' Jaehyo had said that, that asshole.
Hell no! Ahn Jaehyo, do you wanna die? He wasn't a fucking faggot. The relationship between Jiho and he was deeper than that. Kyung pitied Jaehyo really, so ignorant and unenlightened. Jaehyo didn't understand, could never, he wasn't anything special. Jiho didn't trust him like he trusted Kyung.
Because Kyung very much believed that humanity had a hierarchy. Survival of the fittest and all that jazz. Double agents like Jaehyo were a dime a dozen, practically bottom of the food chain. And who was at the top? Well, that was a given.
Woo Jiho, as far as Kyung was concerned, was a God. Or the Devil which rose to Earth. He was religious, see, been to Bible camp and everything. That was a secret though, ssh, buried in the past. Like his mathematic abilities and his parents. Hah.
Kyung had watched him juggle with fates, lives and deaths, saving them and taking them at will. Everything had a reason, he saw it all, understood it, played his hand accordingly. Kyung was in awe; he was truly on another level.
This meant Kyung could only ever watch, hang onto his coattails. Of course, his servitude to Jiho wasn't completely selfless, what, give him a break! If he served in Jiho's shadow, he was by his side, and that was a good place to be. It was both the safest place and the most dangerous place on the planet, and he was always glad to drop to his knees on command, looking up at Jiho from above.
So when Kyung had found their boss, Cho, deader than dead on the floor of his own office without so much as a weapon on him (really, how lame. In the end he went down without a struggle) he felt giddy. He placed a hand against his face and laughed, laughed until tears spilt down his cheeks (they say insanity spread throughout the family of Woo Jiho, but people who said that did not know him, and therefore their opinions were unworthy) and he phoned Jiho immediately to tell him.
When Jiho had entered the room, there was a poetic feel, if Kyung had any grasp of prose like he did with maths then he would've been able to express it better, alright, but that's what it was. Teenage hitman, prodigy, his best and closest friend Woo Jiho stood looking down at their dead boss, crouching down to his haunches and closing Cho's blank, staring eyes. Time seemed to stand still, no really it did, like some invisible transfer of power was happening in the air and when Jiho stood again, Kyung knew that he had stepped into his knew role. The one he deserved and the one that, as far as Kyung was concerned, the one he'd always had.
Jiho stepped over Cho's body much in the way one does when avoiding a lump of shit on the street, making his way to his desk and, with a flick of his hand, knocking his nameplate into the trash can.
"I need you to make some calls, Kyung" Jiho had said, taking the large leather chair for his own.
Kyung, for the second time in his life, found himself tongue tied. It only lasted for a moment though "Yes. Yessir"
Kyung wasn't that great when it came to words, but he felt a change. Like the tumultuous, giddy buzz of a new beginning. It was like fate had threaded together, undoing a couple of minor stitches before restoring itself, a slight change, stronger than ever, brighter than before. Cho had fallen, but Jiho had replaced him, ready to rule.
And as ever, Kyung would watch, serve, witness it all. Loyal to the end.
The King had finally taken his throne.
Summary: Park Kyung will always be Jiho's most loyal ally. Implied Zico/Kyung.
A/N- this is a drabble-ish piece that acts as a prologue to the Hitman AU I'm currently developing, but I figured it works well enough as a stand-alone short to post it now.
Jiho was a genius.
Park Kyung had come to that conclusion within minutes of meeting him.
He was not the type to make such bold claims so easily, either; he'd always thought himself a good judge of character. Unfortunately, he had a bit of a knack for getting himself into trouble with the wrong sort anyway.
Kyung had a big mouth, see. Always had. He was a small guy, plucky, he had to compensate somehow, but usually it ended up with him speaking before his brain could register the words coming out.
Sometimes it was a curse, sometimes a blessing, and on the fateful day he met Jiho, it was one disguised as the other, like a dagger hidden in a shawl.
That mouth of his, or rather his well-exercised tongue, had been playing up again. Usually he was good at talking himself out of tight situations, but this one was too tight, the kind of tight that was so tight that it was about to snap- well, you get the picture, right?
Anyway, the details were irrelevant, but it ended up with Kyung thinking he could take on a couple of guys on his own. He was small, yeah, but he'd always been scrappy, and he'd acquired a few underhanded tricks from the street kids he knew. Well, by underhanded it meant he carried a knife in his pocket, but it was for self defence, yeah? They started it!
Blah, blah, it wasn't Kyung's fault. It wasn't his fault he got overpowered either, or that those street friends of his ran away when the two other guys brought out their own knives. Bastards. He still remembered being shoved up against the wall of the underpass, plunged deep in the shadows, shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm, but only because it was cold out. He was braver than that (really). When those two guys shoved the credit card in his mouth and told him to smile real wide, he still fought back, even though they said he pissed his pants. Liars, they just shoved him in a puddle before, that was all.
But those were the boring bits, they didn't even matter! What mattered was that when He came, like some kind of shinigami emerging from the shadows, black hood pulled over his head and his bat over his shoulder like a makeshift scythe, everything stopped.
In the end, Woo Jiho did not use a weapon. He was the weapon. It was over so soon, Kyung missed most of it in truth. One moment he felt a knife ready to tear his face from ear to ear ('lets cut this long chin of yours down to size') and the next he'd been dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
What he did see, though, well. That was the kind of stuff that stays with you for life, printed into your mind like a movie you can project in your own mental cinema, replaying it for old time's sake.
He moved like some kind of wild cat, loose and unpredictable but so damn fast, like woah! You know? You get it, right? If you don't, just watch any kind of animal doc, the ones where they fight and tear each from limb to limb. Like a force of nature, a natural instinct, a few well perceived punches, kicks and snapping of bones and both the men fell to their faces, groaning, crying. It was pretty funny. They were like babies desperate for their moms, goo goo gaga.
Woo Jiho, though. He found it the funniest of all. His cackles filled the underpass, filled the darkness, took over it. Kyung only realised after that Jiho had been laughing the entire time, circling, spinning and springing forward to attack, manically giggling as he did so.
Some people said Jiho was insane. A lot, actually. Kyung knew they could be right, but they were also idiots, because they didn't realise what he also was; a genius. The kind that you can't emulate, no matter what you do or study, because the gap of a natural born prodigy to the average man is way too wide. Kyung was a firm believer in that.
Jiho had dipped down to pick up their knives, giving Kyung a mockery of a bow, swooping down low and making a loud popping noise with his lips as if sending a kiss to an applauding audience. For once in his life, the Mouth Park Kyung could not speak, as if Jiho had found too late and his tongue really had been cut out.
He only found his voice when Jiho had turned to leave
"Let me come with you!"
There had been no protest.
It wasn't just some misplaced idol worship brought on by being saved. It was more. Kyung had been drawn to Jiho, like the way the rats scurried to the music of the Pied Piper of Hamlen when he played, following him wherever he went. Dancing to his tune. Subservient, loyal. There had been a time when Kyung would have spat at the idea but now that he served below Jiho, was his right hand man, he wore it like a badge of honour. It was a bragging right in itself, and Kyung liked to brag.
What, you think a guy can't be Hot Shit if he's only second string? Don't be an idiot, think of it this way;
If someone were to say 'Ah, Park Kyung, what's he even good for?' then the reply could be 'Are you crazy? He's Woo Jiho's dog, and Woo Jiho keeps his pets rabid'
Makes sense, right? Right.
Kyung had fancied himself a Big Deal once, but that was until he met Jiho. Then he was shown otherwise. In the face of the kind of rare genius that only comes about once in a hundred years, Kyung was nothing. He was in fact a Small Fry.
So he realised his place. He was the moth to Jiho's flame.
'Yah, Park Kyung, what are you, a homo?' Jaehyo had said that, that asshole.
Hell no! Ahn Jaehyo, do you wanna die? He wasn't a fucking faggot. The relationship between Jiho and he was deeper than that. Kyung pitied Jaehyo really, so ignorant and unenlightened. Jaehyo didn't understand, could never, he wasn't anything special. Jiho didn't trust him like he trusted Kyung.
Because Kyung very much believed that humanity had a hierarchy. Survival of the fittest and all that jazz. Double agents like Jaehyo were a dime a dozen, practically bottom of the food chain. And who was at the top? Well, that was a given.
Woo Jiho, as far as Kyung was concerned, was a God. Or the Devil which rose to Earth. He was religious, see, been to Bible camp and everything. That was a secret though, ssh, buried in the past. Like his mathematic abilities and his parents. Hah.
Kyung had watched him juggle with fates, lives and deaths, saving them and taking them at will. Everything had a reason, he saw it all, understood it, played his hand accordingly. Kyung was in awe; he was truly on another level.
This meant Kyung could only ever watch, hang onto his coattails. Of course, his servitude to Jiho wasn't completely selfless, what, give him a break! If he served in Jiho's shadow, he was by his side, and that was a good place to be. It was both the safest place and the most dangerous place on the planet, and he was always glad to drop to his knees on command, looking up at Jiho from above.
So when Kyung had found their boss, Cho, deader than dead on the floor of his own office without so much as a weapon on him (really, how lame. In the end he went down without a struggle) he felt giddy. He placed a hand against his face and laughed, laughed until tears spilt down his cheeks (they say insanity spread throughout the family of Woo Jiho, but people who said that did not know him, and therefore their opinions were unworthy) and he phoned Jiho immediately to tell him.
When Jiho had entered the room, there was a poetic feel, if Kyung had any grasp of prose like he did with maths then he would've been able to express it better, alright, but that's what it was. Teenage hitman, prodigy, his best and closest friend Woo Jiho stood looking down at their dead boss, crouching down to his haunches and closing Cho's blank, staring eyes. Time seemed to stand still, no really it did, like some invisible transfer of power was happening in the air and when Jiho stood again, Kyung knew that he had stepped into his knew role. The one he deserved and the one that, as far as Kyung was concerned, the one he'd always had.
Jiho stepped over Cho's body much in the way one does when avoiding a lump of shit on the street, making his way to his desk and, with a flick of his hand, knocking his nameplate into the trash can.
"I need you to make some calls, Kyung" Jiho had said, taking the large leather chair for his own.
Kyung, for the second time in his life, found himself tongue tied. It only lasted for a moment though "Yes. Yessir"
Kyung wasn't that great when it came to words, but he felt a change. Like the tumultuous, giddy buzz of a new beginning. It was like fate had threaded together, undoing a couple of minor stitches before restoring itself, a slight change, stronger than ever, brighter than before. Cho had fallen, but Jiho had replaced him, ready to rule.
And as ever, Kyung would watch, serve, witness it all. Loyal to the end.
The King had finally taken his throne.