Marionette
Title: Marionette
Pairing: Daejae
Rating: PG-17
Type: One Shot
Genre: Angst
A/N: Mentioned rape
[part two here]
❊❊❊
The boy waited, but love never came. Maybe it would in another life. Where he wouldn't be a marionette. He would be worthy then.
Sirens. Incoherent voices scraping against the speakers. Cameras were flashing amidst the black crowd. The boy's face was stained with vivid blues and reds from the wild sirens. Streaks of dried blood caking his once beautiful features. His lips curved into a strange, sad smile. That was all himchan could see before they covered the body. It was too explicit for public eyes. A boy who died; undignified, most unfortunate; alone. Gang murders. The headlines would read. Daehyun would find out then. He would find out that they had stood by to watch Youngjae die. Himchan weighed the photograph in his gloved hands, the only thing he thought essential to retrieve. It was too telling. It might give them away. And he had a feeling daehyun might want it back.
[beat]
Youngjae flinched from the blow, head scraping against the unwelcoming cold of grey cement. He bit down on his lip, hoping to distract the pain. He felt another trickle seep down his face. A taste that he had already grown strangely accustomed to- metallic, slightly salty, viscous. He spat. A spray of crimson on his captor's face. The next punch to his jaw he didn't feel much. He was gone. Too disorientated to notice.
"Tell me where the fuck he is!"
They didn't get it. No matter how loud they screamed, how well they alternated their profanities, how hard they grabbed him by the collar. They were going to get the same stubborn answer-
A harsh stare, a smug smile through bloodied lips, "Go fuck yourself." With that the last of his snark faded away, seeping through his skin, feeding the wrath of the men that surrounded him. There were 16 of them all together, including the 10 that were gambling outside. There were more, but he'd taken them out. Youngjae counted. He was trained to weigh the odds. And right now the odds were teaming ip against him. They might as well have been gambling with his life. Let the aces and spades decide. And maybe, just maybe, fate would be kinder on him.
"It'll only get more painful for you, Yoo youngjae. Just tell me where he is, and you can leave..."
Youngjae gave a weak smile. Where he is. The ambiguity of it was beautiful. He could've been anyone. Passing stranger, target, threat. Thing is, he wasn't. He was Jung daehyun. Third in command, exceptional shooter, brutal, cunning. He never misses. Not especially when the target was the leader of the sect they were assigned to exterminate. The sect that now held youngjae hostage. They wanted revenge. Revenge on the brown haired boy, the one with fire in his eyes. That's all they knew about him. And youngjae was just convenient information. He was nothing more. Hacker, intelligence, most unfortunate. He closed his eyes. He'd rather die than tell.
Aren't you afraid? The boy asked, doe eyes brimming with uncertainty.
No Jae, we're just marionettes in their game. A shrug, a kind smile, as certain as a promise.
Wood and string; wood and string; wood and string. They can't feel, we can't too. Youngjae chanted in his mind. He felt a warm hand encircling his in a tight squeeze and he knew it was just his imagination. He anticipated the next blow and hoped it would be lethal enough to kill him. He felt a slash across his face, left by blunt metal.
"Hyung. We found something." one of the men handed something over to the second in command, and his attention was directed away from youngjae. "It was sewn into a compartment on pretty boy's jacket."
Youngjae's jaw tensed as he recognized the crumple of gloss and ink. "Look what we have here!" the man waved it in front of youngjae's face and he lunged forward, only to be stopped by the biting ropes around his hands. He could barely make out two figures, smug; teasing. But he knew the exact compositions of that picture. He studied it under the dim light of his bunk. The only thing he held dear to him. He and daehyun had stitched it to a compartment in his jacket in a streak of adolescent defiance. they weren't allowed to have pictures. They were too telling of human interaction. But they did it anyways. Took the shot with a stolen camera, in the safety of the dark. The flash works good to create daylight under the sheets. Youngjae was smiling in that photo, doe eyes crinkling like crescents. The boy laying beside him turned his face from the camera, form frozen in a chaste kiss on youngjae's cheek. Daehyun. The boy with fire in his eyes. Though trapped in a border of fading white, in that picture they were free. No strings, no wood. They were in love. Or so youngjae thought.
"Ah... This is so very useful isn't it... Explains so much..." the man waved the photograph in the air. "Now we're gonna have a little fun, youngjae-sshi... We're gonna make revenge-
Sweet."
That's how daehyun described youngjae's lips. Sweet. And youngjae wonders if they still were, under his captor's tongue. Bloodied; bruised; torn. He believes they aren't. They never were. Forgettable taste of ashen wood. He was but a marionette. He knew no pain, no pleasure. Daehyun made it clear that they didn't feel. Made it clear when he turned his back to leave that night. Youngjae was pushed against the floor, on all fours. They had brought him out to the streets. It didn't matter if he screamed. He'd just be another voice in an area that slept through the ringing of gunshots. He tried to fight back, but he couldn't. The cold whipped at his bare skin. His hair was pulled back sharply, by rough hands, the ones that bloodied his face. Youngjae bit down hard on his bottom lip, drawing blood to pool around his tooth. He gripped at nothingness, the unmoving tar did nothing to cushion his blunt nails against his palms. He saw stars against his eyelids, black stars dancing across a pitch sky. The pain shot up his spine and he felt his body split into uneven halves but youngjae wouldn't utter a single word to show it. Wood and string; wood and string...
Youngjae needed daehyun. But they were marionettes in a sick child's game. A tangle of wood and strings under the sheets. A mistake made by collision of two unskilled puppeteers. But daehyun was wrong. He felt. Hot skin against his, warm tongue. They connected, in a way that was undeniably human. They weren't wood and string. He knew. But maybe daehyun didn't. Maybe daehyun didn't make love to him. Maybe they didn't know love at all. It was all part of a cycle, pure want, a distraction out of the corner of his trained eyes. Something to distract from the lack of humanity in their line of work. After all they couldn't make decisions. Decisions were made for them.
He clamped his eyes shut and prayed it was all a sick dream. That he'd wake up to daehyun's steady breathing against his neck. That he never knew what daehyun thought of them. That it was daehyun's arms around him, not the harsh, inhuman grasp of the captor. But no. He couldn't help but keep count of the minutes in his head. Youngjae wanted to die. Death would be much more glorifying.
"If only your boyfriend could see you like this you dirty little slut!"
Youngjae winced at that word. If only they were human enough to deserve that title. But daehyun was on a solo mission and he was alone. He'd always been alone. Too blinded by the flash to see. "Pity... Such a pretty face..." the man trailed a knife flat on youngjae's face, stopping slightly to dip it in his once milky skin, drawing crimson. "Now you have to die, Yoo youngjae... It was nice doing business with you..." A smirk and-
Youngjae heard a gunshot. He didn't need to look to know that blood was seeping out of his chest, where his heart was supposed to be. He'd give anything for that dull throbbing pain to replace the one he felt in his heart. But no. He collapsed on the floor, hands grasping at hot tar. He was tired. A tear slid past his eyes as he closed them. Wood and string; wood and string...
But that didn't stop him from thinking about daehyun. Maybe in another life he wouldn't be held back by the strings tied to his wrists, keeping him upright. Maybe in another life they would have felt, they would have thought for themselves and not have to wait for instructions to pass through the intercom. They could decide then. Decide to buy a house, go grocery shopping, have a nice homecooked meal by the TV. Take long strings of pictures in the photobooth with varying poses, lips connecting, victory signs held high. Do other things normal people did. Spend evenings up at the edge of buildings, savouring the last of daylight. Youngjae would have liked that. Maybe he could even make daehyun fall in love with him for real this time. Youngjae chuckled. He could hear the weak flutter of his heart by his ears. He looked at his fingers. They looked as lonely as he was. No hand to caress them, no band to adorn that one finger. He almost felt the cool of the metal curl around his fourth finger. He imagined its matt surface warming up to his touch. "Daehyunnie..." Youngjae smiled. He was afraid. So afraid. He needed daehyun. Daehyun promised. But Daehyun wasn't coming. Youngjae was but a marionette. Nothing mattered. Love wasn't going to come for him.
"I'm sorry..."
[beat]
Daehyun weighed the rings in his palm. Cool metal gracing his warm skin. Matt surface attempting a reflection of his smile. No other rings would do. Youngjae was stubborn as a mule. If he liked something it would be impossible to change his mind. He slipped them in his pocket, liking how the extra weight gave him assurance. He was going to set things right with youngjae. He was wrong when he left the other night. He knew. Deep inside him he knew they weren't wood and string. He lied. He was afraid. Afraid of feeling. Because hurt was never a feeling he wanted to get acquainted with. But they were going to cut the strings that held them from their shoulders. They were going to be free, be human again. He would slip that ring on youngjae's ring finger, the one that had the vein that led straight to the heart. They would buy a cheap house in the countryside, away from the society that cradled them over danger. They would have meals by the fire, take a walk in the forests when the weater permitted. Spend cold nights with Youngjae safe in his arms. They would never have to be marionettes again. They could be human. So undeniably human. Daehyun could only hope that youngjae wasn't still mad at him. He dismissed that, busying himself with plans of how an where exactly to tell youngjae. Then he smiled. He knew the perfect place-
They were young and perched precariously on the edge of the building. Watching the city pass below. Youngjae liked that.
"Aren't you afraid, Daehyunnie?" Yougjae asked, doe eyes brimming with uncertainty.
"No Jae, we're just marionettes in their game..." A shrug, a kind smile, as certain as a promise. Daehyun pulled youngjae closer, making sure the harsh wind wouldn't push him over. He held youngjae's hand tight on his lap, "Besides... I'll always be here to protect you..."
Pairing: Daejae
Rating: PG-17
Type: One Shot
Genre: Angst
A/N: Mentioned rape
[part two here]
❊❊❊
The boy waited, but love never came. Maybe it would in another life. Where he wouldn't be a marionette. He would be worthy then.
Sirens. Incoherent voices scraping against the speakers. Cameras were flashing amidst the black crowd. The boy's face was stained with vivid blues and reds from the wild sirens. Streaks of dried blood caking his once beautiful features. His lips curved into a strange, sad smile. That was all himchan could see before they covered the body. It was too explicit for public eyes. A boy who died; undignified, most unfortunate; alone. Gang murders. The headlines would read. Daehyun would find out then. He would find out that they had stood by to watch Youngjae die. Himchan weighed the photograph in his gloved hands, the only thing he thought essential to retrieve. It was too telling. It might give them away. And he had a feeling daehyun might want it back.
[beat]
Youngjae flinched from the blow, head scraping against the unwelcoming cold of grey cement. He bit down on his lip, hoping to distract the pain. He felt another trickle seep down his face. A taste that he had already grown strangely accustomed to- metallic, slightly salty, viscous. He spat. A spray of crimson on his captor's face. The next punch to his jaw he didn't feel much. He was gone. Too disorientated to notice.
"Tell me where the fuck he is!"
They didn't get it. No matter how loud they screamed, how well they alternated their profanities, how hard they grabbed him by the collar. They were going to get the same stubborn answer-
A harsh stare, a smug smile through bloodied lips, "Go fuck yourself." With that the last of his snark faded away, seeping through his skin, feeding the wrath of the men that surrounded him. There were 16 of them all together, including the 10 that were gambling outside. There were more, but he'd taken them out. Youngjae counted. He was trained to weigh the odds. And right now the odds were teaming ip against him. They might as well have been gambling with his life. Let the aces and spades decide. And maybe, just maybe, fate would be kinder on him.
"It'll only get more painful for you, Yoo youngjae. Just tell me where he is, and you can leave..."
Youngjae gave a weak smile. Where he is. The ambiguity of it was beautiful. He could've been anyone. Passing stranger, target, threat. Thing is, he wasn't. He was Jung daehyun. Third in command, exceptional shooter, brutal, cunning. He never misses. Not especially when the target was the leader of the sect they were assigned to exterminate. The sect that now held youngjae hostage. They wanted revenge. Revenge on the brown haired boy, the one with fire in his eyes. That's all they knew about him. And youngjae was just convenient information. He was nothing more. Hacker, intelligence, most unfortunate. He closed his eyes. He'd rather die than tell.
Aren't you afraid? The boy asked, doe eyes brimming with uncertainty.
No Jae, we're just marionettes in their game. A shrug, a kind smile, as certain as a promise.
Wood and string; wood and string; wood and string. They can't feel, we can't too. Youngjae chanted in his mind. He felt a warm hand encircling his in a tight squeeze and he knew it was just his imagination. He anticipated the next blow and hoped it would be lethal enough to kill him. He felt a slash across his face, left by blunt metal.
"Hyung. We found something." one of the men handed something over to the second in command, and his attention was directed away from youngjae. "It was sewn into a compartment on pretty boy's jacket."
Youngjae's jaw tensed as he recognized the crumple of gloss and ink. "Look what we have here!" the man waved it in front of youngjae's face and he lunged forward, only to be stopped by the biting ropes around his hands. He could barely make out two figures, smug; teasing. But he knew the exact compositions of that picture. He studied it under the dim light of his bunk. The only thing he held dear to him. He and daehyun had stitched it to a compartment in his jacket in a streak of adolescent defiance. they weren't allowed to have pictures. They were too telling of human interaction. But they did it anyways. Took the shot with a stolen camera, in the safety of the dark. The flash works good to create daylight under the sheets. Youngjae was smiling in that photo, doe eyes crinkling like crescents. The boy laying beside him turned his face from the camera, form frozen in a chaste kiss on youngjae's cheek. Daehyun. The boy with fire in his eyes. Though trapped in a border of fading white, in that picture they were free. No strings, no wood. They were in love. Or so youngjae thought.
"Ah... This is so very useful isn't it... Explains so much..." the man waved the photograph in the air. "Now we're gonna have a little fun, youngjae-sshi... We're gonna make revenge-
Sweet."
That's how daehyun described youngjae's lips. Sweet. And youngjae wonders if they still were, under his captor's tongue. Bloodied; bruised; torn. He believes they aren't. They never were. Forgettable taste of ashen wood. He was but a marionette. He knew no pain, no pleasure. Daehyun made it clear that they didn't feel. Made it clear when he turned his back to leave that night. Youngjae was pushed against the floor, on all fours. They had brought him out to the streets. It didn't matter if he screamed. He'd just be another voice in an area that slept through the ringing of gunshots. He tried to fight back, but he couldn't. The cold whipped at his bare skin. His hair was pulled back sharply, by rough hands, the ones that bloodied his face. Youngjae bit down hard on his bottom lip, drawing blood to pool around his tooth. He gripped at nothingness, the unmoving tar did nothing to cushion his blunt nails against his palms. He saw stars against his eyelids, black stars dancing across a pitch sky. The pain shot up his spine and he felt his body split into uneven halves but youngjae wouldn't utter a single word to show it. Wood and string; wood and string...
Youngjae needed daehyun. But they were marionettes in a sick child's game. A tangle of wood and strings under the sheets. A mistake made by collision of two unskilled puppeteers. But daehyun was wrong. He felt. Hot skin against his, warm tongue. They connected, in a way that was undeniably human. They weren't wood and string. He knew. But maybe daehyun didn't. Maybe daehyun didn't make love to him. Maybe they didn't know love at all. It was all part of a cycle, pure want, a distraction out of the corner of his trained eyes. Something to distract from the lack of humanity in their line of work. After all they couldn't make decisions. Decisions were made for them.
He clamped his eyes shut and prayed it was all a sick dream. That he'd wake up to daehyun's steady breathing against his neck. That he never knew what daehyun thought of them. That it was daehyun's arms around him, not the harsh, inhuman grasp of the captor. But no. He couldn't help but keep count of the minutes in his head. Youngjae wanted to die. Death would be much more glorifying.
"If only your boyfriend could see you like this you dirty little slut!"
Youngjae winced at that word. If only they were human enough to deserve that title. But daehyun was on a solo mission and he was alone. He'd always been alone. Too blinded by the flash to see. "Pity... Such a pretty face..." the man trailed a knife flat on youngjae's face, stopping slightly to dip it in his once milky skin, drawing crimson. "Now you have to die, Yoo youngjae... It was nice doing business with you..." A smirk and-
Youngjae heard a gunshot. He didn't need to look to know that blood was seeping out of his chest, where his heart was supposed to be. He'd give anything for that dull throbbing pain to replace the one he felt in his heart. But no. He collapsed on the floor, hands grasping at hot tar. He was tired. A tear slid past his eyes as he closed them. Wood and string; wood and string...
But that didn't stop him from thinking about daehyun. Maybe in another life he wouldn't be held back by the strings tied to his wrists, keeping him upright. Maybe in another life they would have felt, they would have thought for themselves and not have to wait for instructions to pass through the intercom. They could decide then. Decide to buy a house, go grocery shopping, have a nice homecooked meal by the TV. Take long strings of pictures in the photobooth with varying poses, lips connecting, victory signs held high. Do other things normal people did. Spend evenings up at the edge of buildings, savouring the last of daylight. Youngjae would have liked that. Maybe he could even make daehyun fall in love with him for real this time. Youngjae chuckled. He could hear the weak flutter of his heart by his ears. He looked at his fingers. They looked as lonely as he was. No hand to caress them, no band to adorn that one finger. He almost felt the cool of the metal curl around his fourth finger. He imagined its matt surface warming up to his touch. "Daehyunnie..." Youngjae smiled. He was afraid. So afraid. He needed daehyun. Daehyun promised. But Daehyun wasn't coming. Youngjae was but a marionette. Nothing mattered. Love wasn't going to come for him.
"I'm sorry..."
[beat]
Daehyun weighed the rings in his palm. Cool metal gracing his warm skin. Matt surface attempting a reflection of his smile. No other rings would do. Youngjae was stubborn as a mule. If he liked something it would be impossible to change his mind. He slipped them in his pocket, liking how the extra weight gave him assurance. He was going to set things right with youngjae. He was wrong when he left the other night. He knew. Deep inside him he knew they weren't wood and string. He lied. He was afraid. Afraid of feeling. Because hurt was never a feeling he wanted to get acquainted with. But they were going to cut the strings that held them from their shoulders. They were going to be free, be human again. He would slip that ring on youngjae's ring finger, the one that had the vein that led straight to the heart. They would buy a cheap house in the countryside, away from the society that cradled them over danger. They would have meals by the fire, take a walk in the forests when the weater permitted. Spend cold nights with Youngjae safe in his arms. They would never have to be marionettes again. They could be human. So undeniably human. Daehyun could only hope that youngjae wasn't still mad at him. He dismissed that, busying himself with plans of how an where exactly to tell youngjae. Then he smiled. He knew the perfect place-
They were young and perched precariously on the edge of the building. Watching the city pass below. Youngjae liked that.
"Aren't you afraid, Daehyunnie?" Yougjae asked, doe eyes brimming with uncertainty.
"No Jae, we're just marionettes in their game..." A shrug, a kind smile, as certain as a promise. Daehyun pulled youngjae closer, making sure the harsh wind wouldn't push him over. He held youngjae's hand tight on his lap, "Besides... I'll always be here to protect you..."