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[05] Of Wires and Threads (part two)
Authors: nemesae & taylormercury
Rating: PG-13
Focus: Geng, Kibum
Summary: It's ironic, that escaping the Syndicate when he had the chance was perhaps the worst thing he could have done.
Notes: Archive. Freedom.
The wind is chill this evening, rips easily through the thin material of his jacket, finds all the chinks in his armour and settles coldly against his skin. Hyukjae pulls the jacket tighter around himself and huffs in annoyance. He hates the cold. Hates it more when he can’t afford a decent coat. This winter is going to be hell, he thinks, if he can’t get enough cash for one. The jacket he has now is thin and flimsy and too old to be of any use anymore, and he’s sure if a hard enough wind comes screaming by (and it will, soon enough) the thing will just fall off of him in pieces. Commit jacket suicide.
It feels chillier, too, because it’s so damn dark out. At least two of the street lights are broken. Vandals. He remembers the crunch of broken glass beneath his shoe. And, to top it off, he shouldn’t even be on his own, tonight. Donghae had finished work at the same time, and should be with him right now, laughing about something stupid, or else having another meaningless argument, as per usual for them. Except after work, Donghae had rushed off with some hurried excuse about ‘plans or something, later Hyuk!’ Hyukjae suspects it has something to do with that guy Donghae’s been stalking.
Another huff of annoyance and Hyukjae starts to finger the key in his pocket as he nears the apartment. He hopes Kibum is home, even if he has been quieter, and moodier, than usual. Kibum is still better than no one. The steady, almost rhythmic click of his shoes against the pavement echo down the empty street. Empty anyway, except for the guy hanging out by one of the working street lights. Back against dirty brick wall, cigarette hanging from his mouth. Hyukjae sees him but doesn’t. He’s been there for months, now, and it’s safest just to ignore the suspicious presence. In Hyukjae’s experience, taking notice can get a person into trouble, and he’s had enough of that over the past few years, thanks very much.
Even so, he hurries his walking just a little, wants even more so now to just get home, back into the, well it’s not exactly warm, but there are walls and floor and ceiling to keep out the chill wind, but back into the safety, perhaps, of the apartment.
He’s so immersed in his thoughts, in trying to keep the weak jacket wrapped tightly enough around himself to keep out the majority of the wind, that Hyukjae doesn’t hear the other set of footsteps, quietly echoing his own.
“Hey.”
The voice startles him, makes him physically jump inside his own skin, and he hesitates in his step, just for a moment, before deciding to ignore it, and walk on. Get home get home get home he chants to himself, a silent litany.
“Hey, you. I just want a quick word.”
The voice is closer now, and Hyukjae hesitates again. Longer, this time. Long enough to be caught up with. All these weeks of being watched - two months of it now, right? - and not once have any of them been approached. Not once. So of course, straight away, Hyukjae is on guard, mind flying through a million possibilities of why it is different this time. Most of those million possibilities end up with him being shot, too. And Hyukjae does not like that thought. Nerves prickle beneath his skin, and if he had looked, he’d have seen gooseflesh covering his arms, and not from cold.
He turns slowly to face the man. He’s tall, and Hyukjae avoids looking at his face. He doesn’t want to be able to pick him out of a line-up, because isn’t that how things go down in the movies? All those gangster flicks that Donghae gets such a kick out of? He actually wishes Donghae were with him right now, which is honestly something Hyukjae does not usually wish for, ever. But right now, he does.
“….Uh, yeah?” Hyukjae tries not to appear as nervy and on-edge as he actually feels. Tries to look and sound like he can’t care less, as if this guy and what he might have to say has no effect on him whatsoever. Even though that isn’t really the case, at all.
The guy shifts his weight from one foot to the other - Hyukjae is still not looking at his face, so he notices - and flicks the dying end of his cigarette away. “Just a couple quick questions, alright?”
He’s surprised. This guy sounds about as frazzled and frayed and on-edge as he feels right now. There’s an obvious tone of irritation, of impatience, to his voice. Hyukjae doesn’t see it - he isn’t looking - but the guy’s eyes flicker almost anxiously from one end of the street to the other. Watching.
His attention returns to Hyukjae and he speaks again, before any protests can be made. “You haven’t seen anything…strange, happening around here lately, have you?”
He wants to say ‘well actually, all this surveillance going on outside my apartment is a little strange’, but says instead, “what, strange? No. No more than usual.” Hyukjae hopes his voice doesn’t sound as shaky as it feels. This guy, he notices, is pretty well dressed. Surprisingly so, especially for this area. Hyukjae would have thought the guy was a cop, but for the shifty way in which he’s behaving - another shift from one leg back to the other - leads him to think otherwise. Not professional.
It doesn’t make him feel any more relaxed, knowing this guy isn’t a cop, and - holy shit, is that a bulge Hyukjae can see under the guy’s coat? Right where a gun could be hidden? Shit, shit shit shit, and suddenly all of those millions of outcomes are all ending in bullet holes and blood and a dead Hyukjae.
His nerves spike and he really, really wishes that Donghae hadn’t ran off on him. Come to think of it…Donghae’s been disappearing a lot like that recently. A good couple of weeks, at least. Why does he keep going missing like this? Oh god, what if, what if…
There is a moment in time when Hyukjae is almost certain he’s going to hyperventilate in his horror. But the voice of the guy, who isn’t leaving him alone yet, cuts through the paranoia and Hyukjae is quite relieved to find he can still breathe just fine. For now.
“You sure? Nothing at all?” The guy presses, and now he looks directly at Hyukjae. The weight of his gaze falls heavily on him, and Hyukjae tries, tries very very hard, not to look nervously away from it. “Not seen anybody…unusual, showing up all a sudden? An old fr-" he cuts himself off quickly. As if he’s said too much, and Hyukjae is sure, that he has.
He shakes his head, tries his best to look convincing - well, and it is true, after all - “No, not that I recall. Look, I’m running kind of late, here, so…” his heart is racing inside his chest, thump-thumping away in his panic that that bulge beneath the coat is going to be revealed as a gun at any moment and Hyukjae will be-
A noise suddenly fills the dark silence between them, and Hyukjae is so surprised by how out of place it is that it doesn’t even register at first just what it is he’s hearing. Some classical tune. It isn’t until the guy pulls a cell phone from his pocket that it clicks; ringtone. The guy starts speaking into the receiver quickly, voice filled with pinpricks of irritation.
“So, I’m just gonna go now, okay?” Hyukjae says quietly, and when the guy pays him no heed, turns and walks as quickly across the street to his own apartment as he possibly can without actually running, silently thanking god, and everything else under the sun - and the moon too, he amends, since it’s evening right now after all - that he got out of that one alive.
His heart is still racing as he climbs the stairs up to his floor as quickly as possible - two at a time, even three once, but he knocks his shin against the step and curses at the sudden pain that blooms - and throwing open the door (locking it just as quickly, and checking it several times first), Hyukjae has never, ever felt so relieved at the sight of Kibum sitting moodily at the kitchen table as he is right now.
“You will not believe what just happened to me,” the words tumble from his mouth in a rush as he starts to take his roommate through every, harrowing second of his bare minutes ago encounter with bad guys.
It doesn’t escape Hyukjae’s notice, however, that Donghae is still not there, and his heart thumps harder in anxious worry over where his other roommate keeps disappearing to, and why. Because whatever it is, Hyukjae is now almost certain that it can’t be good.
Weeks go on like this. It's getting colder outside, and those that don't have to be out of their houses make sure that they won't be. Those that have no place to go light fires from oil barrels, most of them filled with paper waste and only a few with longer lasting inflammables, at corners of the street or in shadows that would otherwise look empty. It's the time of the year when it becomes apparent just how many homeless people the city harbours.
Weeks, before the remainder of the surveillance unit covering the forty-first block of the fifth quarter, too, is given the official note to dismiss and return to base for a debriefing.
Donghae picks it up one foggy November morning, when he tunes into the hacked frequency with his radio - it's too primitive, but he can't afford a computer at home and at least it's impossible to trace - between a cup of cold cheap brand leftover coffee and an hour in front of the TV that really needs to be replaced soon, because the reception is getting worse and worse.
He runs to Hyukjae's bed, hits him out of his stupor with his pillow, and shouts cheerfully "Wake up! Wake up, you retard!" while bouncing on the bed and on top of him.
Unfortunately, Hyukjae's Donghae-oriented behaviour isn't any better when it's early in the morning and he doesn't know what's going on, because a second later Donghae's violently shoved off the bed and onto the floor and he turns around with a groan and a whiny "... Leave me alone."
A huff, and Donghae scrambles up to open the curtains enthusiastically. Then he moves to switch on his alarm clock, and sits around to watch the result of his efforts with proud satisfaction.
"Wha----t?" draws out an annoyed voice.
"We're having a guest over!" Donghae happily chirps. "I want you out, tonight!"
The only conclusion that Hyukjae can draw, in cooperation with weeks of suspicion after Donghae's odd post-professional disappearances, isn't a nice one. He sits up, looks at his friend distastefully, and then glances at the hamster in the cage on the floor, looking up at both of them with terrified but curious eyes, while begging too obviously for food and new water. He turns his eyes back on Donghae slowly. Murderously.
"Oh no."
He's returned with a horrible grimace, and another slap of the pillow.
"What?!"
"Lee Donghae! You're not inviting that what's-his-name over into our bedroom."
"What?"
He's more confused now. When it rings through, and he gains a level - small as it is - of comprehension, he huffs "I wouldn't even ask you if I'd invite him over into our bedroom, and who I invite over into my bed is my own business! It's for Kibum, you-" And he pulls a face like he's going to really swing him a punch if he doesn't stop jumping to stupid conclusions. Donghae gives himself away by his slightly sparkling eyes when he's supposed to be protesting, though.
Interest captured, Hyukjae tilts his sleep-drowsy - and sleep-tousled - head to the side. "I thought we didn't do that anymore," he said, "We hooked him up with maybe ten chicks, and he rejected them all without a thought. Come on, didn't you say you 'finally got what he is like' - whatever that may be - and that we shouldn't waste our efforts?" Donghae, too, remembers how they used to try and alleviate Kibum’s sorrows by setting him up with girls they knew, having to go to extremes in making any encounter seem casual and unintentional, but how none of it ended up having an impact on him. So, they had concluded, he wasn't being grumpy because he wasn't getting laid.
Well, that had been the official conclusion. Donghae still feels that explaining the much more likely possibility might perhaps be a little too forward for his dear friend.
"No," he states with another pillow punch, "This one is different. I just don't want you to be around to ruin it for them."
"... Did you get a stripper?"
Donghae glares at him.
That night, after work, and after a thorough check to see if the units have all really left - moreover, being confirmed when Heechul calls him and informs him of it; they both have different sources, so it's like getting the confirmation of a second opinion - for the first time he waits up for Hyukjae and tugs him along against his will, up thirteen stairs to the fourteenth floor which are, after they pass the fifth, met with a lot of complaining for every flight, because Donghae doesn't tell how many floors exactly they have to climb as a precaution for Hyukjae skipping back down.
Big eyes look up at them from the huddled form in the corner of the room.
Hyukjae doesn't recognise him at first, being cloaked in the shadows while he himself is too out of breath to quite care about other presences. But when he sees the flicker of a spark, he ignores his best friend's sharp nudge and thinks that there's no way he's going to be out of the house tonight.
There are fire insurances to be looked over.
About an hour later, the thought is changed to 'insurances in general' when - after the heinously nerve-wracking task of escorting a man hidden behind too big sunglasses and Donghae's fisherman hat, and who doesn't shiver in a tank top while it's snowing suspiciously peacefully outside, as inconspicuously as they can - Donghae decides to go about it as tactless as he usually is and scrapes his throat while Kibum's in the middle of his meal, and Hyukjae sees the glass in his hand shatter on the floor in slow motion with a heavy heart.
There's darkness where he sits. Darkness, and the distinct cold that comes with not all systems being operational in the underground arena and the lack of people surrounding him - and it doesn't quite feel the same without the adrenaline rush they are able to provide. There are a few people up ahead, but they're all occupied with tests and security, and none of them sits in the top box next to him, except for a man in a wheelchair with his hair still too short and bruises too obvious to resemble the person that he was before. The hospital staff informed them it would take time, but from time to time it's still mildly confronting.
Concrete and reinforced glass separate them from the pit. Shiwon observes Ryeowook as he retreats back into the shadows, a few levels up from the pit, focused entirely on his task at hand. Ryeowook, who usually sits next to him, if his spot hadn't been taken today.
"I never expected you wanted to be here," Shiwon conversationally points out as he taps a few ashes off his cigarette and enjoys the nicotine he breathes in deeply.
"He's powerful," Kang says with a mirthless chuckle and a raspier voice than he had before - it suits him more than the voice he had before, though, Shiwon thinks - "Security was lax, and I paid the price, but we all learnt from that mistake. He's fascinating, being able to break through so easily, if that's what you mean." He's a rough ten years older than the man sitting next to him, but they speak as if they're equals. They respect each other enough for that. And they both share the same unhealthy fascination for danger.
Sometimes, that's what it takes in this field of work.
"You're buying him, they told me," he smiles.
"I'm still in procedure," Shiwon returns with an amused shake of his head, "They love to bend the truth, don't they?"
Kang shrugs, coughs terribly for a second, and then sighs. He's not what he used to be. He lets his eyes rest shortly, and then looks down into the arena. Security systems have been engaged, and there's gravel on the floor under bare feet, but it misses the magic of a true fight. Of course it does. It's the first time their subject is out into the pit. Probably the first time he gets a glimpse of his new purpose in life - to fight, become popular, earn a name; and the Syndicate will take care of everything else, make sure those authority bastards won't get a hold of him - but he's handling himself well.
"Pity," his chest falls, "I would have loved to see his potential blossom against Geng. Fire and ice. What a fight that would be. So how is the new kid doing?"
Shiwon leans back in his seat. He looks at the one down in the circle try to spark up something terribly weak. His offence is poor. Interestingly enough, when his opponent - they call him a Mirror because he doesn't have any significant powers of his own, at least not any that he can attack with, which makes him useless for the arena although priceless for the training unit, but he's somehow always able to bend and turn his opponent's power against themselves - charges him, his defence is impenetrably strong.
It's still too uncontrolled, but he'll get there. Shiwon smiles proudly. In his mind he owns him, already. A fighter of his own.
"Cho's holding up," he smiles and turns to the scientist sitting next to him, "He's like a younger version of you. Brilliant, but without boundaries. He'll get there. I'd like for him to stay on the team after you return."
Kang nods without a second of consideration. He feels quite the same way.
"And the pyrokinetic? " he wonders.
It’s difficult for Geng to process. To accept. To believe as reality, when for so long scenes like these were just that, scenes played out inside his mind, dreams, fancies, but never real. And for the longest time, Geng had been certain that they never would be real, not when he had thought Kibum was dead.
But he’s not, and he can see for himself, in all the crystal clarity of reality, with his own two eyes wide open, this is not a dream, nor a fancy. Now that it’s actually happening, finally something that doesn’t take place in only his mind, Geng doesn’t really know how to deal with the situation.
Things had become awkward after Donghae had, a little too cheerfully, cleaned up the mess of Kibum’s shattered glass, and now they’re all seated in the living room, Geng in the tattered chair and Kibum, Donghae and Hyukjae on the couch. Hyukjae keeps shooting glances over in Geng’s direction, watching him shrewdly, and Geng suspects he knows exactly why. He’s already apologised, on the way back to the apartment, for burning Hyukjae’s other place down.
“See, Kibummie,” Donghae says, cheerfully, “didn’t I tell you it was all for the best? You can thank me later, for being so awesome.” He grins knowingly and nudges Kibum in the side, before shooting a glance over in Geng’s direction as well. And then he’s pushing himself up from the couch, arms above his head as he stretches, and nudges Hyukjae’s leg with his foot.
“Come on, Hyuk. Let’s leave them to catch up.” The way he says it would make Geng’s face flame, if he were prone to blushing. Kibum, however, shoots a rather murderous glare at his less-than-subtle friend. Former friend, perhaps, if he keeps this up.
Hyukjae shakes his head. “You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him, too. I think I’d like to…like to catch up, too.”
No one is convinced.
“Hyukjae, come on,” Donghae smacks his friend around the back of the head. “I told you earlier. The two of them have a lot to talk about.”
Kibum looks as if he’s already plotting several different ways to kill the both of them, and Geng simply remains quiet in his seat, observing.
“So what? Doesn’t mean I can’t-ouch! Stop that!” He protests, and rubs the spot on his head Donghae’s hand had met once again.
“We’ve run out of food for Soju. If we don’t buy him anymore right now, he’ll die. Do you want your hamster to die?” Donghae has even resorted now to physically attempting to drag Hyukjae from the couch.
“I fed him before we left, he’s fine.”
“Holy crap, don’t you get it?” Donghae whacks his friend again in his frustration. “How dense are you?”
Mumbling about permanent brain damage soon, Hyukjae looks from Kibum to Geng, bemused. Kibum still looks murderous, and Geng’s busy trying to look quite intrigued by the carpet at his feet (actually, it is a little interesting, there’s a series of strange, different coloured spots of stains, and he wonders idly what might have caused them). “Why can’t we all-" the words die in Hyukjae’s throat and slowly, slowly, it dawns on him.
He looks horrified.
“Oh, no. No, no. This is my apartment and they are not, no.”
Finally succeeding, Donghae has Hyukjae up and holds him firmly by the arm. “Yes, they are. If they want to. It’s Kibum’s apartment too, you know. Now, let’s go.”
Geng is sure, as Donghae drags Hyukjae out of the apartment - with his parting words of, “I better come home to a normal, intact, apartment!” - that he has never before felt so much like he would just like for the ground to open up beneath him and swallow him whole. Or something along those lines, anything, as long as it involves his vanishing from this horrible situation.
Not only is it downright humiliating, having both of Kibum’s friends imply such things, but even worse, after such implications have been made, to now just leave the both of them alone.
It occurs to Geng at that moment, that this is the first time in a very, very long time, that he and Kibum have been entirely alone together, no one else around. Just the two of them. And nothing crazy going on around them. Geng isn’t used to it, for a large portion of his life, there has always been something going on, he’s always had to be on guard, on edge, prepared and ready for anything.
It’s strange, almost surreal, to be sitting here, in a tattered old chair in a draughty apartment - not that he feels any cold, of course - across from the one person he’s been wanting to see for the past three years, and not have to worry. He can’t relax, though. Isn’t sure he even knows how to relax.
Kibum clears his throat, and the sudden noise makes Geng flinch, already half standing from his seat, prepared for anything. He feels foolish moments later, Kibum giving him an apologetic smile, and sits back down with a sigh.
“I…” Fingernails scratch absently over the faded denim of his jeans, “I was almost going crazy. All this time, not knowing,” Kibum looks up at Geng, and all those emotions are suddenly so clear on his face. “Not knowing what happened, to you. And everything.”
It looks as if it took a lot of effort for Kibum to get that out, and Geng tries to equal it. But everything feels so…so awkward, so heavy, so strange, between them, and the distance between the couch and the chair feels like the three years between the last time they really saw each other. And Geng isn’t sure he knows how to bridge that distance, and bring them both back to the same place.
He plucks at a fraying thread on the chair, looks at Kibum, glances away, and looks back at him again. God, but it does feel good to see him again. Really good.
“I thought you were dead,” he admits quietly. “I thought I had...” words escape him, but the look on Geng’s face says it all far more eloquently than words ever could.
Kibum stands, sudden enough to have Geng’s heart leap for a moment, and moves towards him, slices through the heavy awkwardness that is stuck between them until he is right there, right in front of Geng, close enough now to touch.
“But I’m not.”
He feels a hand on his shoulder, a barely-there squeeze of fingers, and Geng’s throat feels thick. Thick with everything, thick with three years. Three years worth of words, spoken and unspoken. As he glances up, he feels something swell inside of him. It brings back memories, nostalgia of another time, but the same people.
He swallows the thickness away, those three years of everything, and stands. Face to face. It’s as if all the time between them slowly melts away, and it could be only yesterday, standing here, that same look in Kibum’s eyes.
Without a word, Geng reaches out towards him. Traces the curves of Kibum’s face with his fingertips. Reacquainting himself with touch; sight alone simply isn’t enough. He hears the shake in Kibum’s breath, and is sure his own echoes it.
“No, no you are not.”
His other hand finds Kibum’s, and Geng laces their fingers together, fits their hands palm to palm. It’s an achingly familiar fit. He feels fingers against the back of his neck, tangled loosely in the hair at his nape, and he almost sighs. There’s so much, here. So much between them. And it’s a strange, strange situation, words have never been spoken, thoughts had never been shared, and Geng’s not entirely sure what to do, but he can see what he wants to do, right there, echoed plainly on Kibum’s face.
He breathes in deeply, feels it shake inside his chest, and can’t pull his gaze away. He feels Kibum squeeze his hand. He wets his lips nervously, and thinks that he’s become immobile, that he simply can’t move, even as all the while he’s leaning in closer, closer, so slowly that it hardly even feels like he’s moving. His heart is thumping, his throat feels thick again already, and a thousand different thoughts fly through Geng’s mind in the span of several seconds, and he’s really not even sure now if he should-
“Oh, oh. Oh, I’m sorry!” He pulls back and stares at Kibum, looking a mixture of aghast, embarrassed and apologetic all at once. “Are you okay?” His words come out in a rush. “I didn’t mean to. I-I...are you alright?”
Kibum, nose covered by both hands, nods his head. “When I stop seeing two of you, I’ll be fine,” he mumbles.
Geng’s own nose feels sore too, and he’s sure this has taught him a very valuable lesson; aim is important. “Are you sure?” He asks, concerned, leans in closer now to peer at Kibum. His effort is waved away by one hand.
“Fine. Look, see?” Kibum pulls his other hand away to reveal a perfectly fine and intact nose, a little red looking now, but otherwise fine. And now that his concern can slip away, Geng feels nothing but embarrassed, almost humiliated, even, and more awkward now than before.
“Good. That’s…good. Yes. I should, I should probably…I should just…” he looks imploringly at Kibum, and any chance of coming up with a decent excuse die right then and there. Kibum is smiling at him. Smiling.
And Geng realises with a sudden jolt that this is the first time he’s seen Kibum smile in all those years. And nothing, nothing, has ever felt as good as it does right now, to see that smile again.
Arms slip easily around each other and Geng pulls him close, closer, feels that swell inside of him again, and returns the smile.
And the pyrokinetic.
Shiwon muses over Kang's words for a moment - in which their subject in the arena throws out a particularly powerful blast, and a voice on the intercom creaks "Mr. Choi? It looks like we might need a stronger defence system," and he'll make a note to pass it onto Security when he gets back. Oh, he has a new interest, if the boy learns to just keep it under control.
Nevertheless, he smiles and stubs out his cigarette.
"Lost asset."
Kang sighs a comprehensive "Ah." He knows him better than anyone else in the circuit does. "And off the record?" he wonders with amusement.
"I'm sure you've heard of a Mr. Kim responsible for his escape three years back," Shiwon's eyes darken and he takes great pleasure in pausing for effect, to the point where he doesn't have to speak the words for Kang to know what they will be.
"It seems we've got a hit."
Authors: nemesae & taylormercury
Rating: PG-13
Focus: Geng, Kibum
Summary: It's ironic, that escaping the Syndicate when he had the chance was perhaps the worst thing he could have done.
Notes: Archive. Freedom.
The wind is chill this evening, rips easily through the thin material of his jacket, finds all the chinks in his armour and settles coldly against his skin. Hyukjae pulls the jacket tighter around himself and huffs in annoyance. He hates the cold. Hates it more when he can’t afford a decent coat. This winter is going to be hell, he thinks, if he can’t get enough cash for one. The jacket he has now is thin and flimsy and too old to be of any use anymore, and he’s sure if a hard enough wind comes screaming by (and it will, soon enough) the thing will just fall off of him in pieces. Commit jacket suicide.
It feels chillier, too, because it’s so damn dark out. At least two of the street lights are broken. Vandals. He remembers the crunch of broken glass beneath his shoe. And, to top it off, he shouldn’t even be on his own, tonight. Donghae had finished work at the same time, and should be with him right now, laughing about something stupid, or else having another meaningless argument, as per usual for them. Except after work, Donghae had rushed off with some hurried excuse about ‘plans or something, later Hyuk!’ Hyukjae suspects it has something to do with that guy Donghae’s been stalking.
Another huff of annoyance and Hyukjae starts to finger the key in his pocket as he nears the apartment. He hopes Kibum is home, even if he has been quieter, and moodier, than usual. Kibum is still better than no one. The steady, almost rhythmic click of his shoes against the pavement echo down the empty street. Empty anyway, except for the guy hanging out by one of the working street lights. Back against dirty brick wall, cigarette hanging from his mouth. Hyukjae sees him but doesn’t. He’s been there for months, now, and it’s safest just to ignore the suspicious presence. In Hyukjae’s experience, taking notice can get a person into trouble, and he’s had enough of that over the past few years, thanks very much.
Even so, he hurries his walking just a little, wants even more so now to just get home, back into the, well it’s not exactly warm, but there are walls and floor and ceiling to keep out the chill wind, but back into the safety, perhaps, of the apartment.
He’s so immersed in his thoughts, in trying to keep the weak jacket wrapped tightly enough around himself to keep out the majority of the wind, that Hyukjae doesn’t hear the other set of footsteps, quietly echoing his own.
“Hey.”
The voice startles him, makes him physically jump inside his own skin, and he hesitates in his step, just for a moment, before deciding to ignore it, and walk on. Get home get home get home he chants to himself, a silent litany.
“Hey, you. I just want a quick word.”
The voice is closer now, and Hyukjae hesitates again. Longer, this time. Long enough to be caught up with. All these weeks of being watched - two months of it now, right? - and not once have any of them been approached. Not once. So of course, straight away, Hyukjae is on guard, mind flying through a million possibilities of why it is different this time. Most of those million possibilities end up with him being shot, too. And Hyukjae does not like that thought. Nerves prickle beneath his skin, and if he had looked, he’d have seen gooseflesh covering his arms, and not from cold.
He turns slowly to face the man. He’s tall, and Hyukjae avoids looking at his face. He doesn’t want to be able to pick him out of a line-up, because isn’t that how things go down in the movies? All those gangster flicks that Donghae gets such a kick out of? He actually wishes Donghae were with him right now, which is honestly something Hyukjae does not usually wish for, ever. But right now, he does.
“….Uh, yeah?” Hyukjae tries not to appear as nervy and on-edge as he actually feels. Tries to look and sound like he can’t care less, as if this guy and what he might have to say has no effect on him whatsoever. Even though that isn’t really the case, at all.
The guy shifts his weight from one foot to the other - Hyukjae is still not looking at his face, so he notices - and flicks the dying end of his cigarette away. “Just a couple quick questions, alright?”
He’s surprised. This guy sounds about as frazzled and frayed and on-edge as he feels right now. There’s an obvious tone of irritation, of impatience, to his voice. Hyukjae doesn’t see it - he isn’t looking - but the guy’s eyes flicker almost anxiously from one end of the street to the other. Watching.
His attention returns to Hyukjae and he speaks again, before any protests can be made. “You haven’t seen anything…strange, happening around here lately, have you?”
He wants to say ‘well actually, all this surveillance going on outside my apartment is a little strange’, but says instead, “what, strange? No. No more than usual.” Hyukjae hopes his voice doesn’t sound as shaky as it feels. This guy, he notices, is pretty well dressed. Surprisingly so, especially for this area. Hyukjae would have thought the guy was a cop, but for the shifty way in which he’s behaving - another shift from one leg back to the other - leads him to think otherwise. Not professional.
It doesn’t make him feel any more relaxed, knowing this guy isn’t a cop, and - holy shit, is that a bulge Hyukjae can see under the guy’s coat? Right where a gun could be hidden? Shit, shit shit shit, and suddenly all of those millions of outcomes are all ending in bullet holes and blood and a dead Hyukjae.
His nerves spike and he really, really wishes that Donghae hadn’t ran off on him. Come to think of it…Donghae’s been disappearing a lot like that recently. A good couple of weeks, at least. Why does he keep going missing like this? Oh god, what if, what if…
There is a moment in time when Hyukjae is almost certain he’s going to hyperventilate in his horror. But the voice of the guy, who isn’t leaving him alone yet, cuts through the paranoia and Hyukjae is quite relieved to find he can still breathe just fine. For now.
“You sure? Nothing at all?” The guy presses, and now he looks directly at Hyukjae. The weight of his gaze falls heavily on him, and Hyukjae tries, tries very very hard, not to look nervously away from it. “Not seen anybody…unusual, showing up all a sudden? An old fr-" he cuts himself off quickly. As if he’s said too much, and Hyukjae is sure, that he has.
He shakes his head, tries his best to look convincing - well, and it is true, after all - “No, not that I recall. Look, I’m running kind of late, here, so…” his heart is racing inside his chest, thump-thumping away in his panic that that bulge beneath the coat is going to be revealed as a gun at any moment and Hyukjae will be-
A noise suddenly fills the dark silence between them, and Hyukjae is so surprised by how out of place it is that it doesn’t even register at first just what it is he’s hearing. Some classical tune. It isn’t until the guy pulls a cell phone from his pocket that it clicks; ringtone. The guy starts speaking into the receiver quickly, voice filled with pinpricks of irritation.
“So, I’m just gonna go now, okay?” Hyukjae says quietly, and when the guy pays him no heed, turns and walks as quickly across the street to his own apartment as he possibly can without actually running, silently thanking god, and everything else under the sun - and the moon too, he amends, since it’s evening right now after all - that he got out of that one alive.
His heart is still racing as he climbs the stairs up to his floor as quickly as possible - two at a time, even three once, but he knocks his shin against the step and curses at the sudden pain that blooms - and throwing open the door (locking it just as quickly, and checking it several times first), Hyukjae has never, ever felt so relieved at the sight of Kibum sitting moodily at the kitchen table as he is right now.
“You will not believe what just happened to me,” the words tumble from his mouth in a rush as he starts to take his roommate through every, harrowing second of his bare minutes ago encounter with bad guys.
It doesn’t escape Hyukjae’s notice, however, that Donghae is still not there, and his heart thumps harder in anxious worry over where his other roommate keeps disappearing to, and why. Because whatever it is, Hyukjae is now almost certain that it can’t be good.
Weeks go on like this. It's getting colder outside, and those that don't have to be out of their houses make sure that they won't be. Those that have no place to go light fires from oil barrels, most of them filled with paper waste and only a few with longer lasting inflammables, at corners of the street or in shadows that would otherwise look empty. It's the time of the year when it becomes apparent just how many homeless people the city harbours.
Weeks, before the remainder of the surveillance unit covering the forty-first block of the fifth quarter, too, is given the official note to dismiss and return to base for a debriefing.
Donghae picks it up one foggy November morning, when he tunes into the hacked frequency with his radio - it's too primitive, but he can't afford a computer at home and at least it's impossible to trace - between a cup of cold cheap brand leftover coffee and an hour in front of the TV that really needs to be replaced soon, because the reception is getting worse and worse.
He runs to Hyukjae's bed, hits him out of his stupor with his pillow, and shouts cheerfully "Wake up! Wake up, you retard!" while bouncing on the bed and on top of him.
Unfortunately, Hyukjae's Donghae-oriented behaviour isn't any better when it's early in the morning and he doesn't know what's going on, because a second later Donghae's violently shoved off the bed and onto the floor and he turns around with a groan and a whiny "... Leave me alone."
A huff, and Donghae scrambles up to open the curtains enthusiastically. Then he moves to switch on his alarm clock, and sits around to watch the result of his efforts with proud satisfaction.
"Wha----t?" draws out an annoyed voice.
"We're having a guest over!" Donghae happily chirps. "I want you out, tonight!"
The only conclusion that Hyukjae can draw, in cooperation with weeks of suspicion after Donghae's odd post-professional disappearances, isn't a nice one. He sits up, looks at his friend distastefully, and then glances at the hamster in the cage on the floor, looking up at both of them with terrified but curious eyes, while begging too obviously for food and new water. He turns his eyes back on Donghae slowly. Murderously.
"Oh no."
He's returned with a horrible grimace, and another slap of the pillow.
"What?!"
"Lee Donghae! You're not inviting that what's-his-name over into our bedroom."
"What?"
He's more confused now. When it rings through, and he gains a level - small as it is - of comprehension, he huffs "I wouldn't even ask you if I'd invite him over into our bedroom, and who I invite over into my bed is my own business! It's for Kibum, you-" And he pulls a face like he's going to really swing him a punch if he doesn't stop jumping to stupid conclusions. Donghae gives himself away by his slightly sparkling eyes when he's supposed to be protesting, though.
Interest captured, Hyukjae tilts his sleep-drowsy - and sleep-tousled - head to the side. "I thought we didn't do that anymore," he said, "We hooked him up with maybe ten chicks, and he rejected them all without a thought. Come on, didn't you say you 'finally got what he is like' - whatever that may be - and that we shouldn't waste our efforts?" Donghae, too, remembers how they used to try and alleviate Kibum’s sorrows by setting him up with girls they knew, having to go to extremes in making any encounter seem casual and unintentional, but how none of it ended up having an impact on him. So, they had concluded, he wasn't being grumpy because he wasn't getting laid.
Well, that had been the official conclusion. Donghae still feels that explaining the much more likely possibility might perhaps be a little too forward for his dear friend.
"No," he states with another pillow punch, "This one is different. I just don't want you to be around to ruin it for them."
"... Did you get a stripper?"
Donghae glares at him.
That night, after work, and after a thorough check to see if the units have all really left - moreover, being confirmed when Heechul calls him and informs him of it; they both have different sources, so it's like getting the confirmation of a second opinion - for the first time he waits up for Hyukjae and tugs him along against his will, up thirteen stairs to the fourteenth floor which are, after they pass the fifth, met with a lot of complaining for every flight, because Donghae doesn't tell how many floors exactly they have to climb as a precaution for Hyukjae skipping back down.
Big eyes look up at them from the huddled form in the corner of the room.
Hyukjae doesn't recognise him at first, being cloaked in the shadows while he himself is too out of breath to quite care about other presences. But when he sees the flicker of a spark, he ignores his best friend's sharp nudge and thinks that there's no way he's going to be out of the house tonight.
There are fire insurances to be looked over.
About an hour later, the thought is changed to 'insurances in general' when - after the heinously nerve-wracking task of escorting a man hidden behind too big sunglasses and Donghae's fisherman hat, and who doesn't shiver in a tank top while it's snowing suspiciously peacefully outside, as inconspicuously as they can - Donghae decides to go about it as tactless as he usually is and scrapes his throat while Kibum's in the middle of his meal, and Hyukjae sees the glass in his hand shatter on the floor in slow motion with a heavy heart.
There's darkness where he sits. Darkness, and the distinct cold that comes with not all systems being operational in the underground arena and the lack of people surrounding him - and it doesn't quite feel the same without the adrenaline rush they are able to provide. There are a few people up ahead, but they're all occupied with tests and security, and none of them sits in the top box next to him, except for a man in a wheelchair with his hair still too short and bruises too obvious to resemble the person that he was before. The hospital staff informed them it would take time, but from time to time it's still mildly confronting.
Concrete and reinforced glass separate them from the pit. Shiwon observes Ryeowook as he retreats back into the shadows, a few levels up from the pit, focused entirely on his task at hand. Ryeowook, who usually sits next to him, if his spot hadn't been taken today.
"I never expected you wanted to be here," Shiwon conversationally points out as he taps a few ashes off his cigarette and enjoys the nicotine he breathes in deeply.
"He's powerful," Kang says with a mirthless chuckle and a raspier voice than he had before - it suits him more than the voice he had before, though, Shiwon thinks - "Security was lax, and I paid the price, but we all learnt from that mistake. He's fascinating, being able to break through so easily, if that's what you mean." He's a rough ten years older than the man sitting next to him, but they speak as if they're equals. They respect each other enough for that. And they both share the same unhealthy fascination for danger.
Sometimes, that's what it takes in this field of work.
"You're buying him, they told me," he smiles.
"I'm still in procedure," Shiwon returns with an amused shake of his head, "They love to bend the truth, don't they?"
Kang shrugs, coughs terribly for a second, and then sighs. He's not what he used to be. He lets his eyes rest shortly, and then looks down into the arena. Security systems have been engaged, and there's gravel on the floor under bare feet, but it misses the magic of a true fight. Of course it does. It's the first time their subject is out into the pit. Probably the first time he gets a glimpse of his new purpose in life - to fight, become popular, earn a name; and the Syndicate will take care of everything else, make sure those authority bastards won't get a hold of him - but he's handling himself well.
"Pity," his chest falls, "I would have loved to see his potential blossom against Geng. Fire and ice. What a fight that would be. So how is the new kid doing?"
Shiwon leans back in his seat. He looks at the one down in the circle try to spark up something terribly weak. His offence is poor. Interestingly enough, when his opponent - they call him a Mirror because he doesn't have any significant powers of his own, at least not any that he can attack with, which makes him useless for the arena although priceless for the training unit, but he's somehow always able to bend and turn his opponent's power against themselves - charges him, his defence is impenetrably strong.
It's still too uncontrolled, but he'll get there. Shiwon smiles proudly. In his mind he owns him, already. A fighter of his own.
"Cho's holding up," he smiles and turns to the scientist sitting next to him, "He's like a younger version of you. Brilliant, but without boundaries. He'll get there. I'd like for him to stay on the team after you return."
Kang nods without a second of consideration. He feels quite the same way.
"And the pyrokinetic? " he wonders.
It’s difficult for Geng to process. To accept. To believe as reality, when for so long scenes like these were just that, scenes played out inside his mind, dreams, fancies, but never real. And for the longest time, Geng had been certain that they never would be real, not when he had thought Kibum was dead.
But he’s not, and he can see for himself, in all the crystal clarity of reality, with his own two eyes wide open, this is not a dream, nor a fancy. Now that it’s actually happening, finally something that doesn’t take place in only his mind, Geng doesn’t really know how to deal with the situation.
Things had become awkward after Donghae had, a little too cheerfully, cleaned up the mess of Kibum’s shattered glass, and now they’re all seated in the living room, Geng in the tattered chair and Kibum, Donghae and Hyukjae on the couch. Hyukjae keeps shooting glances over in Geng’s direction, watching him shrewdly, and Geng suspects he knows exactly why. He’s already apologised, on the way back to the apartment, for burning Hyukjae’s other place down.
“See, Kibummie,” Donghae says, cheerfully, “didn’t I tell you it was all for the best? You can thank me later, for being so awesome.” He grins knowingly and nudges Kibum in the side, before shooting a glance over in Geng’s direction as well. And then he’s pushing himself up from the couch, arms above his head as he stretches, and nudges Hyukjae’s leg with his foot.
“Come on, Hyuk. Let’s leave them to catch up.” The way he says it would make Geng’s face flame, if he were prone to blushing. Kibum, however, shoots a rather murderous glare at his less-than-subtle friend. Former friend, perhaps, if he keeps this up.
Hyukjae shakes his head. “You know, it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him, too. I think I’d like to…like to catch up, too.”
No one is convinced.
“Hyukjae, come on,” Donghae smacks his friend around the back of the head. “I told you earlier. The two of them have a lot to talk about.”
Kibum looks as if he’s already plotting several different ways to kill the both of them, and Geng simply remains quiet in his seat, observing.
“So what? Doesn’t mean I can’t-ouch! Stop that!” He protests, and rubs the spot on his head Donghae’s hand had met once again.
“We’ve run out of food for Soju. If we don’t buy him anymore right now, he’ll die. Do you want your hamster to die?” Donghae has even resorted now to physically attempting to drag Hyukjae from the couch.
“I fed him before we left, he’s fine.”
“Holy crap, don’t you get it?” Donghae whacks his friend again in his frustration. “How dense are you?”
Mumbling about permanent brain damage soon, Hyukjae looks from Kibum to Geng, bemused. Kibum still looks murderous, and Geng’s busy trying to look quite intrigued by the carpet at his feet (actually, it is a little interesting, there’s a series of strange, different coloured spots of stains, and he wonders idly what might have caused them). “Why can’t we all-" the words die in Hyukjae’s throat and slowly, slowly, it dawns on him.
He looks horrified.
“Oh, no. No, no. This is my apartment and they are not, no.”
Finally succeeding, Donghae has Hyukjae up and holds him firmly by the arm. “Yes, they are. If they want to. It’s Kibum’s apartment too, you know. Now, let’s go.”
Geng is sure, as Donghae drags Hyukjae out of the apartment - with his parting words of, “I better come home to a normal, intact, apartment!” - that he has never before felt so much like he would just like for the ground to open up beneath him and swallow him whole. Or something along those lines, anything, as long as it involves his vanishing from this horrible situation.
Not only is it downright humiliating, having both of Kibum’s friends imply such things, but even worse, after such implications have been made, to now just leave the both of them alone.
It occurs to Geng at that moment, that this is the first time in a very, very long time, that he and Kibum have been entirely alone together, no one else around. Just the two of them. And nothing crazy going on around them. Geng isn’t used to it, for a large portion of his life, there has always been something going on, he’s always had to be on guard, on edge, prepared and ready for anything.
It’s strange, almost surreal, to be sitting here, in a tattered old chair in a draughty apartment - not that he feels any cold, of course - across from the one person he’s been wanting to see for the past three years, and not have to worry. He can’t relax, though. Isn’t sure he even knows how to relax.
Kibum clears his throat, and the sudden noise makes Geng flinch, already half standing from his seat, prepared for anything. He feels foolish moments later, Kibum giving him an apologetic smile, and sits back down with a sigh.
“I…” Fingernails scratch absently over the faded denim of his jeans, “I was almost going crazy. All this time, not knowing,” Kibum looks up at Geng, and all those emotions are suddenly so clear on his face. “Not knowing what happened, to you. And everything.”
It looks as if it took a lot of effort for Kibum to get that out, and Geng tries to equal it. But everything feels so…so awkward, so heavy, so strange, between them, and the distance between the couch and the chair feels like the three years between the last time they really saw each other. And Geng isn’t sure he knows how to bridge that distance, and bring them both back to the same place.
He plucks at a fraying thread on the chair, looks at Kibum, glances away, and looks back at him again. God, but it does feel good to see him again. Really good.
“I thought you were dead,” he admits quietly. “I thought I had...” words escape him, but the look on Geng’s face says it all far more eloquently than words ever could.
Kibum stands, sudden enough to have Geng’s heart leap for a moment, and moves towards him, slices through the heavy awkwardness that is stuck between them until he is right there, right in front of Geng, close enough now to touch.
“But I’m not.”
He feels a hand on his shoulder, a barely-there squeeze of fingers, and Geng’s throat feels thick. Thick with everything, thick with three years. Three years worth of words, spoken and unspoken. As he glances up, he feels something swell inside of him. It brings back memories, nostalgia of another time, but the same people.
He swallows the thickness away, those three years of everything, and stands. Face to face. It’s as if all the time between them slowly melts away, and it could be only yesterday, standing here, that same look in Kibum’s eyes.
Without a word, Geng reaches out towards him. Traces the curves of Kibum’s face with his fingertips. Reacquainting himself with touch; sight alone simply isn’t enough. He hears the shake in Kibum’s breath, and is sure his own echoes it.
“No, no you are not.”
His other hand finds Kibum’s, and Geng laces their fingers together, fits their hands palm to palm. It’s an achingly familiar fit. He feels fingers against the back of his neck, tangled loosely in the hair at his nape, and he almost sighs. There’s so much, here. So much between them. And it’s a strange, strange situation, words have never been spoken, thoughts had never been shared, and Geng’s not entirely sure what to do, but he can see what he wants to do, right there, echoed plainly on Kibum’s face.
He breathes in deeply, feels it shake inside his chest, and can’t pull his gaze away. He feels Kibum squeeze his hand. He wets his lips nervously, and thinks that he’s become immobile, that he simply can’t move, even as all the while he’s leaning in closer, closer, so slowly that it hardly even feels like he’s moving. His heart is thumping, his throat feels thick again already, and a thousand different thoughts fly through Geng’s mind in the span of several seconds, and he’s really not even sure now if he should-
“Oh, oh. Oh, I’m sorry!” He pulls back and stares at Kibum, looking a mixture of aghast, embarrassed and apologetic all at once. “Are you okay?” His words come out in a rush. “I didn’t mean to. I-I...are you alright?”
Kibum, nose covered by both hands, nods his head. “When I stop seeing two of you, I’ll be fine,” he mumbles.
Geng’s own nose feels sore too, and he’s sure this has taught him a very valuable lesson; aim is important. “Are you sure?” He asks, concerned, leans in closer now to peer at Kibum. His effort is waved away by one hand.
“Fine. Look, see?” Kibum pulls his other hand away to reveal a perfectly fine and intact nose, a little red looking now, but otherwise fine. And now that his concern can slip away, Geng feels nothing but embarrassed, almost humiliated, even, and more awkward now than before.
“Good. That’s…good. Yes. I should, I should probably…I should just…” he looks imploringly at Kibum, and any chance of coming up with a decent excuse die right then and there. Kibum is smiling at him. Smiling.
And Geng realises with a sudden jolt that this is the first time he’s seen Kibum smile in all those years. And nothing, nothing, has ever felt as good as it does right now, to see that smile again.
Arms slip easily around each other and Geng pulls him close, closer, feels that swell inside of him again, and returns the smile.
And the pyrokinetic.
Shiwon muses over Kang's words for a moment - in which their subject in the arena throws out a particularly powerful blast, and a voice on the intercom creaks "Mr. Choi? It looks like we might need a stronger defence system," and he'll make a note to pass it onto Security when he gets back. Oh, he has a new interest, if the boy learns to just keep it under control.
Nevertheless, he smiles and stubs out his cigarette.
"Lost asset."
Kang sighs a comprehensive "Ah." He knows him better than anyone else in the circuit does. "And off the record?" he wonders with amusement.
"I'm sure you've heard of a Mr. Kim responsible for his escape three years back," Shiwon's eyes darken and he takes great pleasure in pausing for effect, to the point where he doesn't have to speak the words for Kang to know what they will be.
"It seems we've got a hit."