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"See, that"s the thing. " There"s a lot of conviction behind the word.
An emphasis on the words like he really means it and Hongjoong can only smile. Mingi has been talking for the last half hour nonstop of his shift and Hongjoong has lost his ability to pay attention long before that time. He thinks it has something to do with a new plotline in the Batman franchise, but he"s fuzzy on the details. He doesn"t have the heart to tell Mingi that he doesn"t know what the thing is and therefore cannot see the point he"s trying to make. He hasn"t heard a single word of what Mingi has said otheriwse, but he can"t bring himself to say it. He doesn"t want to explain that he"s more tired than usual. He"s already crushed two cans of watermelon-flavored Monster energy drinks (surprisingly good and probably going to give his caffeine addiction a run for its money). He doesn"t want to deal with the questions that the first explanation will invoke when he doesn"t even have the answers to said questions.
He pretends to flip through another page of the trashy tabloid magazine he picked off the rack before this whole conversation started. Or, monologue; Mingi has been doing all the talking, after all. Hongjoong gives a hum of affirmation and he feigns interest in the troubled waters of Brad Pitt"s relationships. He"s come to the conclusion that Brad should have just stayed with Angelina from the few words that he"s read on how it"s going with Jennifer. Mingi glances up at him following his silence, but doesn"t seem to notice. Or maybe the timing is so right that it actually looks like Hongjoong gives a shit. Regardless, Mingi keeps talking.
Any other night, it would be a pleasant buzz as they pass the time left in Mingi"s shift before Hongjoong would be left on his own. Any other night, Hongjoong would welcome the conversation and probably be sorting the shelves and candy to pass the time more quickly. But he knows that if he tries to do it now, he"ll mess something up because his mind is elsewhere. Not too far elsewhere, but far enough away that it"s not the same as when he thinks about his music.
He licks his lips, flips another page to keep up appearances. Mingi"s still talking. The hour hasn"t hit yet, but the store is already pristine. Seonghwa would be pleased if it stayed this way until the morning. He doesn"t really understand what his boss gets out of the store looking like it"s a department in the local Target, but he supposes that"s part of the charm. The place is clean most nights, and it leaves Hongjoong with little to actually do.
The aisles in front of him are neatly packed. Seonghwa is anal about this sort of stuff. Always asks that they be as perfect as possible. It isn"t like this was a local Target or something. They"re in the middle of nowhere (relatively; at the edge of Pittsburgh, bordering farm country, they are certainly somewhere ). Still, the sparse customers means that the store is more often immaculate and looks as though it has just been opened. At least, from the inside. Outside is another matter that he doesn"t like thinking about. He shudders almost every time he has to walk through the door.
From a distance, it"s no more than an illuminated trap. A Large glass window lined by brick. A glass panel for the door with metal handles. A neon sign above it to declare it a store. Sometimes the lights in the window worked and that, too, would be lit up in an almost neon fashion. The same shade of strobe purple would be there, with an "open" fixture smack in the middle. He swallows. The surrounding area is pretty much nothing more than trees and grass poking through concrete. A single road runs by. He"s walked it enough times to know that that, too, is rarely traversed and cared for.
He"s asked why this place is built where it was. Seonghwa has simply stated that he"d bought it that way, head down. But Hongjoong had imagined that his boss had paused for a second, looked up at him. Like this was a question he shouldn"t have been asking. But he"d blinked and the image was gone. Seonghwa had still been looking down at the paperwork on his desk. Flipped through expenses and receipts from the last week.
It probably seems like he hates his job. He doesn"t; he really doesn"t. The hours give him time to sleep and focus on his craft when he isn"t working. He thinks he can do better, but not for what he needs. This, as he claims often, is just temporary. He sniffs, flips another page before he hears Mingi stretch and crack his knuckles. The other wears a grin that makes his face look fuller and brighter than it should be at eleven at night, and his pulse picks up.
It"s almost time.
Time for what? He wants to berate himself because the mystery guest that keeps showing up every night of his shift isn"t here for him. He"s here for soup. Mingi glances at the clock above the register.
"Time to go." It"s delivered like a song and Hongjoong scrunchs up his nose.
"Are you that happy to leave me?"
"What? No. But I have a like zoom date with Yunho."
Hongjoong places a hand on his chest, tilts his head to the side with wide eyes. "But what about our date?"
"We just had it." Mingi takes the joke in stride and Hongjoong smiles, because you can"t stop yourself from smiling in the face of Song Mingi. That just wasn"t feasible.
"Get out of here, cheater. Tell Yunho I said hi."
Mingi is already disappearing into the backroom to clock out. "I will!"
He"ll leave out the back like he always does, with Hongjoong listening for his footsteps. It"s become a habit to do so, because it leaves Hongjoong with some sort of peace. That the other has at least made it a couple steps away from the store without some sort of disaster. Mingi"s probably the cause of half the clean-ups Hongjoong has to do when their schedules overlap enough that they end up working together for a few hours.
The night shift, though, belongs to Hongjoong. And it"s the emptiest hours for the store.
Again -- he doesn"t mind it. The solitude allows him to think about his next masterpiece, and then fret over the failings of the piece that came before it. Even if Eden keeps telling him that they"re fine and he should just send the files. It"s high praise coming from someone older and wiser, but he"s a perfectionist. It has to be right , and it certainly can"t sound like an industry amateur sent it in. Maybe he"s a lot more like his boss than he thought. He shudders before that line of thinking is even finished.
The bell above the door chimes and he jerks his head up. It"s somehow gotten to be midnight with him thinking about his last piece. Time does fly when you don"t think about it. The person that walks through the doors peers over at where he is cautiously. He recognizes the winter coat. It"s thick -- too thick for the weather; it"s the middle of summer and it has to sweltering outside even with the sun down. Global warming kind fo screwed everyone with that. The fan behind him whirrs dangerously like it"s about to expire, but it"s been doing that for the longest so he"s not too worried about suffering in the heat. He watches as the customer strolls through to the back aisle.
He has this routine memorized. He knows it like the back of his hand. The other would walk through a couple more aisles before settling on where they kept the soup. He"d waste a few minutes pretending to decide on a soup before choosing the same that he did everytime. He can hear them moving around only because of too heavy steps and coins jingling around in their pockets. The steps are weird tonight, though. Almost sluggish and stuttering like a heartbeat going haywire. Hongjoong wonders if this process was part of habit. Or if he comes in here to kill time before...doing something else. Or nothing else.
The customer takes small steps down the aisle until he"s in front of the counter. Watching him now, Hongjoong can see that there"s a bit of limp going on. He hesitates like he usually do before putting a hand into their pocket and extracting the plastic baggie full of coins. The silver of quarters, dimes, and nickels catch the light as he shakes the bag and begin placing the coins on the counter beside the can of Campbell"s Chicken Noodle Soup. The packaging makes him feel warm looking at it, with the little chunks of ham sitting golden noodles.
He hasn"t said the price, but they"ve done this so many times, it"d be surprising if the other didn"t actually have how much a single can was worth (plus tax) memorized. Hongjoong lets the customer finish setting the coins down before he slides them towards him.
“So.” He clears his throat, pulls the coins closer to him as he counts (he’s not counting; he knows it’ll be exact because that’s what the other brings every time). He wants to ask about the other"s limp, to see if he"s okay. But he doesn"t ask that; that"d be invasive, wouldn"t it? And like the setup for a horrible horror movie. “Do you live around here?”
The other startles, but Hongjoong can’t really tell much aside from the sharp raise of the jacket head.
It"s quiet and he doesn"t think the customer will answer, until he does. "Yes."
The voice is scratchy, but deep and kind of satisfying to hear. After months of nothing more than silent interaction, he finally has a voice to place to the other. It"s also distinctly male, but he wonders if that"s something he"ll need to ask about. He could say that this person was probably the best customer he"d ever had in his two years of working here, but he knows better than to think to highly of someone he knew for about three minutes each shift.
"Where?" Maybe more conversation will help. "Out by Kepsie?"
The other shakes his head. "No. Trees."
"Trees?" His brows furrow. He can"t think of any tree street name off the top of his head, but he shrugs it off. "You workin"?"
"No." The other fidgets, and he gets the peek of fingers out from the jacket. They"re bigger than his own, but maybe not by much.
"Night owl?"
"Not owl." The other sounds almost sullen.
He imagines, for a moment, a brooding child under the coat and he can"t stop the giggle that leaves him. The other raises his head, slower this time. "Sorry. If you"re not an owl, than what are you?"
"Beetle."
"A beetle, huh? I didn"t know we had beetles around here." He supposes the other is humoring him. He"s doing a great job at it. Hongjoong can guess that he"s smiling. The other looks down for a moment as Hongjoong slides him the receipt.
It"s a short moment, but it makes the time pass no less. He wishes the other would stay, maybe keep him company while he eats his noodles, but Hongjoong can"t wish for that. Plus: he"s used to going it alone for most of the night shift. That"s just how it was with the way the store was placed.
"What...is. Your...name?"
Hongjoong blinks. It"s more than two words and it"s delivered like someone uncertain with the language, but it"s a question. The burn of curiosity sits high in his chest, flames fanned every time this customer walks through the door. The winter jacket in the middle of summer and the obsession with chicken noodle soup. Specifically Campbell"s. They carry other brands; he would know since he has to restock them in the few times that they run out.
"Hongjoong."
The other nods, fidgets again as he pulls the receipt closer with a finger. It"s swallowed up into the abyss of his sleeve. "I...Jongho."
"Jongho." The other nods as Hongjoong says it, looks down if the tilt of the hood is anything to go by. "It"s nice to finally get your name."
He wants, not for the first time, to see what"s under it.
Jongho rocks from one foot to the other. "Do you...only work night?"
"Yeah." They"re getting somewhere. He wonders if all the time the other has spent staring into the store had been him working himself up for this. It"s a cute thought. "I"m more active at night. Like you."
"Really?" Jongho looks up again, nods. He"s still rocking, though it looks more like a sway from one side to the other. "You only sleep...in day?"
"Mm." He squints. "Sorta. I don"t really have much to do during the day. And during the night, working here doesn"t give me a lot of distractions."
Hongjoong would count himself lucky. His job might be lonely as hell, but at least he was given free reign of himself when he finished the few tasks he was given. People came in so sparsely that he was able to sneak back and grab his laptop to work on tracks. Seonghwa hasn"t gotten on him about it yet. Seems to encourage it, even. It"s not the ideal job, or one he wants to keep, but it"s not bad. He probably isn"t going to let his new...acquaintance in on all of that. It"s a lot to know about a person in one go.
The other considers his answer, taps the top of the can. "Do you like soup?"
He can"t help the giggle again. "Kinda."
"Soup good. Makes...me warm."
"I bet."
It"s a comfortable silence that drifts over them. Hongjoong cocks his head to the side, blinks. The other is maybe a couple centimeters taller than he is. He sounds around the same age, too. If he could see his face, he might have a more definite answer than that.
"I can heat that up for you now, if you"d like." It would require him to walk away, and part of him worries that he"d scare the other off while he waited.
But Jongho nods. "Yes, please." Polite.
Hongjoong scoops up the can. "Be right back."
He"s only just got into the backroom when he realizes something. There"s this odd churn in the pit of his stomach. The interaction itself isn"t what makes him nervous. Maybe he"s simply gotten accustomed to the routine they"ve already set. Maybe he"s uneasy about a sudden change to it. Would they revert back to the way they were before, with Jongho simply getting his soup with exact change and then walking out?
Hongjoong is so distracted he barely realizes he"s sliced his finger open until it happens. The pain travels up his finger in a quick jab and he jerks his hand back. The opener falls to the table and the top of the can drops down into the soup. He curses under his breath as he shakes his injured finger and puts it to his lips. It doesn"t look like any blood has gotten into it, but he can"t give Jongho the soup on the chance that some did.
He can"t have been gone for more than a few minutes, but there are more customers by the counter. They crowd around Jongho. One of them leans against the counter, forearms resting on the hard plastic of the countertop. They"ve got jackets on with camo print smudged with dirt. He squints and thinks he sees the telltale sign of blood, but brushes that off. They"re probably just hunters out in the area. He"s not sure about the regulations and how that works, but he"s seen some in a few times just grabbing a quick bite before they return to the thrill of a midnight hunt.
But aside from the camo, there isn"t anything else that dictates they"re hunters. One of them is wearing ripped jeans. Another in slacks. Their boots aren"t meant for hiking, and you sure as hell don"t carry the glock that rests on the man closest to the door"s hip when you hunt for deer. A chill sweeps over him as he pulls his finger from his lip and shuts the backroom door a little harder than he needs to. This gets their attention.
Blue eyes land on him, flicker back to Jongho, before a smile spreads over his lips and the man stands upright. He"s much taller than Hongjoong. His hair is shorn severely short and Hongjoong wonders if he did that himself. The others have matching hairstyles, though a little longer than the man who appears to be their leader. He wears a grin as slick as oil and it doesn"t make Hongjoong feel any better about him.
"Can I help you?" The man rakes his eyes over Hongjoong after the question is posed.
"Naw." There"s a slight drawl to the word. "Just catching up with a friend."
Said "friend" doesn"t see happy to see these friends. He"s not sure, but he"s certain the other has shrunken further into his coat to hide himself from the group of men around him. Hongjoong counts five. One has a hand on Jongho"s shoulder, even as the other carefully steps away from him. The distance between them all is minimal, and it feels like a pack of predators boxing in prey.
He doesn"t like it.
"Is that so?" They don’t seem like the friendly sort. Not the kind to drop in and randomly greet a friend they happen to know the exact location of when not at home. Maybe Jongho just had a very exact schedule. But he can’t stop the feeling that there’s something wrong. It’s only confirmed with Jongho seems to cower away from one man, shrinking into himself as the others get close. It’s like a bad advertisement for an anti-bullying campaign. He"s not sure what he can do to stop...whatever this is. The bat under the counter looks like a promising means of doing so. "How do you know him?"
The man is still grinning, but he blinks. Falters for just a second. It"s enough that Hongjoong can spare a glance in Jongho"s direction.
"He doesn"t say much about other friends being out this time of night." Hongjoong continues, because these aren"t Jongho"s friends and whatever they have planned isn"t going to be pretty. "We were just talking about how he was a night owl." Another glance Jongho"s way. "Sorry; beetle."
"Night beetle?" The man chuckles. "He says the darnedest things."
It"s the kind of phrase you hear people say about kids. His brow twitches at the thought of them potentially preying on a minor. That really wasn"t helping their situation.
"What are you really here for?"
The man"s smile drops just a little. It"s smaller, but still there. Hongjoong might even hazard that it looks a little rueful. Like he"s regretting something. He sighs, draws back. The man by the door inches closer to the counter, fingers flexing beside his pocket. A bat versus a gun doesn"t stand much of a chance. But he could always stall.
"Seriously. Get out or I"ll call the cops, you creeps."
One man behind him sputters. He seems more like a kid really, and Hongjoong wonders for the briefest of seconds how he got mixed up into this. Then he opens his mouth and the pity that Hongjoong feels is demolished under a wave of contempt. "What"re you talking about, Goldilocks?" He ignores the jab at his hair because a mullet is fashionable and he looks good in it. "The only creep here is this fucker." He reaches for Jongho"s hood, probably to yank it off.
He almost succeeds. The other has no means of actually escaping. They"ve got him boxed in, with the plastic barrier around the counter to protect the more prized items in the store (the cigarettes and condoms; he wonders why) makes it difficult for him to even think about hopping over the counter to safety. But his hand shoots up and Hongjoong sees the darkened flesh of his fingers in full. He thought they were gloves.
The boy winces as Jongho"s fingers wrap around his wrist, but it only serves to do several things. One, Hongjoong blinks. Two, the other men are reaching forward now to pry Jongho"s hands off his fingers. Three, the man by the door"s hands fly to his gun as the oil-slick smiling man"s smile finally drops and he, too, reaches for something. By the time Hongjoong has fully closed and reopened his eyes, a lot more has happened.
Blood splatters over the counter and a sharp cry leaves the boy that had reached for Jongho. It takes Hongjoong a second, but he realizes that that blood isn"t his own from it spurting weirdly from his finger. It"s coming from the geizer of where the boy"s arm was once attached to his shoulder. The arm itself is still in Jongho"s grasp. The boy goes down and the cry turns into screaming.
More arms wrap around Jongho and his hood flips back. Hongjoong has enough time to marvel at the sight of horns pushing out of his head. One sits in the center of his forehead and continues to grow. It gets a curve to it at what looks like three inches and keeps going until it has to be about the length of Hongjoong full arm. The other is closer to the crown of Jongho"s head and grows longer and thicker than the one on his forehead. His mouth and throat have been touched by the desert and he swallows to clear it out. There"s a thickness that sits in his throat as he slowly lowers himself to the ground and turns his back.
He"s dreaming. Or he"s finally lost it after who knows how many Monsters and hours of solitude. Mingi leaving was probably for the best. He must have had a psychotic break when the Jongho actually started talking to him. That would be -- it sounds pathetic, even in his head.
He sniffs, glances up. He can still see them. Across from him, the glass of the cigarette and condom case reflects the scenes unfolding just on the other side of the counter. The screaming boy hasn"t stopped screaming, but it grows weaker by the second. It isn"t enough to block out the sound of everything else that"s happening, though. The man by the door has finally pulling his gun from the holster by his hip and he"s firing rounds that land entirely off the mark. There"s heavy breathing, and Hongjoong figures it"s either him or someone on the other side, but they"re going like they"ve just run a marathon.
Hongjoong freezes. The hell is he supposed to do when this is all over? If the men win, what do they do to him? If Jongho wins, what does that leave the store looking like? Regardless, he"s made himself a witness to murder of some kind of another. A shot rings out and shatters the glass case. He has a second to cover his face before the splinters fly out. Hiding behind the counter is no longer and option, and there isn"t much to say that he won"t get shot in the crossfire.
The ground shakes as someone is dropped to the ground and the bones that crack reverbate around the room. It distracts him enough from the pain of crawling over glass enough that he gets to the backroom door. Another body is thrown around, this time much closer to where he is. It"s the man that had his hand on Jongho"s shoulder. He would have thought he"d have been the first to hit the ground. He weakly reaches up for Hongjoong, as if asking for help, but he can only shrug helplessly in response. He can"t do anything, but call the police.
So he does.
His phone feels like it"s burning a hole in his pocket. Seonghwa doesn"t like looking on the cameras and finding that any of the few employees have been on their phones during work hours, but he thinks he can be forgiven just this once. Under these circumstances. He pushes open the door to the backroom and crawls inside before shutting it with his foot. Emergency dial is a convenient tool that he utilises for once rather than cursing when he"s been locked out of his phone.
"9-1-1, what"s your emergency?" The woman on the phones sounds almost cheerful. Like maybe she wasn"t having an eventful enough night and he just gave her something to do. He imagines it must be so. They"re not a very a crime-heavy town. This might just be a outsourced dispatcher. His brows furrow.
But -- now he"s got a new problem.
What the fuck does he tell her?
He shuts his eyes, lets out a breath that sounds a little raspy.
"Hello? Are you okay?"
"I"m--" He stops himself before he can say fine. Because he"s not. There was a horned man fighting off a group of armed men in his convenience store. It was past midnight and nothing like this ever happens past midnight. All the action is reserved for the day-shifters, and even then it"s just punk kids trying (and failing miserably) to steal candy bars. The worst he"s had is highschoolers trying to buy beers with fake ids. This shouldn"t be happening.
Another shot rings out. "Can you stay on the line?"
"Yes." He ducks under the desk in the room, knocks his head on it when he tries to sit up. "I can. I just." He shuts his eyes, opens them again. "I had to get somewhere safe."
Something tells him that door isn"t going to stop a bullet. Or Jongho coming through it. Glass shatters and something falls to the ground with a heavy thud, as if to prove his point.
"Can you tell me where you are?"
"I"m, uh. At the convenience store on the road that branches off of I-76." He can hear her typing. It"s rapid fire clicking, drowning out the sound of the other phones ringing around her.
"Can you describe what"s happening?"
No, he thinks. How can he? "There"s." He licks his lips, tries his best to phrase what he needs to say. "There"s a group of armed robbers. They just showed up and started harassing a customer. I think they were trying to mug him or something?" The words leave him fast. It"s not entirely far from what he"d thought was going to happen. "Anyways, the customer retaliated and now they"re firing guns and I think the guy might get hurt. Pleasehelp."
There"s more tapping of the keys on her keyboard and sharp exhale. "How many of them are there?"
"I think, like, five?"
More keys clicking. "I"ll try to get the nearest patrol out to you." Why did that not feel reassuring, even though she meant it to be? "Are you the owner of the store?"
"N-no. I just work the night shift."
"Do you want to stay on the phone, or do you want to call your boss?"
"I." Normally, he"s sure she"s used to people asking her to stay on the line. But then she probably would try to create conversation to calm him down and the way his pulse thundered through his body made him think that isn"t going to happen with a couple distracting words. He shakes his head before he remembers she can"t see him. "I"ll call my boss."
He hangs up, and does not, in fact, call Seonghwa.
He cowers.
Hongjoong berates himself for it, but he cowers under the desk, behind a three inch plywood door that could really be taken down by a strong breeze along the lines of a tornado. Which, they don"t get many of. Probably haven"t in over a century. He would marvel at that stroke of luck (and probably just geographical advantage) when he isn"t hiding from a creature and what are probably people hunting it.
It strikes him that if Jongho is the monster, does that make him the bad guy? Does that make those men the good ones? If either is the case, he might be helping a murderer. Murder ers. He doesn"t like that hit to his morality any better than the next person. He"s prompt in pushing that thought to the side, and waits instead for the sound of sirens. He"s not sure how far out the cops the woman said she was sending were, but he hopes they"re quick. If they push past the speed limit, they could get here in five minutes. A lot can happen in five minutes.
He shuts his eyes as someone else cries out and he realizes the first boy isn"t screaming anymore. Hongjoong shudders. There"s only a few reasons why that can happen and he finds he doesn"t want to think about which it is anymore than he wants to think about being a witness to a murder.
His stomach churns. That burning sensation of curiosity is still there, somehow still thriving under all his fear. His heart might as well have fled his chest, but his legs ache to see what"s going on. Like a car crash; it"s horrible, but he wants to know what"s going on and how they fare. Maybe he should be rooting for the guys in camo. He inches closer to the door, presses his ear to it, but stays as close to the ground as he can get. The shouting is scattered, thrown across the store as if the people themselves are being thrown around as well. Hongjoong swallows at this realization before his curiosity grows stronger, and he"s opening the door again.
He"s made a lot of bad decisions in his life. Who hasn"t? But he can firmly put this somewhere at the top of his list, because all he looks upon is carnage. The store itself is in shambles. Glass is shattered everywhere. Some of the packaged goods are crushed and leaking out onto the floors. Blood has pooled around where the young man without an arm lays across the ground. The man that had asked him for help is on the other side of the store now, with his head through the freezer in the back. Blood splatters high onto the glass that remains and products inside of it. His body is limp where it hangs out. Another man looks oddly like a wrung out bottle and Hongjoong turns to vomit onto the floor.
A litany of curses fills his head as the last man slouches against the glass door. The glass there is shattered, too. The man hangs from the handle as if it"s the only thing holding him up. If looks could kill, he might have been dead on the floor. He only counts four men, though, and he wonders where the last is. But that wondering lasts only a second as the sound of gurgling fills his ears and he turns his head. His eyes land on the face that"s been caved in. The man attached to it is still twitching, but there"s a sizeable fist-shaped hole in his face. Bone and brain and blood is crushed into a soupy mix and it hits him (probably not the same degree as Jongho"s fist in the man"s face) that the man is gurgling because somehow he"s still alive. It might be better if he were dead.
Hongjoong looks up as Jongho steps forward. Glass crunches under foot as he advances towards the man by the door. It"s the one with oil-slicked smile, though the smile is long gone. His crew is dead and he"s...his leg is mangled, twists in a way that isn"t natural when he pulls himself up a bit higher. He"s still got a grip on a gun, but it"s weak at best and his gaze keeps darting to somewhere outside. Maybe his escape.
Hongjoong guesses right. The man shoves back and the metal door frame opens up. He spills outside the door and backs away. Jongho steps forward again, but once the other is out of the door, he doesn"t move anymore. Or well, he doesn"t move toward the door. Hongjoong looks up and the man"s whole frame is shaking. Tremors that take him and seem to make the horns on his head quiver. His jacket is ruined, marred by blood and rips that go clean through. Someone must have tried their luck with a knife. They got close, but not close enough. Jongho sniffles and when he turns to Hongjoong, there are tears in his eyes.
Eyes that are, for lack of a better word, black as night. From pupil to iris, they"re pitch black. He freezes. The horns, at least the bottom one, is serrated. Where there should be just two arms are four, two branching out from the sleeves of his shirt. He"s down two fingers on the latter sets, but the top ones seem normal. Human. Which, Hongjoong is realizing he is very much not.
Jongho turns fully to face him and Hongjoong scrambles back. The other flinches at that, drops his gaze to the ground. When he opens his mouth to speak, little extensions inside his mouth peek out. He presses his lips together promptly at what must be the look of horror on Hongjoong"s face.
"I." He stops again, backs away from Hongjoong. "I just want...soup."
His fists are bloodied, but Hongjoong figures it isn"t his. "Y-yeah?"
"I didn"t mean--"
"I know." He"s not sure why, but he does.
Up until this point, Jongho has come across as docile. Gentle, maybe. He"s never ventured to do anything to remotely out of the course of violence. But he faces a new problem, even if he accepts that this was all out of self-defense: they have to clean this up. This, of course, being the mess of the store and carnage of what just happened.
Jongho catches on, mostly because Hongjoong has gotten to his feet and surveying the damage of everything. He presses his lips together, hangs his head.
"I"m sorry for mess."
"That"s...that"s okay." Hongjoong just needs a broom. A really big broom.
Lights pull up as a car drives by, but there"s no sirens to go with it, so he assumes it"s either the last man escaping or a random passerby. His heart jumps into his throat at the sight of someone else seeing Jongho and crosses quickly to shove him back to where the shelves obscure him from view. Hongjoong realizes this is the first time they"ve ever made physical contact, and he"s manhandling the other. He jerks his hands back, quickly.
Glass crunches under the feet of whoever has stopped by. It"s quiet, save those footsteps, as the door is pushed open and the person walks in. Hongjoong is prepared to swing if he needs to. The person steps right around the bend and he preps himself.
It"s Seonghwa. His hands fly up to catch the fist headed his way. "Jesus!"
"Holy hell, Hwa! Don"t just sneak in like that!"
Seonghwa"s gaze slides past Hongjoong to Jongho and there"s his heart in his mouth this time. The other doesn"t seem fazed; he blinks, a light of recognition over his face. "Oh. You"ve talked." He can"t see Jongho, but there"s a weird buzzing behind him. Like wings rubbing together.
He wants to ask. He wants to ask so bad. Hongjoong turns, tries to gauge the other"s expression. He"s blushing and the buzzing is still going. Maybe a tough louder now. Was that for him? His brows raise at the thought.
"And what the hell did you do to the fucking window?"