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Something flat touches his cheek, three times. Three slaps.
The pain feels muted, barely registering beyond the vibrations of his cheek. But the reverberations are somehow amplified through his skull hard enough that Taeju thinks he might throw up. He struggles to open his eyes but they feel so heavy, like he's floating underwater, the sounds - like the pain, are muted, stretching then sharpening in waves. Sometimes he can make out the booming bass of someone's laughter or an empty threat, but never the words. Taeju struggles, seeing flashes of light under his fluttering eyelids.
A shock of cold water and the sensation of falling has him jerking awake at last with a choked gasp. The ceiling swims in and out focus. The chair he's tied to is currently tilted back, balanced on two legs.
Laughter. "Oh, the sweet prince is finally awake. Did you have a good sleep?" More raucous laughter.
Taeju tries to turn his head but it lolls on his neck as if his muscles have been cut. His pulse is rabbiting at an alarming pace, breaths coming out laboured, mouth dry, tongue heavy.
Shit.
The blade of a knife runs dangerously close to his eye. "Who knew Dongcheon's second was such a pretty boy. Wonder what Choi Mujin would think if we sent him back piece by piece." The face that looms in front of him is ugly and unfamiliar, knife in hand drawing a thin cut across Taeju's cheek to his ear, poised to slice.
Taeju bucks and slams his whole weight down. He hears a hiss of surprise from behind him and a scream from the man in front when the chair's leg lands squarely on the man's foot. The man lurches forward and Taeju seizes the moment, smashing his head into the stupid face. He hears a satisfying crunch and a howl of pain, before his own vision bursts into stars and he retches.
Almost immediately a swift sharp punch is delivered to his kidney and someone yanks his head back painfully, knife against his throat.
"Tha fucken - that son of a fuck - " The rest of the man's words are garbled behind his hand, trying to staunch blood flowing into his mouth as he's dragged onto his feet and away.
"Fuck me, Taeju." Gangjae’s familiar wiry frame saunters into view, a wide amused grin on his face. "Even drugged to the gills, you pack a punch."
He's still wearing that ridiculous fur lined jacket that makes him look like a cheap rentboy. Taeju wants to punch his teeth in but he can barely think; he's drooling blood and spit just trying to breathe, throat convulsing. Gangjae waves lazily and the iron grip on Taeju's hair is released, the knife withdraws. His chin hits his chest, more blood flecked drool drips onto his shirt.
Gangjae tips his chin up with two fingers, his grin feral. "Look at you," he tsks. There's still dried blood flaking on his neck and in his hair. The blood of Taeju's men. It makes something terrible and sickening twists in his guts. He'd rip Gangjae's throat out with his teeth if he could but the fact that he can't even see Gangjae's face all that clearly, let alone muster anymore energy to move leaves him hopelessly frustrated and angry.
Gangjae grins wider. Then Taeju is being hoisted up by the collar of his shirt and thrown onto a billiards table. He coughs weakly, head throbbing, trying to reorient himself as the table tips like a see saw under him. It's just the drugs. All in his head. Nothing is really moving. But Taeju can't, he can't -
His breathing is turning harsh, the lights in the small gambling den suddenly too bright. He feels feverish, like he’s being incinerated under the yellow glow, or maybe he’s melting. He’s sweating so goddamn much.
“Taeju-ah, are you seriously trying to crawl up the table?” Gangjae lets out a bark of laughter. Others join in, the sounds overlapping one another, an uneven bass beat in Taeju’s ears. He can see the door, just a few feet away but it may as well have been an ocean.
A hand grabs the back of his vest, dragging him backwards. Taeju scrabbles for purchase, but his legs are kicked apart and he crashes back to the table with a grunt. Gangjae flips him onto his back, trapping his tied arms under him painfully. Taeju bites back the pained groan, but the sound escapes in a whimper.
“Everybody get out,” Gangjae says abruptly, staring at him. There’s a strange light in his eyes Taeju can’t place, doesn’t have the energy or the presence of mind.
“But, boss -”
“Out!” Gangjae roars. A beat of stunned silence, then heavy footsteps and mumblings. The door opens as men file out, and closes. The sudden silence is even louder than the laughter before; only Taeju’s own erratic breathing fills the room.
Gangjae’s eyes glitter, flickering down then back up to Taeju’s face. “You know,” he drawls, licking his lips. “When I first saw you, Jung Taeju, I thought, 'Wow, that guy’s really something. I bet he gets all the chicks with a face like that.'” He reaches for Taeju’s hips and yanks him so his ass rests on the edge of the table, then takes a step closer, bracketed between Taeju’s legs. It takes a long moment for Taeju to realise, with slow creeping fear; Gangjae is hard. “Want to know a secret?” Gangjae says, fingers wrapping around Taeju’s tie and tugging him off the table until they’re face to face. “I thought you were so cool back then. I thought if only I was half as cool as that, I’d have made it. Taeju,” his breath is cool on Taeju’s feverish skin. “I didn’t join Dongcheon because of Choi Mujin. You know that, right?” He smirks. “Or you would have. If you paid attention. But you only had eyes for that asshole.”
Oh god.
“What? You think we didn’t notice that you had hots for the boss?” Gangjae laughs. “You were so fucking obvious, it was pathetic.”
He couldn’t even deny it even if it wasn’t true. All Taeju could do was try not to blackout, trying to focus on Gangjae’s grinning face even if it blurred to the point of smeared paint.
“Aw, you’re so out of it, you probably don’t even know what I’m saying.” Gangjae relaxes his grip and Taeju drops back down onto the table, head thunking heavily, everything tilting once more. He hears the sound of metal clinking, then the slide of leather on fabric and for the first time in a long time, Taeju feels real panic trying to tear its way through his consciousness. He starts to struggle but his limbs won’t cooperate.
“I used to wonder if he was fucking you. But then, now that I’ve had time to think about it - years, in fact - I guess if he was, you wouldn’t have such a stick up your ass. You wouldn’t be looking at him with such pathetic longing.” Taeju can’t really see it, but he can hear the rustle of shifting material and Gangjae’s sucking in a breath as fishes out his cock. “Tell me, Taeju, after all these years, did you managed to get Choi Mujin to stick his dick inside you yet? No?” He laughs breathlessly, undoing Taeju’s slacks, catches the attempted kick with ease and peels the slacks right off, taking Taeju’s shoes with them. “Black briefs. How boring. Typical.”
Please. Taeju doesn’t say it. He won’t beg. Not like this. Please don’t.
Gangjae squeezes his limp dick. “I bet you’re so high right now you can’t even get hard,” he muses before pushing down Taeju’s underwear. “Not that it matters. Today’s your lucky day, Taeju. You want to get fucked so badly? I’m gonna make your dreams come true, baby.”
“Gang… jae…,” Taeju tries, slurs. “D-don’t. Don’t do… this.” His limbs are so, so heavy. He’s a puppet with all his strings cut. He’s a slab of meat, waiting. He’s useless. He can’t fucking move to save himself and no one is coming for him, he knows that.
Gangjae leans over him, palms to either side of Taeju’s head, leans in close, closer, their mouths are almost touching. “Maybe if you begged me, Jung Taeju.” And he waits.
Taeju says nothing.
Gangjae pulls away, his laughter wild, manic. “Oh, hah, whoo.” He stops, presses himself snug against Taeju’s ass, and promises, “I’m gonna enjoy breaking you.”
--
“Here,” Donghoon had said, a lit cigarette pinched between his bloodied thumb and forefinger, letting a stream of smoke into the cold night air. “Something to warm you up.”
“Um, thanks, but I don’t smoke,” Taeju declined, crossing his arms to keep the warmth in. Across the open space, Mujin was giving orders to the men, getting them to clean up and carry away the dead and injured. It should have been Taeju’s job but he had just taken out the whole Gumho gang almost by himself, stabbed twice and narrowly missed being shot in the head, the bullet grazing his temple. He wasn’t up for moving much. “They’ll kill you, you know,” he added.
“What?”
“Cigarettes,” Taeju had clarified. “They’ll kill you.”
Donghoon laughed. “You really think we’ll live that long?” He stuck the cigarette back between his lips and puffed. The tip burned an orange glow, smoke wisping into air.
Taeju shrugged then winced as his wounds tugged with the movement. “I don’t know. But smoking isn’t good for your lungs. You should quit while you’re ahead, Donghoon.”
“I can’t quit,” Donghoon scowled. “God knows, I’ve tried. It’s an addiction. You know what addiction means, don’t you? Wanting something even if it’s bad for you.”
Taeju followed his line of sight to Mujin’s form in the distance. He felt his jaw tighten and he gazed back towards Donghoon but the other man wasn’t looking at him, still focused on Mujin. Taeju swallowed, found his gaze drawn back to Mujin as well and said softly, “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
For as long as he could remember, Taeju had wanted Mujin. Wanted his attention, his affection, his love. Wanted, wanted, until wanting was just a normal state of his being, something he kept at bay, kept to himself because he knew that it was futile to ask for more than friendship and respect from Mujin. He justified his acceptance by convincing himself he was content, he was Mujin’s most trusted person, the one Mujin could rely on the most, he was his friend, oftentimes his confidant, and that would be enough. As long Mujin was safe and well and prospered along with the organisation.
Then Donghoon happened.
And everything changed.
--
Taeju groans, blinking sweat from his eyes, chest heaving as Gangjae pounds into him, the bed creaking in time with each jerk of his hips. He’s pressed into the mattress, face first, a pillow tucked under his ass, elbows and knees not quite holding him up as Gangjae slides all the way out and thrust back in hard, his cock brushing the bundle of nerves inside Taeju that has him gritting his teeth, body clenching, hating the pleasure it sparks.
The drugs must be wearing off but Taeju can’t remember how he got from the gambling den to this bedroom. Can’t remember how long he’s been here or how long Gangjae’s been fucking him. He feels like he was somewhere else for the longest time, floating above himself, lost in memories. A part of him wants to go back, doesn’t want to be here to feel Gangjae’s cock sliding in and out of him, doesn’t want to feel how sore and in pain he is, being forced to feel pleasure despite everything.
Gangjae’s hips stutter and he screws in deep with a long moan. Taeju can feel hot come coating his insides, and god, he feels so fucking full. How many times has this fucker come in him? He tries to squirm away and succeeds only because Gangjae lets him, pulling out, causing come to spurt out of Taeju’s sore abused hole. “Fuck, how are you still this tight?” A hand reaches round and starts jerking Taeju off, and a high keening sound breaks from his sore throat. Taeju tries to hold it in but it hurts, his cock is swollen and sensitive - he clearly came a few times himself - and Gangjae’s grip is rough, twisting at the end, thumb digging mercilessly into the slit.
"Ah hah f-fuck you -”
“That's the first coherent word you said in three hours,” Gangjae grins, fist pumping Taeju’s cock. Taeju tries to push him away, weakly shoving at his arm but Gangjae just tightens his grip, moulding his front to Taeju sweaty back. “C'mon, Taeju baby,” he growls, rubbing maddeningly around the frenulum of Taeju's cock each time and Taeju's gasping from the pain-pleasure it elicits, breath stuttering erratically.
His orgasm isn't pleasant, not even close to satisfying. It's ripped out of him in a short burst, leaves him shaking in a boneless heap on the bed. Gangjae makes a pleased sound, wipes his hand on the messy sheets and pushes off of Taeju, disappears into another room somewhere while Taeju catches his breath.
Now that his head’s a little clearer, the aches and pains are apparent everywhere. There's drying come all over his stomach, and ass, between his thighs, even on his chest. His stomach feels full and bloated and each time he clenches, come oozes out of him onto the filthy sheets beneath. Taeju grunts, reaches under him to remove the frankly disgusting pillow and chucks it off the bed. There's no strength in his limbs whatsoever and moving is a frustrating uncoordinated affair. He manages to flop onto his back, it’s not any better but at least the sheets under him are only damp and not wet.
The bedroom is small and spartan, no windows. There's the bed. A small table with a cheap plastic chair sits in one corner and along the wall there's a shelf with some books and bottles of god knows what. There are two doors, both ajar. One most likely leads to an attached bathroom the other to outside.
Taeju wets his dry lips, tasting blood from the cut, dried and scabbed over. Before he can consider his options, the door pushes open and Gangjae walks back in while drinking from a water bottle. He smirks when he sees Taeju watching him through half lidded eyes groggy eyes. "Look who decided to check back in." He doesn't offer Taeju any water. It's a small thing on top of all the shit he's done but it makes Taeju hate him just a bit more.
“Fuck you,” he tries but it comes out as nothing more than a croak. His throat is hoarse and swollen, so sore that swallowing hurts
“I miss that look in your eyes. It's no fun when you’re not paying attention,” Gangjae says, throwing the water bottle onto the bed and sliding back between Taeju’s legs just as Taeju is struggling to sit up. He tugs at Taeju’s hips, pulls his legs over his own thighs and pushes them apart. “Do you think Choi Mujin is losing his mind over your absence? I wonder how long it would take for him to find you. Or maybe he’s written you off for dead?" A thumb traces Taeju’s puffy rim, circles and rubs slowly before pressing in -
Taeju flinches, legs flailing as he tries to jerk away but Gangjae has a bruising grip on his hip. "Fuck, anyone ever tell you how pretty you look taking dick? This right here," his thumb sinks deeper and Taeju hisses, clenching his teeth so hard to keep the sound from turning louder, he’s afraid his jaw might break. "Sucks me in like the best pussy."
Gangjae drags his thumb back and forth, watching hungrily, pupils blown. “S-stop ah,” Taeju sobs, hands scrabbling to get away as Gangjae shoves two fingers in and rubs against the tight bundle of nerves, lighting a fire under his skin. Too much. It’s too much. He's already too sore but the pleasure still curls up his spine, makes his cock twitch. Taeju whimpers. Even that hurts.
Gangjae doesn't stop. “Choi Mujin doesn’t know what he's missing.” He grins brightly. “Shall we show him, hm? Remind him you're alive?”
Taeju’s blood runs cold. “Don't -” but Gangjae presses and Taeju's eyes roll back in his head, mouth falling open in a silent moan. "You're so fucking sensitive,” Gangjae breathes, sounding close to awe. Taeju hears him shifting.
When he manages to focus again, Gangjae has a phone in his hand. His eyes burn with wildfire and his smile is just shy of too wide. "Smile for the camera Taeju." He lines himself up and thrust back in, inch by slow inch as the camera clicks a few times in rapid succession.
Taeju closes his eyes, fisting the sheets tight. He's not going to beg. He doesn't want to think about how Mujin would react seeing him like this. Humiliation and shame courses through him so strongly his stomach clenches, nausea making him choke through his sobs.
“Shh, it's okay, Taeju. It's just a few pictures." Gangjae fucks him sloppily, the squelching sounds of come and lube has Taenu curling into himself, blood pounding in his face. “An incentive for Choi Mujin to come find you. He might not be very efficient without you around so you gotta cut him some slack.” Gangjae tosses the phone aside. “Meanwhile, we'll have fun okay?”
“I'll - hah - I’ll fu-fucking kill youaaargh -” Gangjae lifts his hips up, the change in angle has him hitting Taeju’s prostate on each thrust and Taeju turns his head to the side, panting. He can feel Gangjae leaning forward to nose along his ear, his jaw, tongue lapping the sweat trickling down his temple,
Long fingers tuck under his jaw, around his neck, turning Taeju’s head back to face Gangjae. He stops pistoning his hip. “Still making threats, Taeju?” The fingers tighten, squeezing until Taeju’s throat clicks. "You sure are cute,” and starts fucking him again. Taeju is growing light-headed, breath catching as his throat constricts. His hand grabs onto Gangjae’s arm, automatically trying to dislodge him, fingernails digging crescents into the flesh. Above him, Gangjae starts to laugh but doesn't let up.
Taeju chokes, his vision dimming. Gangjae’s laughter turning into a breathless groan as Taeju’s body seizes, fighting for air. Abruptly, the pressure vanishes and Gangjae moans aloud, his thrusts turning brutal.
It's the drugs still working his system. The drugs in his blood robbing him of control. Taeju is a mess of sensations, unable to think or speak, blinking tears and sweat from his eyes; he's making all these breathless litle uh uh uhs in time with Gangjae’s thrusts and he can't fucking shut up.
“So fucking wet for me, Taeju. Fuck, you should see yourself,” Gangjae slurs, breathing raggedly. ”Fuck.” This time. he doesn't even have to touch Taeju’s dick before Taeju is spilling all over his stomach.
--
The next time he comes to, Taeju is soaking in a warm bath, steam rising gently from the water, heat soaking into his sore muscles and it feels good, calming, even if he isn’t alone. There’s a body against his back, propping him up. Lips against his skin, pressing soft open mouth kisses to the back of his ear down the side of his neck, a thumb rubs gentle circles over his right nipple, pinches and tugs once. The sensation sends a jolt to his cock, has him arching slightly, head falling back to the shoulder behind him with a soft groan.
“Easy,” says Gangjae, hands going back to rubbing soothingly up and down Taeju’s arms, over his chest, down to his stomach.
Taeju swallows, tries and fails to lift his arms beyond a few inches. “Why are you doing this?” he asks,
“Besides the obvious?” There’s a hint of smirk in Gangjae’s voice. He starts stroking Taeju’s cock, but his grip is loose and gentle.
“You should just kill me.”
“Is this so bad? You’re still alive, aren’t you? You have all your limbs.” Gangjae replies against his temple. “And your face is still intact.”
Taeju breathes unsteadily. “You know what will happen if you don’t.”
“I don’t want to kill you.”
“Then you’re making a stupid mistake. Mujin isn’t going to let this slide. And neither am I. You just declared war on Dongcheon. You better - ah - kill me.” Taeju hips jerked into the tightening grip, the water in the tub sloshing over the rim. “Or are you - hah, mmph - just some stupid junkie who - who thinks with his cock more than his head?”
Silence. Then Gangjae releases him, sliding out of the tub, water splashing onto the tiles and cascading off the sides. Taeju starts to sink and doesn’t bother to fight, just lets his eyes drift shut as the water embraces him, warm and inviting. He has know idea how long he floats in the darkness; a few seconds, or a few hours. It doesn’t matter.
Hands reach into the tub and grab Taeju by the shoulders, hoisting him and slamming him against the shockingly cold tiles. “Are you a fucking idiot?” Gangjae hisses as Taeju coughs and splutters, feet slipping on the wet tiles. A towel is thrown over his head and Gangjae drags him out into the bedroom, throws him hard onto the bed. It’s a different bedroom, a nicer one, with a mounted tv and two cushioned chairs against the wall, a small table between them. The bed’s a lot beggar and sturdier too, mattress barely creaking as Gangjae straddles him, pinning his wrists to the bed.
Taeju stares into his furious face, and doesn’t say anything..
“What the fuck do you see in him anyway? That man doesn’t give two shits about the people working for him. And we’re expected to just die so he can keep going? Do you think if I asked him to trade his life for yours, he’d do it? Wake the fuck up, Taeju.”
“I wouldn’t expect him to,” Taeju replies, blinking away the water dripping into his face. “If Mujin is willing to throw his life away for a subordinate, then he doesn’t deserve to be Dongcheon’s head.”
“An organisation is more than just one man,” Gangjae snarls.
“Choi Mujin is Dongcheon. Dongcheon is Choi Mujin. A leader should never put one person’s life above his own. If you can’t understand that, then you’re destined to fail.”
They stare at one another. “Doesn’t it get tiring,” Gangjae says at last, releasing one of Taeju's wrists to press a thumb to his lower lip, stroking back and forth. “To be always taken for granted.” The muscle in Taeju’s jaw pulses, the only sign that Gangjae had hit a nerve but he’d be damned if he let Gangjae have the satisfaction over him. But Gangjae must see something that gives it away because he smiles, humorless and sharp. “Do you really believe he’s that impartial? Choi Mujin is just a man. Just like the rest of us. And all men have soft,” he kisses Taeju’s cheek. “Weak.” kisses the hinge of his jaw. “Vulnerable points.”
--
“Here,” Gangjae says, dragging the small table towards the end of the bed and setting a bottle of water and a bowl of ramyeon in front of Taeju. “Eat.”
Taeju stares. Gangjae had allowed him a loose shirt and nothing else. The drugs have left him in no mood for food but he recognises he needs to eat and more importantly he needs to stay hydrated. He reaches for the water first. "Scalding liquid and chopsticks?" Taeju asks, taking a long much needed drink. The water stings on his cut lip. "You really are an idiot."
Gangjae scowls, shifting uneasily but doesn't take a step back. “Don't try to be funny. It doesn't suit you.”
Taeju scoffs and starts eating. They both know he isn't strong enough to take on Gangjae at the moment. He had seen himself in the bathroom mirror earlier; his whole body was mottled in nicks and bruises, some alarmingly wide patches all along his side. He needs to bid his time, choose the right moment.
Gangjae pulls a chair and sits, watching him eat. "That Jiwoo bitch is in Narcotics now, did you know that?" He studies Taeju then snorts. “Of course you knew. You planted her. Did you know she raided Mango?”
“She does what she has to.”
Gangjae kicks the table hard causing soup to nearly spill. “Don't spout shit. You hate her as much as I do.” His face is contorted with barely restraint fury, eyes blazing.
“I don't have any particular feelings about her so long as she doesn’t step out of line.”
“Yeah? So you’re fine if I kill her? Wouldn't that upset your precious Mujin?”
Taeju looks up. “You seem tp be under the mistaken impression that I give a fuck what you do, Gangjae. If you want Yoon Jiwoo so bad, go ahead and try.” He resumes eating, ignoring Gangjae’s glare. If Gangjae succeeds, no doubt Mujin would be furious but in Taeju’s opinion, Jiwoo was a bomb under the table waiting to go off, a double edged sword that should never have been sharpened. It was safer for the organisation if she was gone. Safer for Mujin.
“Who is she, really?” Gangjae asks, curious.
“Does it matter?”
“Guess not,” Gangjae agrees after a minute, rolling to his feet. “Be a good boy while I’m out. I think you rather not get pumped full of drugs again. Though you do look pretty moaning for it.”
Taeju ignores him but it’s an exercise of restraint.
Once Gangjae leaves, Taeju checks every inch of the room. It's very possible there's a camera somewhere monitoring him but he doesn't find one either Gangjae doesn't have the foresight to place one or just doesn't care or Taeju's skills have deteriorated rapidly in captivity. There's nothing he can possibly use as a weapon unless hè wants to break the chairs or the table. He's still sluggish, the drugs not yet fully out of his system but at least he's up and moving.
The search has exhausted him considerably. Taeju crashes onto the bed. The door was predictably locked. There's still no windows; he can't tell how many days it has been. The fucking tv doesn't actually work. He drifts into a dreamless sleep and wakes up feeling a bit better. Taeju stretches to warm himself up, drinks some more water and proceeds to demolish the table.
It doesn’t quite smash when he throws it against the door. Instead he hears voices from outside and someone asking loudly, “What the hell was that?”
Taeju lifts the table and throws it again as hard as he can.
Shuffling footsteps, then banging on the door. “You better cut that shit out or I’m coming in.” Taeju walks right up to the door, tries the knob again. Still locked. He slams his fists on the door and starts banging.
“Fuck! Stop that! What the fuck?”
Taeju keeps banging until he hears a muffled curse. After a moment the door knob rattles and turns; the door swings open and one of Gangjae’s minions peers in. He stares right into Taeju’s face, eyes wide.
Taeju punches him in the throat. The man wheezes, knees buckling, hand grabbing for his crushed trachea and Taeju wraps an arm around his neck, yanking him into the bedroom as the two other men in the room leap to their feet, stunned.
He feels around for a knife the man must be carrying, finds it strapped to his belt and draws it out, pressing the blade under the choking man's neck.
"Where's Gangjae?" Taeju finds himself asking, his own voice surprisingly calm, grip tightening on the struggling body.
“Take it easy, man,” one of the men says. Taeju studies them; their pupils blown wide, eyes red rimmed. They're fucking high.
The knife slides easily into neck under his grip. Taeju draws a long bubbling bloody gash and lets the body drop.
“Fuck!” says his friend, mouth gaping open and closed. He looks up at Taeju, pupils shaking. “You -”
The second man charges Taeju, movements jerky, his punch arching wide. Taeju dodges low, twists around and pushes the knife into the back of his neck. He yanks it out, blood spurting hot across his cheek, and throws it at the first guy. It’s not his best, not enough strength but it works as a distraction enough for Taeju to slide close and punch him in the solar plexus. The man lurches forward with a groan. Taeju grabs the knife and stabs him twice in the chest, twisting as blood gurgles and pools under his hand.
He takes a moment to catch his breath. He undresses the man who is closest to his size, pulls on his jeans and jacket and grabs all the knives he can find. After a moment's hesitation, he grabs a phone as well. Peering through the curtain doesn’t help to tell where he is but at least he knows it's day time. A quick check on the phone tells him it's been three days since the gym massacre.
Fuck.
Taeju exhales slowly and steps outside.
--
The hallway is empty. He’s either in a hotel or apartment of some sort, the third or fourth floor. There are doors leading to other suite rooms but Taeju doesn’t bother to check if they're occupied or not. He finds an emergency stairwell and starts going down.
On the first floor landing he meets two men having a smoke. They both look up.
“What the - “
Taeju knees him solidly in the face. The other man reacts quickly, manages to land a solid punch into Taeju's bruised ribs, nearly robbing him of all breath. He twists low, swipes the man's leg out from under him and plunges a knife into his chest when he hits the ground.
Still reeling from the pain, Taeju staggers to his feet, breathing raggedly and stumbles his way down to the ground floor. He takes a few more gulps of air at the door and pushes it ajar slowly, levelling his breathing. It's some sort of club room and the downside to it being day, meant the club was still empty of customers. The lights were on and he counted seven, maybe eight people lounging around. Probably more in corners he can't see.
He blinks sweat out of his eyes, gripping the knife tight in a bloodied palm. There's no way he's taking all of them out in his condition. Taeju closes the door gently. He should head back to the second floor. Find a window or something and get out through that. The path of least resistance.
He's about to turn and head back up when the door pushes open and a voice says, “Wonder what's taking Changwook so lo -” He lets out a grunt as Taeju’s sole connects with his chest, a vicious kick sending him tumbling back. Taeju slams the door shut and curses silently. The door has no fucking lock. He backtracks, taking the stairs two at a time, clenching his teeth against the pain as shouts of alarm and stampeding footsteps breakout from below. Fuck fuck fuck -
He makes it to the second floor and comes face to face with a group pf five no six men ŕight outside the door.
Well, shit.
--
He wakes up handcuffed to the bed, back in the same room, still his bloody clothes with no idea how much time has passed or whether it’s day or night. The back of his head throbs all the way down his neck and rings in his ears.
“I should fucking kill you,” Gangjae’s voice curls quietly from the corner of the room.
Taeju stares at the water-stained ceiling and huffs a self-deprecating laugh. Just bad luck and overwhelming numbers. “Yeah, you should,” he wheezes. “What are you even doing? Do you actually want Mujin to find you? Or are you just holding up here like a dog chewing up a new toy?”
The punch is swift and sudden. Taeju blinks, cheek smarting. But even then Gangjae is holding back. He looms over Taeju, murderous and hauls him off the bed by the collar of his borrowed jacket till Taeju’s arms strain against the cuffs, metal rattling. “You killed four of my men. ”He has a knife in one hand, the blade pressed against Taeju’s jaw.
Taeju coughs and fires back, “You killed four of mine. I guess we're even.”
Gangjae shakes him and his head flops, feeling like it’s about to burst. “Jung Taeju, why the fuck do you have to be so difficult?”
“Kill me. Just fucking kill me. If you don't you’re going to look weak. The people who work for you? They don’t understand loyalty. Only strength. And when they smell weakness, they're going to tear you apart.”
“If you wanna die so fucking badly,” Gangjae snarls in his face. “I'll grant your wish.”
Taeju bares his neck. “Go ahead,” he hisses.
The blade digs into his skin, he can feel blood welling up, pressing deeper; Gangjae’s hand shakes so hard like he's pushing through an invisible wall and yet he doesn’t slit Taeju’s throat open like he should.
“Do it. Come on, you piece of shit!” Taeju screams. “Come on!”
The blade bites into Taeju's flesh. Gangjae is staring right into his eyes and Taeju can see the messy swirl of conflicting emotions in them, the veins in his temple pulsing. The moment hangs between them, an elastic band of tension stretched to the point of breaking. Gangjae breaks, lets out a howl of frustration and pulls away. “No,” he hisses, runs hand over his hair. “You're not dying. Not yet.” He shoves Taeju back onto the bed, breathing hard.
“Bad decision,” Taeju whispers, staring up at him, head spinning. Gangjae was a real idiot but Taeju couldn't help the swelling feeling in his chest. It wasn’t loyalty and it sure as hell wasn’t love. It was just the knowledge that his continued existence mattered more to Gangjae than his standing, or his power or his life. Because this could very well be Gangjae signing his own death sentence with his gang. This was just one incident but they would never forget it. And the next time Gangjae slipped up they would remember. And the next. Until they had enough. Then they would rip him to shreds
Taeju swallows, doesn’t know why his voice sounds so small and hoarse or why his eyes feel hot. “Do Gangjae, when will you stop wearing your heart on your sleeve?”
Gangjae's dark eyes bore right into his and Taeju doesn’t look away, can’t look away, stares back into the myriad of feelings that Gangjae could not hide. For once they are clear of the usual manic gleam, clear and bright and painfully honest. A reminder of what could have been.
He doesn't know which of them moves first. Whether Taeju himself who surges upwards or Gangjae who falls forward to slot their mouths together in a biting messy kiss. Gangjae kisses him with an animal's hunger, wild and frantic and consuming, fingers buried in Taeju’s hair, palms warm on his face. Kisses like he's trying to devour Taeju whole, teeth clacking, lips sucking greedily. Taeju surrenders to the onslaught with a helpless moan, lets Gangjae thrusts his tongue in deep, licking the roof of his mouth, tracing his teeth. He feels the cut on his lip burst open, taste iron and salt on his tongue as Gangjae nips and sucks, the pain shivering through him like a live wire.
“Taeju, Taeju, fuck,” Gangjae clambers atop. “I want - “ He presses hot open-mouth kisses down Taeju’s jaw, to his neck licking the blood smeared along his skin, biting collarbones then back up to pant against Taeju’s mouth.
“Yeah, come on,” Taeju groans in encouragement, his body burning for it, surprised at the intensity of his own arousal.
Gangjae sits up, frantically shucking off his jacket before undoing Taeju’s loose fitting jeans and pulling them off in one swift motion; dives back to slide their lips together, angling his head to kiss Taeju deep and filthy, almost drooling into his mouth. Taeju sucks on his tongue, desperate and needy, twisting up to meet him, hips grinding and catching, spreading his legs in invitation. The cuffs bites into the sore skin on his wrist but he doesn't care.
“Inside me,” Taeju says, breathless. “Want you inside, now, come on.” He kisses Gangjae’s jaw, rolling his hips. It's the first time he's been this turned on, cock flushed and dribbling precome over the shaft.
Gangjae curses, fumbles for a packet of lube in his discarded jacket and tears the foil open with shaking fingers, spilling it over his cock, slicking himself up and smearing the rest carelessly on Taeju's fluttering entrance. Taeju throws his head back with a low groan, back arching, flushed all the way to his chest and trying to breathe as Gangjae pushes in, slow but relentless until he's flushed against Taeju’s ass, stretching him wide and full.
“Fuck, Taeju, you feel so fucking good,” Gangjae gasps, beads of sweat rolling of his nose as he braces himself, hands on either side of Taeju, angling deeper and starts to thrusts.
Eyes squeezed shut and mouth slack to suck in air, Taeju chokes back a stuttered moa as Gangjae’s cock drags against his prostate. This time he doesn’t fight the pleasure, lets it consume him, simmering in his veins, lets it carry his hips to rock up to meet Gangjae’s brutal thrust, his cock bouncing between them, brushing Gangjae’s flat abs, smearing white streaks of come.
“Harder,” Taeju moans. “Harder, you fucker. Is that the best you can do?” He wraps his legs around Gangjae trying to drive him even deeper. Gangjae laughs wild and unrestrained and obeys, screwing in so deeply Taeju knows he's going to feel it for days. He clenches down hard just to hear Gangjae groan, the wet sounds between them loud and obscene. ”Ah ah fuck hah more -” and mewls at a particularly savage thrust, hitting just right.
“Taeju,” Gangjae breathes, dragging Taeju’s hips up and bending him nearly in half, his arms stretched and jerking against the cuffs. “Taeju, Taeju, Taeju- “ He keeps up a litany of Taeju’s name - their lips brushing, ragged breaths mingling - silenced only when Taeju kisses him, keeps kissing him until his lungs scream for oxygen. Gangjae’s fucking him wildly now, no rhythm, just going as hard and fast as he can, the heat building and Taeju has to pull away as he orgasms, muscles tensing, tightening. He hears Gangjae’s answering moan, feels the hot gush stinging his sore channels and it’s bliss, his vision burning bright, shaking through the aftershocks.
Later, he lets Gangjae eat him out; a novel experience Taeju’s never tried before and it’s better than any sex he has had up till then. Half of It is Gangjae’s enthusiasm, alternating between sucking Taeju’s cock and plunging a tensed tongue into his quivering body, lips sucking over the rim, soft kitten licks and broad swipes that has Taeju tossing his head from side to side, chest heaving as he tries to remember to breathe. Gangjae groans, the vibrations travelling up Taeju’s spine, and bobs his head, mouth and chin smeared with come, lube and saliva.
Taeju doesn't bother to stifle the moans, so high on pleasure he swimming in it, hips bucking and rolling into Gangjae face, trying to get more, deeper, harder indulging in his basest desires, wanton and greedy in a way he would normally never allow himself to be. He comes just from that alone and comes a third time when Gangjae fucks him again, now loose, oversensitive, aching, until he screams.
--
He's still handcuffed when he blinks awake, lying on his side. Gangjae wrapped around him, their skin sticking where they are pressed together, chest tp back, legs tangled. Taeju must have passed out and fallen asleep. His wrists are chafed raw to the point of bleeding from constantly tugging at the cuffs.
He licks his bruised swollen lips and shuffles around, turning his head to look behind. "Hey," he croaks. "Gangjae."
Gangjae stirs but doesn't wake, shifting closer one hand tightening on Taeju's waist, making him hiss in pain then sigh. It's a terribly uncomfortable. They're both a mess and the sheets need to be washed at least twice.
He pulls weakly at the handcuffs again, wincing. Then turns back to stare at Gangjae asleep. The lights are still on and Taeju doesn’t know what time it is again. When he's quiet and still, Gangjae looks tired, dark smudges under his eyes, his aquiline face gaunt, cheeks sunken.
He should kill Gangjae.
Taeju lingers on the thought, finds it doesn’t give him any satisfaction. Instead his reluctance is overwhelming. Ridiculous, given what Gangjae has done. Taeju hates being sentimental but he can't help recalling the boy who had begged to join Dongcheon all those years ago, so fucking earnest ànd full of hope.
Gangjae blinks awake slowly, catches Taeju watching him. Taeju's first instinct is to look away, cheeks heating, but he forces himself to stay still. They don't say anything, refusing to acknowledge the shift between them.
Gangjae sits up and pads to the bathroom, returning with wet towel to wipe Taeju down and a first aid kit, unlocking the cuffs at the same time. Taeju studies him as Gangjae rubs circulation back into his arms and starts bandaging his wrists.
"You use to help me, remember?" Gangjae says breaking the odd silence, catching Taeju's gaze with a small smile. "After we trained. I didn't know a thing about first aid then." His movements are sure and precise now, wrapping the bandages securely but not too tight.
"That was nothing," Taeju says softly as Gangjae rubs a thumb back and forth over his bandaged wrists.
Gangjae tilts his head, eyes soft. "I know you care, Taeju. You hated seeing us get needlessly hurt. That's why you worked so hard to push us to be stronger." He smiled a little sadly, a lot fondly. "You always had a soft heart."
Taeju turns away to look at the ceiling, couldn’t bear the way Gangjae was gazing at him. "Look where that got me," he mumbles.
Gangjae moves, weight shifting to straddle him, leaning down for a kiss, soft and gentle. Taeju accepts with a sigh and even though he's sore and aching everywhere, even though he knows his ribs were probably bruised, he lets Gangjae fuck him again, slow and leisured and unhurried, exchanging soft kisses the whole time.
He could for a while forget who he was and what he was, forget about Jung Taeju, about Dongcheon, forget about Mujin and the endless struggle of life and death. He could have this if only for a little while, savour it while it lasted.
--
“Get dressed,” Gangjae says, throwing some clean clothes at him. “We’re going out. There’s something I wanna show you.”
Taeju sits up gingerly, wincing as the muscles in his sides are pulled. “What’s going on?” He catches the roll of bandages Gangjae throws his way. There’s some sort of manic energy thrumming under his skin again today and Taeju doesn’t like it.
“You’ll see.”
They handcuff him after Taeju tapes himself tight and changes into fresh clothes. He needs a doctor but the bandages should hold for now. All the fighting and fucking has only aggravated his injuries but he’s not about to voice his pain.
It’s dark out as they pile into vehicles, armed to the teeth. Taeju sits between two silent beefy men who avoid looking at him or talking to him. Taeju is suddenly worried. It looks like they’re squaring up for a raid or for a fight. Maybe Mujin had made a move and Gangjae was responding. The idea makes his stomach churn uneasily, unsure if asking will get him any answers.
They pull into a junkyard Corpses of vehicles stacked atop each other, many more lined in rows, rusting, abandoned. It’s the perfect location for an ambush.
“Stay in the car and watch,” Gangjae says, grabbing a bag and exiting the vehicle. A fancy sports car is parked up front and a man in a hoodie steps out. It’s Mango. Taeju watches with a frown as Gangjae passes him what looks to be a duffle bag full of drugs and waves him off. Then he turns around, eyes on the empty building behind them and mimics shooting a gun with his fingers.
The fuck.
Taeju angles his head to look behind. There’s some sort of fight breaking out on the upper levels but it doesn’t last long. After a few minutes, men emerge, dragging two struggling figures. Taeju doesn’t gasp but it's a near thing. It’s Jiwoo. The tall man with her is Detective Jeon, his handsome face dark with blood. Gangjae crouches over Jiwoo, grabs her close. They’re too far away for Taeju to make out what’s exactly happening but it doesn’t take a genius to guess. Taeju feels torn. On one hand, he doesn’t care what happens to Jiwoo. She’s a liability. She can too easily turn on them once she finds out who really killed her father. On the other hand, she’s Donghoon’s daughter and Mujin’s ward. She’s Dongcheon. That still means something to him.
“Hey,” says the man on his left, shoving a phone towards him. “Boss wants you to hear this.” He presses a button for a shared call and the phone flares to life, the screen glowing bright in the darkness of the car.
“- hurry up. There isn’t much time. You can either save her. Or you can save Jung Taeju. Your call.”
Mujin’s soft, dangerous voice filters through the dark, hard as steel. “... where is Taeju?”
“Outside your warehouse in Gyeonggi. If you’re lucky, he might not have sunk to the bottom of the river yet. But you better decide fast, if you don’t want a corpse.”
The call goes dead.
Taeju makes a decision.
The man is busy sliding his phone back into his jacket pocket and is completely caught off guard by the vicious headbutt. Taeju elbows the other man on his right in the throat then grbas the first one by the collar and smashes his head against the window until he passes out. He blocks a punch from his right, jams his shoulder under the man’s chin and steps on his foot, twisting to get him into a chokehold. The man gets a few good jabs into Taeju’s stomach, before he falls unconscious.
The pain nearly has Taeju throwing up but he pushes through it, operating purely on adrenaline at this point. Gangjae and his gang are still focused on Jiwoo, giving Taeju the cover he needs to stumble out of the car and into the forests of rusts and metal. He slides behind a car and peers around the bumper, watching as Jiwoo and Jeon Pildo are thrown into a van, sounds of the machine whirring to life, ominously loud and foreboding in the night.
Gangjae returns to the vehicle, climbing into the passenger seat before the door swings open again. “Jung Taeju!” His lean frame is silhouetted by the white overhead lights, turning around. “Taeju! You fucking bastard! Get the fuck back here!” He curses out loud but his men are egging him to get into the goddamn car and forget about the son of a bitch Jung Taeju. Eventually Gangjae does and the cars peel away in a squeal of smoking tyres.
Taeju runs towards the crusher. He can see Jiwoo is almost halfway out the window and put on a burst of speed, reaching the controls just as she tumbles to the ground. He pounds on the stop button and the machine grinds to a halt. Taeju’s knees hit the tarmac, lungs burning, and he retches,
Jiwoo spins around, eyes wide. “Taeju!” she yells, staggering towards him and crouching down. “Oh my god. I was looking everywhere for you. I - how? Are you okay?” She asks him this a few times but before he can answer, bright car lights blinds them both. Mujin’s car stops a foot away, very nearly running them over and the man himself steps out, his expression stunned, his face, clothes and hands are smeared with blood, eyes flitting between Taeju and Jiwoo.
Sirens blare in the distance.
“Go,” says Jiwoo, helping Taeju to his feet. “Get out of here.”
Mujin catches him when he stumbles and helps him into the car, nodding to Jiwoo. Taeju doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t trust himself to speak. Doesn’t quite know what he’s feeling apart from pain and exhaustion. Mujin is saying something but Taeju is already drifting into the darkness behind his eyelids, and doesn’t hear anything at all apart from Gangjae’s voice.
There’s something I wanna show you.
--
Taeju is feverish for almost a week, alternating between freezing cold and melting sweat. He’s placed on an IV drip, shaking and twitching as the drugs are purged from his system. Mujin comes to visit him a few times, gently brushing his hair back from his sweaty forehead and replacing the warmed cloth with a cool one.
“Taeju-ah,” Mujin says, his voice tight and his eyes are filled with so much pain, so much regret. “I’m sorry.”
It’s the first time he can recall Mujin apologising to him for anything. It’s almost enough. Almost.
Mujin promises to carve Do Gangjae open for him. In fact, when they find him, Taeju can do the honours. It’s exactly what Taeju wants to hear and not what he wants at all. But all he can do is nod.
--
Two days after the doctor discharges him from bedrests, Taeju is suited up and back at work. Things have been slipping in his absence and he’s more than a little curt to his subordinates, quick to snap and on a hair trigger temper. Mujin had suggested he should take a few more days off but he couldn’t stand being alone with his thoughts, mostly because they drifted so frequently to Gangjae.
You get fucked up in the head in this line of work sooner or later. But waking up hard then jerking off to the memory of your rapist fucking you was just a whole other level of fucked up. Taeju hates himself for it. And hates Gangjae even more.
He’s overseeing the pledging of new recruits when he gets a call from an unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Taeju-ah, did you miss me?” Gangjae’s voice drawls, hot and silky over the phone.
“How the fuck did you get this number?”
“Do you really think you’re the only one with spies in organisations?”
Fuck. Taeju eyes the recruits lined up in the distance and feels a headache building. “What do you want?”
“She’s alive, isn’t she?” he mocks.
“So?”
“I don’t know,” he sing-songs back. “You tell me.”
Taeju grits his teeth, makes sure he’s out of earshot of everyone else before he says, “Fuck you, Gangjae. Don’t ever fucking contact me again.” The smartphone doesn’t quite give him the satisfaction of slamming down a receiver, so he throws it as hard as he can on the floor and watches as the screen breaks and goes dark.
--
Somehow Gangjae gets hold of his new number. Taeju really needs to look into this leak.
Missed call
Missed call
Taeju baby
Answer the phone. Let’s talk
Helllllloooo
Are you missing me? Cos im missin u
And your tight little hole. Those were good times ;)
Missed call
Are you feeling needy? Or is that stick back up your ass?
Im all for comfort hate sex if you want :))))
Taeju, seriously let's talk come on
Missed call
Missed call
Missed call
Taeju
I'm sorry. Please pick up
Taeju is in his apartment, drying the dishes when the phone rings again. It's the same unknown number. He sighs, puts all the plates away and leaves it to vibrate on mute, goes for a shower instead. When he checks again, having changed into a long sleeved cotton shirt and sweatpants - there's another five more calls gone to voicemail. The phone lights up, ringing again
Taeju weighs the phone in his hand bites back another suffering sigh then swipes green to answer. "What do you want? I told you to stop calling."
"What are you wearing?" Gangjae asks and giggles.
Taeju's mouth opens in confusion and annoyance, brows furrowing. "Are you high?" he asks in disbelief.
"No."
"I'm hanging up. Don't fucking call again."
“Wait, Taeju. Fuck. Yes! Fucking yes, I’m high. And also drunk. Drunk and high.” He laughs then says softly, “Please don't hang up.” His voice is so pathetic and needy that Taeju doesn’t.
“You have two minutes.”
SIlence. Then, “Can we meet?”
“No.” He moves to end the call.
“Jung Taeju!” Gangjae’s voice is loud, angry and desperate on the other end. For a moment, all Taeju hears is his harsh breathing. “I don’t get it,” he says a lot softer. “I thought…”
“You thought what? I’d be so hurt I’d leave everything behind and come running back to you? I’ve known Mujin for years. I know what kind of man he is. You think I’d leave Dongcheon over something like that? I’m not that petty. Unlike you, I don’t let my emotions control me. Grow the fuck up, Gangjae.”
“Stop pretending.” Gangjae chokes out. “I - Taeju-ah, I know you too. Choi Mujin doesn’t. Not really. He never really sees you. You know that now. He doesn’t even care. So, why? Why are you willing to give up everything for an asshole who doesn’t give a shit?”
Taeju exhales softly, blinks a few times.
“You don’t think I can take him on?” Gangjae whispers. “Taeju-ah, I can take him.”
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Taeju replies, voice flat.
“Try me,” Gangjae hisses through the phone.
Taeju pinches the bridge of his nose. “Okay, you bastard. You want to meet? See you at the training gym tomorrow night. Sober.” And hangs up.
--
The gym is exactly the same as he left it sans blood all over the floor. There's police tape outside the shuttered doors and technically, Taeju is trespassing on a crime scene since the place is still cordoned off for the ongoing investigation.
Taeju had spent half of his professional adult life here, training and sparring. Dongcheon practically started here. He remembers the boxing matches between Donghoon and Mujin. Those were always fun to watch. Two completely different styles for completely different men. Little did they know then how different.
"Didn't think you'd actually show," Gangjae says, stepping into the light.
Taeju gives him an unimpressed once over. Sill in that stupid jacket over bare skin. Gangjae's brought his men - five of them - lounging around in the dark, waiting and watching in case they needed to strike.
Gangjae subtly glances over Taeju's shoulder and Taeju scoffs, shrugging off his long overcoat. "You think I'd ambush you?"
"Just playing safe," Gangjae leers. His eyes rake over Taeju, undressing more than just the coat and suit jacket that Taeju folds into a neat pile. He removes his tie as well, wraps in around the knuckles of his right hand.
"Well, at least you're learning," Taeju says, feels his body responding to the hungry gaze, tensing in anticipation.
"You look all better," Gangjae replies sweetly. "It's like I barely gave you a dent."
Taeju plants his feet. "I have a proposal for you." He waits a beat, sees Gangjae's eyes are narrowed, listening. "If you can beat me I'll turn on Mujin. And I'll join you." Gangjae straightens, staring at him with rapt attention, his gaze suspicious, pupils roaming Taeju’s face, searching for the lie. "But if you lose, you give up this useless pissing contest with Mujin and walk away. I won't even ask for your arm or leg."
"You'd do it, huh? If I win, you'd help me kill Choi Mujin?" He circles Taeju, approaching.
"A deal's a deal," Taeju replies, following him out of the corner of his eyes.
Gangjae nods to himself, satisfied and impressed. "Okay. I like it," and launches himself at Taeju.
Gangjae had always been a great fighter and he's only gotten better. More aggressive, more unpredictable. But also far less controlled or precise.
Taeju dodges the first punch and locks his arm around Gangjae's blocking the follow up right hook and delivering a sharp jab to his stomach which Gangjae takes with a grunt. Whatever the hell Gangjae is on also makes him absurdly durable and oblivious to pain. He barely flinches, retaliating with a sharp knee to Taeju's hip and a swift kick. Rather than absorbing the blow, Taeju releases him, rolls with the momentum and back onto his feet just in time to parry another kick. The shock rattles his teeth, reverberating up his forearms to his shoulders.
They trade blows back and forth. It's not a spar, not a dance. It's brutal and vicious, both of them deadly silent, no taunts, no mockery, focused. At one point, Gangjae's fist connects with Taeju's healing ribs and knocks all the breath out of him. He forces himself to move, conditioned by years of fighting not to slow down even when his body is screaming in pain. Gangjae is close enough that Taeju can hook a leg around him and take the fight down to the ground.
Gangjae has improved a lot but Taeju knows he's still faster, more skilled. In three moves, he has the man pinned under him, a knee on his chest, pulling back a blow to Gangjae temple that would have rendered him unconscious.
They're both breathing hard. Taeju doesn't let up, shifts his knee to Gangjae’s throat until he sees the acceptance in his eyes. Only then does he relaxes, shifting to hunch over Gangjae instead.
"Do you know why you lost to Jiwoo back then?" Taeju asks, gripping him by the collar of his ridiculous jacket. Gangjae eyes flicker. "It wasn’t because she was a better fighter. It was simply because she wanted it more. She would have died for that. And what was it you wanted? To be cool? What is it you want now? Revenge? Over this?" He presses his thumb to the raised scar on Gangjae's face. "Give me a fucking break," Taeju spits. "You could have been where she is now if you hadn't let your stupid pride get in the way." He jerks Gangjae closer and says softly, "You're never going to amount to anything if you keep going the way you are. This isn't a world for petty ambitions." Gangjae swallows, doesn't say a word. His eyes flash hurt and anger warring with… something else.
Taeju doesn't want to know.
He pushes to his feet, rubbing the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand and picks up his jacket and coat. "Help your piece of a shit boss up," he barks at Gangjae's men who were all on their feet, watching the fight with white knuckled intensity. They scramble to obey. Taeju turns away, walking towards the exit.
He halts. "Do Gangjae, don't contact me until you get your shit together. And if you come anywhere near Mujin, I'll kill you myself."
--
Taeju steps out of the gym with a sigh, wondering why he had been going easy on Gangjae. The tie is still wrapped around his knuckles, softening his blows.
Taeju is such a soft hearted fool indeed.
His ribs aches but his chest feels unusually light. Like he's finally fully attuned with himself. Finally in control. It's a strange sensation. All his life, Taeju had felt he was chasing something beyond his reach, never quite knowing what it was. And now he feels... free.
He walks towards his car limping slightly. In the glove compartment was a half empty pack of cigarettes Mujin had left behind by accident some time ago. Taeju had kept it just in case Mujin ever needed one.
Now he shakes one out and lights it with the car's lighter, screens down the window and takes a long drag. He coughs, lungs burning. It tastes like shit just as he suspected. But Taeju doesn't throw it away. Instead he takes another deep inhale and starts the engine, exhaling as he drives off into the night, smoke billowing out the open window.