#maybe monster

[maximura]

So I wrote a maybe draft for a Gang AU with Ateez that I maybe will finish, if anyone is into that kind of thing. It has swearing and mentions of blood.

****

It’s a chilly Saturday night in downtown Seoul and Seonghwa can hear the muted throbbing bass from the club on the other side of the bathroom door. He can smell the sweat and smoke of too many people and feel the stickiness of spilled vodka underneath his boots. It’s disgusting but that’s why he’s here. 

The graying strip of fluorescent light above his head flickers as bugs fly head first into it. He muses over the fact that he feels the same. But he can’t go home yet, his watch tells him it’s only 11:45pm. Only three hours to go. 

The mirror is dirty, spotted with fingerprints and water and whatever else he doesn’t want to think about. Not that this was the time to contemplate hygiene. 

Seonghwa’s black Dior suit hides the blood stains but his white shirt doesn't. It takes five minutes of scrubbing to make himself presentable and not alarm other people into calling the cops because some guy is washing a bloody shirt in the bathroom of a dodgy club. But nobody asks. Maybe it’s just wine. Normal people like to think the best, it helps them sleep at night while the monsters are out running the city.

He’ll burn the shirt later. 

By the time he leaves here there will be countless amounts of DNA smeared all over this bathroom. It’ll be impossible to trace anything to anyone without implicating half the youths of Seoul. 

Seungcheol told him that once and he doesn’t forget it as he rinses off his knife in the sink. Stellar, it was called, carved in cursive across the dark wood handle and given to him after his first kill. 

With his blade and clothes as clean as he can get them, Seonghwa raises a wet hand to wipe a stray smear of blood from his cheek. He can't remember whose it is. Not that it really matters. 

He runs a hand through his hair, grimacing when it sits awkwardly for a moment before hurriedly raking the dark strands the other way. 

There’s a soft buzzing from his pocket, just three before it stops.

“You alone? Line clean?”

“Not yet.” Seonghwa replies, exiting the bathroom and making his way through the back of the club.

The person on the other end waits until the thumping bass fades away and Seonghwa steps through the door into the empty back alley. 

“You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Issue?”

"Kim's missing."

His weariness turns sharply sober and edgy. He stops breathing for a second, stomach falling to the ground without warning. 

God, he fucking hates surprises. 

There’s millions of Kims in South Korea but only one that means something. It’s the last thing he needs to hear. It’s a guarantee there will be no sleep in his future. 

“How? When?”

He almost doesn’t want to know.

"Not over the phone. Come in. Pick up the kids on the way, usual place.”

“Yeah…..alright, sure”. 

Seonghwa hangs up and strides to where his black AMG is parked next to a few bikes. He takes three deep shaky breaths, wills himself to dissociate from the feelings he’s stamped down into the ground and puts his ‘At Work’ mask back on. Revving up the growling engine, he pulls the AMG onto the highway towards Lily’s Diner, driving well above the legal limit but knowing the cops in the area have bigger fish to fry right now, he made sure of that. 

Predictably, the “Kids” are right where he thought they'd be. He can see their mouths moving from inside the Diner, an argument in full swing no doubt, and that’s even before he’s even pulled into the parking lot. Some things just never change. It’s almost nice, if he was someone who regularly indulged in the sentimental. 

The kids don’t see him so he calls the one more likely to answer. 

"Yeah?"

“I’m in the parking lot. There’s a call-in, we gotta go now.”

There’s a heavy pause on the other end. 

“How bad?”

“Worse.”

Yunho has always been quick to read people, even through the smallest twitches on their face or slightest shifts in their voice. It was a useful skill in the field but Seonghwa has never liked it being used on him. He’ll make an exception tonight if it means less bickering.

“Okay. We’ll be out.” 

They hang up and Seonghwa waits, digging around the glove box to locate some Skittles before remembering that he ate them already. 

Fuck this Long Night.

******

"So get this Seonghwa-"

“No names in the field.” He scowls. “Wait till we’re out of ear shot at least.” 

Mingi just never learns. Blessed with freakish energy and strength but cursed with recklessness and a voice that carries too loudly across any parking lot. 

“Paranoia getting to you again?” Mingi asks with a wide grin. “It’s midnight and the only dangerous people here is us."

Seonghwa regards him through the rear view mirror; sharp tense eyes meeting bright curious ones. He knows for a fact that Mingi’s job tonight was tough but looking at the blonde in the backseat now, with his hair being tousled by the night breeze, you’d mistake him for any other carefree kid on a night out.

Seonghwa is wrestled back into the present when he feels eyes boring into his face. While he’s been looking at Mingi, Yunho has been silently watching him, stealing whatever information he needs to arrive at whichever conclusion he chooses. 

It’s unnerving. 

“You two have any problems tonight?”

Work talk. Shop talk. It’s a safe topic. Seonghwa will keep it going as long as he needs to because he can feel all the questions on the tip of Yunho’s tongue. 

They both know Yunho feeds on information; possessed with a desire to know everything about everyone in every situation. He hadn’t always been like that, Seonghwa thinks regrettably. The twenty-three year old staring at him now is nothing like the scrawny insecure kid he met all those years ago on the street. 

They both also know that Seonghwa holds all the secrets and does not surrender them easily, if at all. There are some secrets that not even Seungcheol, their leader, knows. Secrets that will be buried with him when he dies. 

“No problems.” Yunho replies shortly. “It was fine.”

“No it wasn’t! I need new weapons!” Mingi protests, ignoring the silent battle of dominance playing out in front of him. 

“What’s wrong with your current lot?”

“Ugh, it jams every time it gets damp!” Mingi cries, throwing his hands in the air and nearly taking Yunho’s eyes out. “I’m going to ask Wonwoo for some new shit when we get back. He said I was his favourite and I’m going to capitalise."

Like a switch, Yunho’s stony face lights up with laughter. “What? You are definitely not his favourite. He was being sarcastic.”

Mingi pauses, hand on his chest like he’s wounded. “No, but he said it fully serious.”

Yunho rolls his eyes. “That’s just how he talks, Mingi. He tells us we’re all his favourites. That’s the joke because none of us are his favourite.”

Seonghwa snorts out a laugh. 

“So this whole time…” Mingi trails off, a look of betrayal flitting across his face. 

“Yeah, he finds you as annoying as the rest of us.” Yunho says with a chuckle, petting Mingi’s blonde hair fondly. “He hates everyone.”

“Everyone?”

“Well, almost everyone.”

There’s a beat of silence and Seonghwa lets go of some of the tension in his shoulders. It lasts approximately ten seconds before Mingi’s head suddenly pops up next to him. 

“Hey Seonghwa, I’m still your favourite though right?”

******

When they arrive at Headquarters Seonghwa punches in the new code and nods to Stanley, the security man pretending to be the Gardner, as they drive into the gated property. As far as he knows, there were no flowers that bloomed solely at night, but their neighbours were either stupid, apathetic or just as crooked as they were to ignore it all. 

Once inside, Seonghwa sends Mingi and Yunho to clean up but he makes his way up to the main office. 

“Well? You found him yet?”

Seungcheol is at his desk when Seonghwa bursts through the door, hissing a loud ‘fuck off!’ at the two guards who attempted to search him. 

Seungcheol allows it, nodding for the guards to stand down.

“Well?” Seonghwa asks again. “Do we have anything?”

“No.”

Seonghwa slumps heavily into one of the leather chairs in the room. 

Seungcheol regards him quietly and calmly. “I was going to wait till the others got here.”

“Oh fuck that, I deserve to know first.” Seonghwa spits out, knowing that, despite his own seniority, Seungcheol is still older and he’s dangerously close to stepping out of line here. 

“Hongjoong was contracted to take out Big Red tonight.”

Cold dread settles uncomfortably in Seonghwa’s stomach, with worry and anxiety gnawing at him until everything is replaced with anger. 

“He didn’t tell me that.”

“I told him not to.”

“So you sent him on a secret suicide mission by himself? Not even a team could take on Big Red right now. What the hell, Seungcheol?”

“We had intel things would be favourable.”

Seonghwa snorts derisively. “Well, him being missing doesn’t make it very fucking favourable does it?”

They’re both quiet for a moment. Seonghwa talks down his rage; not just at the fact that Hongjoong is missing but at the sheer amount of disastrous decisions being made without his knowledge.

“The intel was bad. Jongho took care of the source.”

“No shit it was bad.” Seonghwa scoffs, as if a mole dying was meant to make him feel better. “So you don’t know anything?”

Seungcheol leans forward in his chair. “There’s not much to go on: we think Red’s still on the run because nobody’s called it in yet. The entire building they were both in burnt to the ground. No survivors.”

“That’s nothing to go on.” Seonghwa mutters. “How do you even know there’s no survivors? Have you looked?”

Seungcheol’s poker face flashes with something akin to regret. It’s barely there but Seonghwa caught it. 

“What? What is it?”

“Well, it would seem that your little pal got himself some kind of fan who saw the whole thing. 

Seonghwa is dumbfounded, staring lamely at Seungcheol as he continues. 

“If he's meant to be so hard to find and kill, I don't even know how this kid managed to track him down and follow him in the first place.”

“Wait, how do you even know this? Where’s this kid now?”

“Wonwoo’s feeding him in the kitchen.”

“What? Are you serious?” Seonghwa laughs incredulously, “You brought a fucking unreliable witness back here? Are we in the witness protecting business now? Have you actually lost your mind?”

Seungcheol lets out rare weary sigh. "You want to see him?"

No, he didn't. He's had enough of kids and stupid decisions for one night. 

"Sure."

*****

The Kid looks maybe 18. It was hard to tell. Maybe the tears made him look younger but the soot and grime made him look older. 

Wonwoo nods a greeting as Seonghwa enters the kitchen and stands up to leave them alone. 

Seonghwa sits down at the table. 

"You ok, Kid?"

"Don't call me that!” 

The snap was unexpected and Seonghwa can't help but be amused. Just seen death, kidnapped by a gang and this kid still has the balls to talk back. 

“Okay, so you’re not a kid. Got it. You have a home to go to? Parents?"

The Kid shakes his head. It’s a movement and answer that trips a wire in Seonghwa’s mind. 

"Okay then. You gotta name?"

"He said no names in the field."

And Seonghwa wants to laugh at that. Typical Kim Hongjoong.

"We're not in the field now though."

“Well, I’m not stupid enough to tell you my name.” The Kid huffs defiantly, even through the dirt and tears. 

This kid. Seonghwa can see why Hongjoong might've been tempted to let him get close. 

"Okay. Different question. How did you know him?"

"I don't. I just followed him around."

"Yeah? And he let you? You know what he is right?"

"He's a killer. Just like you."

The Kid turns to look him in the eyes. They’re as sharp as the ones he’s seen in the mirror and suddenly the teenager looks both young and old at the same time. There’s a weariness, sadness, tiredness but above all, the steely silver light of determination. 

"He's not dead."

The statement punches Seonghwa right in his chest. "What?"

"I couldn't find a body. It means he's not dead."

A few years ago Seonghwa might've been more naive, might’ve been too optimistic or pessimistic based on emotions, but now, he only plays with fact and probability. And right now, those tell him that despite the whole building burning down and no gang wars erupting over Big Red’s territory: no body means no kill. Assassins survive for a reason. Especially Kim Hongjoong. 

"You looked?”

The Kid nods. "Until the cops and fire guys came"

"Did you tell this to anyone?"

"Only you."

"Why me? How do you know me?"

"He told me to find you. He told me to trust you....." The Kid pauses. Obviously debating whether to trust anyone at all. "He told me to look for the model guy with the most expensive suit. That's you isn't it?"

Seonghwa wants to laugh but his mind just reels from the information. This wasn’t just a random Kid. He clearly had some sort of relationship with Hongjoong, one that Seonghwa didn’t even know about. 

He pushes aside the feelings of betrayal and settles on processing the fact that this kid has spent enough time with Hongjoong to figure out what he might look like. It means Hongjoong has described him, in detail, to someone. Just in case something happened to him. 

This kid was the lifeline. And Seonghwa was the emergency contact.

Fucking Kim Hongjoong. 

The kid lets out a sheepish yawn and Seonghwa checks his watch: 2am. 

"You got anywhere to go? It's late."

He’s met with a non committal shrug. 

“You want me to drop you off somewhere?”

“I don’t know.”

“Someone out there is looking for you right?”

“No.”

Seonghwa just stares at him before taking in the worn out clothes, the Nike hoody that looks suspiciously like the one he got Hongjoong years ago, and the total lack of any real personal belongings near him. 

Seonghwa clears his throat uncomfortably. "Ah. Well. I'll talk to er, the others about where to...put...you."

He walks out of the room swiftly and finds Seungcheol in the main lounge room they used for most meetings. He must’ve had the strangest expression on his face because Seungcheol doesn’t even demand a status report right away. 

“What? What is it?”

“He…said he looked through the wreck of the building, after the fire was put out. He couldn't find a body. Any body. So maybe they're both alive.”

“Someone pulled them out.”

“I think so. It would explain why nobody’s claimed Hongjoong’s kill and Red’s minions aren't tearing themselves apart for a piece of the territory.”

He looks around room. The black couches in the corner now filled with the sleeping forms of the Yunho and Mingi. 

“You filled them in?”

Seungcheol nods, “Only what they needed to know: that Hongjoong’s missing.”

“Where’s Jongho?”

“He’s fine, just delayed by the ferry. Something about a storm over the ocean.”

Seonghwa nods. “The Kid. He’s a street kid. I don’t know who he belongs to, he says nobody but someone out there must be missing him. I'm not sure it was smart taking him here but he knows too much Seungcheol. He knows a whole fucking lot.”

Seungcheol rubs his temples. “That’s what I was afraid of. It’s part of the reason I took him here.”

“Part of?”

“Well, he also asked for you. By name."

They stare at each other incredulously, before simultaneously muttering, "Fucking Kim Hongjoong.” 

[doctorsiren]

apparently this AU Stan is a favourite so here’s a couple drawings of me tryna get a feel for him

[sui-imi]

Funeral, right

---

been seeing some discussion about canon/fanon sans re: papyrus' death, and then i thought, unrelatedly, "hey i wonder what he did with the dust"

[vhalesa]

Perspective exercise but with snoms

[lilystrations]

"Error;;404"

Hot off the press and ready for Gen Con! Initially it was just Ash and Missingno, but I wanted some extra panicked pokemon fleeing the sudden appearance. I know Wingulls weren't in the original Kanto, but they make for the perfect lil startled seabirds (sorry, pidgey).

[nadjasnandor]

No, I don't think that's gonna happen. I mean, we could. We still have 7 floors to go.

[edlucavalden]

Oh my god.. this post was cooking i had to..

[monstersflashlight]

Train trip

gn!Ghost x fem!reader || groping, heavy dub-con, edging, accidental exhibitionism (very light)

You were almost asleep, the train home took too long and you worked a double shift. You could barely keep your eyes open as you (finally) sat down. There were only two other people in the train, and you didn't mind them as you pushed your legs up on the seat in front of you and made yourself comfortable. You were thinking about taking a nap when you felt it.

At first, you thought it was just a weird contraction of your muscles, tired after all day working. You moved a bit and tried to fall asleep again. But then you felt it again.

A soft caress against the inside of your leg, it felt like a hand. You looked down, but there was nothing there. Your skirt rode up at the bottom, like something was pushing it up. You slapped it down again. The hair at the back of your neck standing up as a shiver ran down your back. You couldn't pinpoint what was wrong. Something was there. You looked at the other two passengers, but they were looking at their phones, nobody paying you attention. An awful feeling ran through you.

The profound dread that filled you made you anxious as you tried, and failed, to get up. There was some kind of force holding you down, your legs felt too heavy, extended on the seat in front of you. Your arms too tired to get them up. You started to panic, something primal inside of you wanting you to run, to scream. You couldn’t, as you opened your mouth to do just that, something fell over it. You couldn’t see anything, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t scream.

What the fuck.

Something, someone, was constricting your movements and covering your mouth. You always said you didn’t believe in ghosts, but in that second, all the times you said something about it passes through your mind. Your mind frantically trying to make you run, filled with panic. You tried to scream again, but the thing over your mouth just pushed harder, pressing lightly against your nose and making it hard for you to breathe. You tried to calm down, to take deep breaths. You almost succeeded calming your racing heart.

But you felt it again. A presence at your side, a hand running up and down inside your thigh, pushing your legs apart. You tried to push your knees together as hard as you could. It was no use, whatever force was there kept them open.

You tried to scream, to bite down, but they didn’t move. The hand kept going up and up, your skirt moving up as they got too close. You felt exposed, scared that somebody was going to look at you and see you there, quiet and with your skirt up your hips, your panties showing completely. You tried to move away again as ghostly fingers ran up and down the seam of your panties, you moaned involuntarily. Fuck. It was not the time to get aroused by ghostly hands. It was unnatural, it was wrong. You couldn’t be feeling aroused about it. You didn’t want to be touched. Did you?

You tried to get away again, but failed once more. Sitting still on the train, legs up, open and exposing your most vulnerable parts, panting. You didn't want to, you knew it wasn’t normal to feel like that, but your panties were getting damp, your pussy wet. The presence moved again, something else groping your tits, massaging them like they didn’t care about you, just wanted to feel you pant again. They succeeded. You moaned softly as whatever was there kept groping your boobs. You felt how they pinched your nipples through the fabric of your bra, the moan you let out swallowed by the hand covering your mouth. How many hand did they have? Were they even hands? You couldn’t see anything at all, but you could feel so much. Too much. Your pussy clenched over nothing.

The fingers kept playing with your pussy over your panties, not pressing, not doing more than a light caress. You wanted to scream for them to stop, maybe to keep going. You weren't sure anymore. You wanted them to move. Each second, growing a bit more nervous, a bit desperate. The mixed feeling inside of your brain weren’t nothing compared to the heat soaking your panties.

When the first finger moved your panties and pushed inside, your scream was muffled by a hand. Followed right after with what felt like two fingers getting shoved down your mouth. You gagged over them, but not a heartbeat later you were sucking on them, soaking them and trying to get them as far as you could. You thought you heard a laugh, but there was nothing there. With two fingers down your throat and two fingers up your pussy, you felt like a toy for their pleasure. That shouldn’t make you hot, shouldn’t make more juices run down your thighs. But it did. You felt so hot, so aroused.

They fucked your pussy like a piston as you stood there, unable to move and swallowing against their fingers, trying to muffle the dirty sounds you were making. You looked up at the other two passengers, they were still looking at their phone. Good. You didn’t want them to look. Did you? No, you didn’t. That thought didn’t make your pussy contract against the fingers inside you.

You felt on edge, you were so close but so far. They were hitting all the right places at once, just to move away the next second. They were flicking your clit and rolling it in the most perfect way to have to touch the edge, but never going over it. You wanted to scream. But instead of that, you doubled your efforts sucking the fingers inside your mouth. You were good, you were a good girl who deserved to cum. Weren’t you? You could deep-throat those fingers until the ghost (ghosts?) made you come.

But they kept the torture up. Getting you close and taking it away over and over. A tear fell from your right eye, traveling down your cheek. You tasted the salt of your tears next, flowing freely as you were exposed and played with, unable to fight back, unable to move, unable to come.

The whole trip kept going like that, they got you close just to take it away. Over and over until you were a crying mess, your tears mixing with the saliva running down your mouth as you sucked on their fingers. You were scared that somebody could see you like that, but too desperate to stop. It was fruitless. You were at the mercy of an unknown entity in the middle of a train. You felt dirty. You felt like a filthy girl. And that turned you on beyond belief.

They played with your pussy for what felt like hours, but you know it was only 30 min, the exact time between one stop and the next one. When the next stop was rolling close, they hit that damn place that made you see stars, the fingers inside of you milking the pleasure out of you as the train slowly reduced the speed. You came and came and came, a scream involuntarily leaving your mouth as the presence vanished completely. The fingers inside your pussy gone, the fingers inside your mouth, too. The scream alerted the two other passengers who looked up and rapidly looked down.

You didn’t want to know how you looked, probably a mess. They didn’t look up, but you could see how one of them tried to hide his erection. You tried to pull yourself together, your panties were completely ruined, your face was probably a messy mix of tears and saliva, your shirt as wet as the inside of your thighs. You left the wagon and the dude lifted his eyes, making eye content with you and smirking. The knowing grin on his face made your face flush, embarrassed beyond belief.

A ghost ravished you in a train… and you enjoyed it.

What a filthy, filthy girl.

[bunnis-monsters]

Unable to conceive with your vampire!husband so he suggests you try with your werewolf best friend. He’s pretty insistent about it, and promises he won’t be jealous or anything…

As long as he gets to watch you take your best friend’s knot.

[beebeedibapbeediboop]

"Gnaha, scared of me?"

[noodles-and-tea]

For the twins in time AU, I genuinely wonder what kind of people the young twins grow up into because of Stan’s/Ford’s influence. Especially if it takes years for the portal to get fixed.

(Sorry if it seems like I already sent this question, I don’t know if it got sent the first time I asked)

I haven’t fully fleshed out how Ford grows up in the past but I do have thoughts on Stan presently

[maximura]

Maybe Monster, Part 02

So this is the next chapter of that Gang AU I wrote in 2019 and thought was lost. I haven't made a nice post for it yet and it doesn't have a proper title because it's all still just drafts I'm trying to piece together. I kept calling it my "Maybe" story so now it'll just go by Maybe Monster. It will not make any sense unless you read Part 01.

Warnings: violence, mild swearing and typos. Words: About 7500k. Characters: Ateez and Seventeen.

****

Maybe Monster Part 02

6 months earlier. 

There was a 7-Eleven that once let San sleep out back without calling the cops. He had chased away a group of obnoxious teenagers trying to rob the place and the owner took enough pity on him to let him sleep in the small space where they usually unload all the deliveries. He got fed a few times a week, things that were perfectly fine but dented or unsold by the end of the day and would’ve ended up in the trash anyway. Not that it’s above him to dig through trash. As long as it’s still wrapped, it’s still good. 

It was going fine until the owner’s wife got wind of the whole situation and San had to move on from one 7-Eleven to another. The next one wasn’t so accommodating but at least he knew their routine and when all the food would be thrown out. If the cameras catch him digging through the trash like an overgrown raccoon, nobody calls him up on it. 

The men’s shelter was a few blocks away, it was always busy, always overrun and always so chaotic. But he hadn’t belonged there. He wasn’t a man who had fallen on hard times. He wasn’t a man who fell in with the wrong crowd. He was hardly a man at all. 

He had just turned eighteen, no longer a child of the state and therefore, completely invisible. The church refuge has been kind for awhile, until he was caught stealing food. It had only been a piece of bread but apparently you can only have it during business hours. He had aged out of their care by then anyhow, suddenly a threat to all the other children there by virtue of age. 

There was nowhere to go. Sometimes he lines up at the shelter and gets a hot meal and shower. Sometimes he shows up too late and they send him away with a sandwich if he’s lucky. Sometimes he sees the fights breaking out and just keeps walking. 

The best days are when it’s slow and there’s hot water left or the communal washing machines aren’t busy. Those days are rare. 

The worst days are always when it rains because there’s no way to escape the damp cold. 

The weather gets warmer now though and it’s easier to live and sleep under the stars without fear of double pneumonia. 

San considered himself lucky to find a low rooftop that hasn’t been occupied yet, there was a paint factory across the road and even though it had been shut down for months, there was always a faint smell of chemical lingering in the air. But now, as San lays there staring up at the dark skies, he doesn’t think about that. Instead he thinks about the mother who loved him before she died and the father who didn’t. 

They are both long gone now and he was left with nothing but scattered memories and his father’s debts. He was only sixteen then, with no real means to pay them off.

So bank took the family home. 

After that, he really had nothing at all. 

San sighs at the memory, it seems forever ago, but in reality, it’s been barely two years. Adjusting the balled up jacket under his neck he closes his eyes and tries to get some sleep. 

He’s just about to drift off when there’s a quiet scuff of boots on pavement, the sound coming from somewhere below him. 

It’s followed by the rattle of a chain fence and then a tired ‘fuck!’. 

There shouldn’t be anyone around here. San staked the area out for weeks on end to make sure. The 7-Eleven nearby, with its persistent security cameras, deters most street sleepers and the dangerously lawless Docklands a few blocks away was always the more attractive option. 

San crawls towards the edge of the rooftop, slowly peering down into the alleyway below, careful to stay hidden in the shadows. 

There’s a figure clad in a dark green jacket and hat, standing in front of the fence that usually leads to the old paint factory. The whole time San has been sleeping across the street, he’s never seen anybody try to break in. The property hasn’t been opened in months so San has no idea why this stranger would want to get inside there now. Anything of value would’ve been taken long ago. 

The Stranger turns around a few time, surveying his surroundings, before disappearing into a patch of shadow. 

San almost loses sight of him but suddenly there’s a flash of blue flame and he watches with fascination as it cuts through the chained fence like a hot knife through butter. 

The Stranger slips through the newly form hole and gets about five steps before the alarms are tripped.  It’s loud and pervasive and invasive, causing San’s hands to fly to his ears in protest. 

The Stranger runs back out through the hole in the fence as police sirens wailed in the distance. The 7-Eleven worker must have called. 

San groans. 

Cops.

Great.

He rushes back to collect the few belongings he has, throwing them hurriedly into his blue backpack before climbing down the hidden back ladder. He’s half way down when he comes unexpectedly face to face with the Stranger trying to climb up. 

“Out of the way kid!”

“Don’t call me that!” San bristles in annoyance. 

“I’m kind of in a hurry here.”

“To the roof?” San snorts in disbelief. “Stupid way to get caught but whatever.” 

He doesn’t wait for a reply, just nudges past the stranger and slides the rest of the way down. Under the cover of darkness, he runs towards his other hiding spot; a literal hole in the wall on the side of another abandoned building. It used to be an old bakery with a small front room where they used to sell bread to the public. It’s dangerously run down, unsafe and always on the verge of collapse, that’s why nobody else hides there, not even the most desperate of street kids. 

Within two minutes of pushing into the old building, San hears footsteps approaching. 

It’s the Stranger, who flashes an unexpectedly bright smile at him as he shoves into the tiny space next to San. 

“Kinda small in here.”

San just stares at him. 

“I’m assuming the cops don’t check this place?”

San shakes his head.

“Okay, good.” The Stranger says, weirdly conversational. “You’re gonna be real quite right?”

San nods swiftly. 

“Great.” Another wide grin is flashed at him and San can’t remember a time when anyone smiled at him this much for no particular reason. 

So they both sit in the darkness, cramped and uncomfortably close. San doesn’t talk and thankfully the Stranger doesn’t either but San sees the way there’s a hand resting inside that green jacket. He sees the black outline of the gun. 

In the distance, police sirens come, bringing with them a swarm of crunchy footsteps and typical voices muttering too much of absolutely nothing. Cops all talk the same. They never know anything. 

It’s the criminal detectives and forensics team that everyone should worry about. 

After half an hour of intense noises, everything fades to quiet.

There’s nothing but dark stillness when they finally climb out into the alley way. 

The Stranger hums, surprised and pleased. 

“Huh, interesting. Well, thanks kid, seeya round.”

And then he’s gone. 

San’s had plenty of weird encounters in the wild but this must be in the top three for sure. 

He adjusts the straps of his backpack and treks to another hiding place in the city. 

****

“Well?” Seonghwa asks when Hongjoong climbs back into the Honda Civic. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Drive. Slowly.” Hongjoong says, stuffing his jacket and hat into a bag under his feet. “There might still be cops around.”

Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “Yeah no shit, I heard them. You tripped the security?”

“Yeah. Ground sensors.”

Seonghwa cruises the Honda calmly onto the main roads, resisting the temptation to speed away from the few stray cop cars still loitering around, especially the one that stops next to them at the red lights. 

“That’s interesting.”

“Definitely interesting.” Hongjoong agrees as he flips the old CD player on. It plays The Carpenters and Seonghwa grimaces at the way Hongjoong starts singing along to the strains of Superstar. 

The cop next to them rolls up his window with a disgusted groan and Seonghwa smiles inwardly when they turn off the main road to drive home. 

“That paint factory hasn’t done business for eight months. Big Red bought the company then deliberately ran it dead. Ground sensors are an expensive investment to protect a few ancient machines. Which means-“

“There’s something of worth there.” Hongjoong finishes. 

“Exactly.”

“We need another way in.”

“Obviously,” Seonghwa rolls his eyes. “Did you seriously think you could just cut a hole in the fence and walk right in?”

Hongjoong laughs and turns to his work partner with a lopsided grin. “You know what? For like five seconds, yeah I did.”

“We can’t trip the ground sensors again. We’ll have to go really high-“

“-or really low.”

Seonghwa hums in agreement. “I’ll talk to Wonwoo about getting the underground plans.”

“Yunho can get them.”

“But then we’d have to tell him why we want them.” Seonghwa groans. “He’ll talk my ear off.”

“I’ll ask him. Don’t worry.”

“Hongjoong, I really think we need to keep this one between us.”

“You still sore after that fight you two had?” Hongjoong asks. “He doesn’t hate you. I think he likes you more than he likes me!”

Seonghwa scoffs. “You must be joking right? He’s always questioning everything I say. He only respects me because you and Seungcheol tell him to.”

Hongjoong just looks at Seonghwa like he’s grown antlers. 

“He questions all of us. It’s just what he does. We just don’t take it personally like you do. His eye for detail is why he’s a good point man and you know it.”

Seonghwa sighs now. “He wasn’t like this when we first found him.”

“Well he’s not sixteen anymore.” 

“He was easier as a sixteen year old.”

Hongjoong cackles loudly. “Are you serious? You were complaining about how clingy he was back then and now you’re complaining about how bitchy he is at twenty three. Just face it: our kid just grew up.”

“Our kid?” Seonghwa muses, “I think he’s your kid.”

“Only when he’s being a bitch to you.”

“Which is all the time.”

“Whatever. Leave it to me, I’ll get the plans. But first, can you detour around that corner?”

“To the spicy chicken place again? Thought you were carb cutting.”

“I’ve had an unsuccessful night, I think I deserve spicy chicken. My mental health needs it.”

“Okay enjoy your early cardiac disease.” Seonghwa teases but takes the detour as requested and then reminds Hongjoong not to forget his side order of Pad Thai. 

Back at Headquarters later, now fed and warm, Seungcheol grills them about the failed reconnaissance venture. 

“There's no visible security personnel front or back but a huge amount of ground sensors as soon as you step on the property.”

Seungcheol raises as eyebrow at that. “That’s interesting.”

Hongjoong nods. “There’s cameras around the entire perimeter and also almost 180 degrees of security camera coverage from the 7-Eleven across the street. It’s not even deserted. There’s a few street sleepers nearby. It‘ll be difficult to get in and out of without someone noticing.”

“Drop in from the air?”

Hongjoong shakes his head. “Distance between the rooftops is too far. Even for zip lines.”

“Underground?”

“Yeah, looks like that’s the only way in.”

Seungcheol nods slowly, chewing through the information. 

“Get the underground plans from Wonwoo. I want a team meeting and plan about this by the end of the week. Red can’t just take my shit without consequence. I want what’s in that building.”

Hongjoong nods, ignoring Seonghwa’s ‘I told you so’ smirk. 

“Which team? Soonyoung is in Japan with Jihoon. Jeonghan and Mingyu are still in China helping out Jun. Hansol is stuck in New York. Unless you want to call in Heeseung?"

Seungcheol shakes his head, “No, I want to keep this between the four of us. It’ll be too dangerous to manage if more people know.”

They’re dismissed with the wave of a whisky glass. 

“I’ll go talk to Wonwoo now.” Hongjoong says, as they exit the business floor of their Headquarters and head towards the living wing. 

“He hates you. I’ll go talk to him.”

“He hates everyone. It won’t matter who asks.”

“Fine.” Seonghwa relents.

They find Wonwoo in the kitchen, heating a glass of warm milk in the microwave. He nods a greeting before going back to peering at his rotating glass of milk. 

“Hey, you got a minute? We need-“

There’s a hand held out in their direction. It doesn’t lower until the microwave finishes and starts beeping its countdown. 

“Okay, so-“

The hand is held back up, silencing them again. 

They wait until the other man takes a sip of milk and sits down at the big wooden table like he runs this whole place. Which he kind of does. 

“Can we talk now?” Hongjoong asks. 

Wonwoo eyes the doorway. 

“I checked already.” Seonghwa says by way of answer. “Yunho is still out on mission. Jongho is asleep. Mingi is in the gym. And Mufasa is pacing around his office in his Armani suit.”

Wonwoo cracks a smile at that, finally nodding for them to talk. “Go on.”

“It’s about Red. He’s hiding material at the old paint factory on the edge of town. The only problem is the ground is bugged with sensors, there’s no air entry options and there’s street level cameras everywhere. We need underground plans by the end of the week. Seungcheol wants a meeting but just strictly the four of us.”

Wonwoo takes it all in, sipping his milk quietly, waiting for them to finish. 

“Okay.”

It’s all the older man says before shuffling to the sink to wash his glass and waving them goodnight. 

Hongjoong sits back in relief. “That went well? Maybe the milk was really good.”

“Maybe it’s laced with Xanax.”

“Or he suddenly developed a soft spot for us.”

They both look at each other with a grin. “Definitely the Xanax.”

****

There’s a red Honda Civic parked next to San’s hiding hole. He had a decent sleep and when he woke up, there it was, perfectly positioned for him to car jack. 

It’s a 2001 model at best. Not likely bugged with screeching alarms, judging by how ancient it looked, except for the tires. The tires and hub caps look strangely new. 

Stranger still, nobody has come to claim it in over two hours. 

Time is of the essence. Seize the day and all that Latin motivation. 

San has his father’s old crowbar and figures he can at least sell the shiny new hub caps for some money. It’d be nice to buy decent food again. 

He’s gotten two off when there’s a hand that closes around his shoulder. 

It startles him like an electric shock and his body reacts by spinning around to swing the crowbar at some unsuspecting ankles. 

But if he’s quick, the ankles are even quicker.

And now the ankles are laughing at him. 

By the time he’s standing up with the crowbar in front of his body like a weapon, he finally sees the Laughing Ankles. 

“Oh. It’s….you.”

“Hey kid.”

“I said don’t call me that!”

It’s late afternoon and San can finally see the other man’s face clearly now. 

He’s younger than expected, with dark dirty blonde hair and really straight teeth. He’s about Sans height but broader and built in ways San’s pathetic muscles could only dream about. 

Handsome, some part of his brain whispers, but he’ll pretend he didn’t hear that. 

“Stealing is a crime you know.” The Man says, leaning casually against the Honda with his hands in his pockets, as if he wasn’t even threatened by the feral creature holding a crowbar. 

“So is breaking and entering.” San counters, offended by the casual response. 

“I guess we’ll call it even then.”

San lowers his crowbar, staring slack mouthed. “You’re not gonna call the cops?”

The Man screws up his face. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh.” San breathes, relieved but feeling out of sorts. “Why not?”

“What’s the point?” The Man shrugs. “Unless you want to go to jail? Awful free meals, very permanent shelter? I mean, it’s a pretty cool deal except for the torture, stabbings and lack of freedom.”

San shakes his head. “No, no, I’m good here.”

“You live around these parts huh?” 

San pauses. “No, just visiting.”

Something about his answer makes the Man chuckle. 

“Okay, well I’m pretty hungry. You eaten lunch yet?”

San shakes his head again. He hasn’t had dinner or breakfast either. 

“Alright, put my hubs back on and I’ll buy you a hot dog.”

It’s the one thing San thanks his father for teaching him; how to hot wire and work cars apart before putting them back together again. There’s not exactly a lot of legal applications but for once, it proves helpful. 

“You a mechanic’s kid or something?” The Man asks, surprised at the speed and skill.

“Sort of.”

“Interesting.”

It’s the way the Man says it that has San on edge. His mind floods with images of being kidnapped and trafficked or turned into a drug mule. He’s seen it happen countless times before and would rather die than let that happen to him.

But he’s so tired of being hungry and vows to bail as soon as he’s eaten. 

They walk to the nearest 7-Eleven and he gets two hot dogs. Then a third, with cheese. It’s the best meal San’s had in months probably. He can’t even remember. 

He’s chugging a blue Gatorade when the Man gets a phone call that turns his bright face all stony and cold. It’s a short phone call with barely two words exchanged. 

“Gotta go. Stay out of trouble.” The Man says, walking away before hesitating and turning back round. “Don’t go near the abandoned paint factory tonight.”

And then he’s gone again, before San has even finished his Gatorade. 

It’s later, when he’s walking to the other end of the city, that San finds a folded twenty dollar note in his jacket pocket. 

Weird. 

****

Two days later, San’s curiosity gets the better of him and he’s back down near the paint factory again, taking care to stay hidden in shadow and well away from the front of the 7-Eleven. He knows there’s cameras. He saw the monitors that one time he went inside to contemplate buying some Skittles but not wanting to break his twenty dollar note, he stole a sandwich instead. 

Resting now, hidden in shadow on the landing beside a laundromat, he’s startled awake by a sudden burst of commotion and noise. There’s a mocking laugh followed by a flurry of angry shouting. 

Someone runs past him and rounds the corner to disappear into the shadows towards the old bakery. 

Before he can do the same, a hand yanks the back of San's jacket.

“Not so fast.”

Cops. 

Great.

“Where did he go?”

“Who?”

The hand shoves him against the dirty wall. “I don’t have time for this shit. He ran down this alley way, where did he go?”

San struggles against the heavy body caging him in but it’s futile. “I don’t know!”

He’s shoved hard against the jagged wall again, it grazes his cheek uncomfortably. 

“I think….he went behind the 7-Eleven…”

Another cop jogs up to them now, taking in the scene and pulling his partner back. 

“Don’t waste your time. It’s just a useless street kid.”

“He said he’s behind the 7-Eleven.”

“He’s probably lying, they all do that.”

There’s a loud crash coming from outside the alley way and the hand on San’s jacket leaves momentarily, only to shove him onto the ground as the cops run towards the new chaos.

It’s not until later, when the boots and voices and sirens have all faded away, that San quietly sneaks into the old bakery. 

“Oh it’s you, hey kid.”

It’s dark but the light gleams off the Man’s teeth and it reminds San of that book from school, the one with the smiling purple cat that was as helpful as it was a nuisance. 

“They gone?”

“Yeah.”

“You sure about that?”

San nods. “I checked.”

“What else did you see?”

“A lot of cops and a really big car.” San says. “Kinda weird.”

The Man looks at him sharply, the intensity piercing, even through the darkness. 

“How big?” 

It’s a strange question, San thinks. Why is the size of a car the most important question here. 

“Really big?” He replies lamely. 

“Big like a Bentley or big like a Maybach?”

“What’s a Maybach?”

There’s a pause and San thinks he’s annoyed the Man in some way, only for him to continue on in the same steady voice. 

“Was it a little bit bigger than my Civic? Or a lot bigger?”

And ah, those are some dimensions that San does understand. “A lot bigger.”

The Man nods then sits back against the wall in contemplation. There’s a sliver of light than shines across his face for a moment and San wonders who the person opposite him really is. What was he trying to steal? Who was after him? Besides cops and someone in a really big car. He can’t just be another Nobody. He must be a Somebody. 

“Come on, let’s go.”

San looks at the Man standing up now, confused by the invitation and even more confused that it’s extended to him.

“Go where?”

There’s a flash of hesitation, conflict, early regret maybe. San knows those looks well, he’s seen it on the faces of his parents and almost every adult in his life. They always leave but they never want to take him with them. 

“You hungry?”

He’s always hungry so he nods. 

“Then let’s get outta here.”

It’s an uncharacteristically cold night for June and San shivers as they walk, even though he’s wearing almost everything he owns. 

“Here.”

It’s a thick black Nike hoody. 

He must stare at it for an awkwardly long time because the Man rolls his eyes and shoves it against his chest. 

“You keep shivering, it’s giving me anxiety.” The Man says. “Just put it on, it’s just a hoody, not a bomb. God, you’re as paranoid as Seonghwa.”

“Who?”

“Ah, just a guy I know. Don’t repeat that name to anyone though, okay?”

San nods as they stop to let him put the hoody on under his jacket. 

It’s quiet for a moment before the Man talks again. 

“I’m serious about that. Keep his name out of your mouth. Things like that can get you killed out here.”

San looks across, panicked all the sudden, and wondering again, who the hell was walking beside him. Maybe this was the time to run off down one of those alley ways. 

The horror on his face must be obvious because The Man’s serious expression softens a little, not completely, but it’s less threatening. 

“I'm not here to kill you kid. Relax.”

San absolutely does not relax. 

“It’s just very important to me you understand what I’m saying right now. You’ve helped me out a few times now, so I’m going to go easy on you. I know you’re smart. I know you know these streets back to front. But I can and will find you if I need to. So if that name ever leaves your mouth and I get wind of it, I won’t be this nice. You got it?”

San nods like he’s never nodded before. His hunger long forgotten and even the promise of food doesn’t seem worth it anymore. Not from someone who might be a few breaths away from crazy.

He slows down and considers his options. He thinks about running again. There’s a patch of shadow up just ahead and he’s fast, he could make it... 

But they reach the familiar sight of the Honda Civic now and The Man motions for him to get in. He doesn't. He pauses, frozen with his fingers on the door handle. 

“If I wanted to hurt you, I’d have done it by now.” The Man says, as if reading his mind. 

They are probably words meant to comfort him but all they do is the exact opposite. 

San always trusts his gut, it’s never let him down, but right now it’s twisting uncomfortably in knots; unsure and uncertain. 

“Uh, I’m actually not that hungry.” He says. “I’ll just go if that’s okay.”

The Man just eye rolls condescendinly. 

It all feels so abnormal to San. Even for someone not fond of human interaction, the Man in front of him is behaving in ways that just don’t make sense. 

“Get in the car.”

“No, it’s fine, I’m good, I should be asleep…”

“Why? You got school tomorrow? A job you need to be at?”

It’s a low blow and they both know it. It turns San’s uneasy fear into an angry fire that’s ready to fight. If this is how he dies, then so be it. 

But before he can even spit out an insult the Man is looking at him with another one of those smiles. 

“What? You gonna fight me?”

“Maybe.”

“Listen kid, I got shit to do later tonight. I’m craving spicy chicken wings and a cold beer. If you want to fight me, can you at least wait until I’ve eaten?”

San doesn’t even know how to respond to that. 

“Get in. I’m not asking a third time.”

So San does.

“What’s in that backpack you carry around?” The Man asks him as they drive through the night streets. 

“My stuff.”

“Yeah, like what?”

“Just…stuff.”

The Man sighs and it reminds San of his father for a moment, always disappointed and always making everyone feel like they did something wrong. 

“Just clothes and stuff from my mum.” San says, hoping the answers is enough. 

“Why aren’t you ever at that shelter on the other side of town? They have showers and let you sleep there for the night don’t they?”

San scoffs. “The showers are alright if you get there before everyone else and the volunteers are around. It’s not as nice as you think it is.”

“Why’s that?”

“People fight.” San says, looking out the window at the city skyline. “They take your stuff. Some people get…taken advantaged of. I’m not going there unless I need to clean up.”

There’s a weird look on the Man’s face as his eyes meet San’s. They both look away. 

“How do you eat?”

San moves uncomfortably in his seat. The unusual criminal beside him, and San is definitely sure he is a criminal by now, suddenly sounds like a social worker.  

He think he prefers the criminal. 

“Steal it. Or trash dive.”

“How long you been doing this for?”

This.

“Nearly two years.”

It’s quiet after that. Neither talking until they pull up at a small restaurant. 

The car doors are still locked. 

“I’m going to ask you something and I need you not to lie to me.”

“…okay?”

“You know about the gangs of this city don’t you?”

“Only some.” 

“You know what I am then?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Well, nobody’s stupid enough to break into the paint factory. The only thing in there is probably illegal. I saw your gun before... and your clothes are too nice for someone who drives a stupid Honda Civic.”

It must the right thing to say because the Man laughs before turning serious. 

“You scared of me?”

San scoffs. “No.” 

Yes. 

“Who do you belong to?”

“I don’t belong to anybody.”

“I told you not to lie.”

“I’m not!” San says. “I’m not in anyone’s gang.”

“So you’re telling me, that in the two years you’ve been out here on your own, nobody has ever tried to recruit you?”

“Of course they tried. I didn’t say it worked.”

“That sounds like bullshit.” The Man says. “Who tried?”

San’s anger rises again. “What’s it to you? Maybe I’m just good at hiding.”

“I’ll buy you chicken if you tell me how you’ve managed to stay alone and alive this whole time.”

“Ugh, fine!" San huffs, tired and irritated by all the questions. "Everyone’s scared of the paint factory and the big car that sometimes goes there. I figure the closer I am to the danger, the safer I’ll be. Well, it doesn’t really make sense but it's true.”

“So you're just really good at hiding all the time? I find that hard to believe. Someone is always watching.”

“How would you know anything about that?” San asks spitefully.

“Where do you think I came from?”

It’s a loaded response, hanging heavily between them in the car. 

“I....hide in places people don’t go or know about. In the daytime, I stay near the university so they think I’m a student. And when I can’t do that, I sit near the bus stops so people think I’m going somewhere.”

San hates himself for saying anything at all but his gut instincts aren’t blaring out warning sirens anymore, haven’t done for the last fifteen minutes, which is the most surprising fact of all. 

“Alright.” The Man says, unlocking the car doors and getting out. “Let’s eat before I have a hypo.”

San scrambles to follow him. 

“What’s a hypo?”

****

The Man gives him a job. 

He’s never had a real job before. Not that this is a real job at all but he gets paid actual money. It’s not much but to San, holding the notes in his hand, he might as well have won the lottery. 

All he has to do is watch the paint factory and report when the big cars, the Maybach, rolls by. 

The Man doesn’t give him his name. He doesn’t ask for San’s either. It’s strange feeling but then again, San hasn’t had anyone say his name in nearly a year. 

“Names are important on the street. It’s a myth that there’s no honour amongst thieves. Honour and respect is everything to these people.”

San nods, mentally taking notes. They’re working on the Civic because the transmission sounded strange down the highway. San knows a thing or two about engines and apparently, so does the Man.

“Don’t give anyone your real name. Don’t give anyone mine.”

“But I don’t know your name.” San points out. 

“It’s safer for you that way. You’ll earn it when the time comes.” 

Earn what? 

“Do you remember the name of my friend?”

“Yeah.”

Seonghwa. Of course San remembers. It’s a nice name. 

“There’s only two people you can trust with that name. Me and him. Maybe our boss.”

“Who’s that?”

The Man laughs. “You’re definitely not getting that one. But when you meet him, you’ll know. You ever seen a MMA fighter?”

“I think so? Like um, Conor McGregor?” San saw him once on TV, fighting until he was bloodied but victorious.

“Yeah, just picture that in a suit."

“Is he nice?”

The Man snorts. “He’s terrifying. But I guess he can be nice when he wants to be. Just don’t be a brat to him. I mean it.”

It’s not a comforting description. 

“What about your friend? Will I know him when I see him?”

A strange smile spreads across the Man’s face, one that's different to all his other smiles. “Yeah you’ll know him when you see him. He looks like his name. Like a tall model in the most expensive suit.”

“A what?” San doesn't know what to picture in his mind.

“Like those billboards in the city, the black and white perfume ads. That’s what he looks like.”

“Oh…okay.” San nods like he understands but he doesn't. Maybe he should go do some billboard research tonight because he really has no idea what a model killer supposed to look like.

“I want you to be smart and careful about who you trust. You shouldn't even trust me if your gut says otherwise, okay?”

“I can’t trust you?” 

“Not if you think it's wrong. I want you to learn to trust yourself first. It’s an important skill. But you’re already pretty good at it.” The Man says with a relieved sigh, finally finished with the car's wiring. “What does your gut say about me right now?”

“I don’t know.” San shifts uncomfortably, feeling put on the spot. “You’re…okay.”

“I’m okay?” The Man chuckles. “No, report it to me. Like a summary.”

And that just makes San sweat. 

“Well, you’re....not mean to me. You didn’t call the cops. You make sure I’m not in danger. But then you get yourself in danger, which is a kind of stupid. You buy me food and gave me a job. So I guess that makes you okay.”

“That’s a terrible summary of me.” The Man laughs. “But fine, I’ll allow it.”

San shrugs, cheeks blushing for some reason. 

“Oh! I forgot to give you this.”

It’s a card that says 24 hour gym.

San isn’t sure what to do with it, he turns it over in his hand, looking up expectantly for an explanation. 

“It’s a gym membership card. It gets you into Planet Health, that big building two blocks from here.”

“What do I do with it?”

“You go there?” The Man says laughing, “You never been to a gym before?”

San shakes his head. 

“Oh, well you don’t have to use all the equipment but they have showers and you can sleep there for a few hours. It’s better than the streets.”

San nods slowly as his finger traces over the name on the card.

“Who's Kim Juyeon?”

“That’s you. Well, it’s a fake name obviously. Don’t use your real name. Not in the field. Not at work.”

“Hotels and motels need ID. Gyms barely care. But pretend to use the treadmill or something when you go, otherwise it’s just going to look suspicious. You already know about blending in, just do that and you’ll be fine.”

San is still staring at the card. Then he stares at the man. Trying to figure out the maths and motive behind it all. 

“What?”

“Why are you being nice to me?”

“I’m employing you, I need you alive to do your job.” The Man says matter-of-factly. 

San nods. Of course. Of course. It’s part of the job because why would anyone just care about him for no reason.

But he doesn’t push his luck by asking more questions. Especially when the hot water pressure at the gym almost makes him cry. He spends twenty minutes in there, washing away years of street grime all at once, watching his old life swirl down the drain and finally emerging like a snake with new skin.

The gym machines are intimidating but he finds a treadmill the next day and walks very very slowly on it. It’s not so bad. 

He sleeps when he can, a few hours here and there. The job is mostly nocturnal so he occupies his daylight hours how he's always done.

The university term has started up again and in the late afternoon San makes his way down to it's big grassy courtyard. He watches other eighteen year olds with their book bags and nice clothes walking to classes and laughing with their friends. He doesn't even have any friends. It’s bittersweet if he’s being honest with himself and he tries not to resent the lives of other people. It doesn’t really work. 

The Man gave him a book to read, something about looking the part and getting some culture. The cover is old and worn and there’s a scrawled PSH on the first page. 

It’s a story of a boy shipwrecked at sea and San struggles through the first chapter, not particularly enjoying himself but he figures he was given this particular book for a reason, and he’ll finish it, even if it kills him. 

The sun is high and warm in the sky as San struggles through chapter two. And that’s when he sees him. 

Or to be more accurate: hears him. 

It’s a shrill cackling laughter, wheezy in parts, not dignified or pretty, but completely joyful. It’s the kind of laughter that could only comes from someone who doesn’t care what other people think of them. 

The sound belongs to a heartstoppingly handsome guy on his phone, talking and laughing animatedly about something to do with avocados, the movement scrunching up his face in a way that shouldn't be attractive at all but just is. His hair is dark and shaggy, half tied back messily, like he did it in a hurry, and he has a distinctly prominent nose that reminds San of someone he’s seen on TV once. 

San can’t look away. And doesn't.

He can’t remember the last time he saw someone so bright like that. He can't remember the last time he ever felt like the world spun around just one person. He wonders if any of this is normal.

The Man who employs him glints cold silver in the way a knife does but the one walking towards him now just shines warm and yellow like the sun. 

The Guy walks past now and heads inside the cafe that San's always been too afraid to go in. Partly because it’s crowded but mostly because they charge five whole dollars for just one small cup of coffee. 

He resigns himself to his coward's fate: parked on grass, reading a book he hates, watching for the guy who shines like the sun every Thursday and never having the guts to following him into the cafe.

Well, things could be worse. 

The courtyard gets busier as the university term progresses and it’s not until one day, when it’s about to rain, that San is finally forced to set foot inside the cafe. 

It’s busy. 

The crowd makes him anxious but he stutters his way through ordering a cup of Earl Grey tea, because it was the cheapest drink on the menu, and finds a poky little table in the corner to sit and wait for the skies to clear. 

He feels normal. Just for a moment. He could pretend to be another university student: he's Kim Juyeon, drinking a cup of tea in a cafe and reading a book about a shipwreck. Nobody would know he’s homeless and has no future. 

Once the rain stops, the crowds disperse quickly, the students probably rushing back to their classes, and with that, the charade is over. San goes back to being a nobody. 

He’s nursing the rest of his tea when there’s a peal of laughter, one that he’d recognise anywhere now. 

The Sun Guy bursts through the cafe doors, says sorry to everyone and no-one in particular, before making his way towards the counter. San watches him order a caramel latte and something called a chocolate eclair, whatever that is.

The Earl Grey in San's cup is gone now and he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to buy another one just to keep sitting there. Are there cafe rules he doesn't know about? He'll need to ask the Man about this later.

But to be sure, to save himself the embarrassed of overstaying his welcome, he reluctantly gets up to leave and tries to discretely catch a glimpse of the Sun Guy on his way out.

It's near the exit when they suddenly lock eyes and San shrinks back like he's been hit with lightning. He has to look away quickly but in the process he nearly brains himself on the door frame and it takes him two attempts to open it before he’s successful. The last thing he remembers is a bright amused smile directed right at him. It might as well have been a shotgun and San has no idea how to respond to that so he doesn’t. 

“What’s with you?” The Man asks when they meet up that night. 

“Nothing.” San grumbles morosely. 

Nothing but total life ending humiliation in front of the most handsome guy on campus.

The Man asks for his report and there’s still no activity at the paint factory but two Maybachs drove past. Nobody got out but the 7-Eleven worker waved to one of the cars. 

"Interesting."

The Man drives him to the gym for his nightly shower, a privilege San still can’t get his head around, and gives him a crash course on gym equipment which he doesn't listen to.

It’s nearly Four PM the next day when San makes his way to the university again. It’s a Thursday, he’s figured out that the Sun Chocolate Guy must have a specific class in the afternoon on a Thursday. 

Sometimes they see each other. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes there’s people with the Guy. Sometimes he’s alone. None of it helps San get over his cowardice. He’s still resigned to just watch from afar, drinking his one cup of tea and reading a book he doesn't even like. 

He’s sitting by the cafe window one week, still cursing himself, when a cup rattles next to him, it's followed by the smell of chocolate. 

There's a presence next to him and with his heart thumping in his throat, San forces himself to look up slowly; his eyes trailing from the loose pants, to the slouchy White t-shirt half tucked in, to the soft light denim jacket. He swallows and steels himself as he reaches a veiny tanned neck, messy black hair and an amused smile. 

When their eyes meet, all he can think about is that he’s never actually had a crush on anyone until now. 

The Guy's lips are moving.

Wait.

"Um, can you repeat that? I missed it." San stammers, bright red and sweaty. 

The Guy smiles kindly. "I asked you if I could sit here?"

"Here?" San blinks at him incredulously. 

"Yeah? That okay?" 

"Oh, um, yeah. That's okay."

"Thanks."

The Guy sits down, taking a sip of coffee and small bite from his chocolate eclair with a satisfied hum. 

San just stares at him like the loser he knows he definitely is. 

"You stare a lot you know.” The Guy says as he observes him with a tilt of his head.

"Sorry." San blushes red again and diverts his gaze to the book the Guy is reading. There’s a lady with a sword on the cover; The Feminism of Joan Of Arc, it reads. 

"I didn't say it was all bad."

The Guy just keeps on reading and sipping his coffee so San figures he should do the same, except he can't even make sense of the words on the page.

“You know, we’re always here on the same days. I figure it's about time we met. Don't you?"

The Guy is still looking at his book but San isn’t sure if he's even reading it or not. 

"Why?"

"What do you mean "why"? Why not?"

"But you're...."

The Joan of Arc book is a snapped closed and those shiny eyes are suddenly on him. It's still feels like lightning. Like the first time it happened.

"I'm what?"

Way out of my league. 

"You look…busy.” San finishes lamely.

The Guy looks at him with a mix of amusement and condescension. 

"You're cute." 

"Huh?" He's staring again. 

"Those eyes are going to get you into trouble one day." The Guy says with a sad chuckle. "What's your name? You have a name right?"

"It's...Juyeon." San says hesitantly, the name sounding so unnatural in his mouth and even worse out loud.  

There's a hand extended across the table and he's suddenly shaking it. 

"I'm Wooyoung. Good to finally meet you."

San is busy cataloging the sensation of The Guy, Wooyoung's, hand when a phone goes off somewhere nearby.

He's still holding on awkwardly when there's a sharp squeeze and tug on his fingers. "Er? I think that's your phone."

Oh. 

The Man gave it to him and truthfully, San is struggling to get used to having one again.

He drops Wooyoung’s hand quickly and digs into his pocket. "Hello?"

"Hey Kiddo, need a favour. Where are you?"

"Out."

"Yeah where? I'll come get you."

“At the cafe."

"I'm 10 minutes away so be out front."

The phone call is short and San hangs up cursing life. The one day this happens and he's gets an actual call in. 

"You need to be somewhere?"

"Yeah. Sorry. It's….work."

"Why are you apologising?!" Wooyoung laughs. “It’s fine."

Reluctantly, San stands to gathers his jacket and brushes the crumbs on the table into his empty cup.

"I'm here every Thursday.” Wooyoung says, it’s quieter, almost shy, if San read that right. 

"I know." 

It escapes from San’s mouth before he can stop it. But instead of teasing him. Wooyoung says nothing. Just gives him a warm knowing smile. 

"Good. So I’ll see you next week?”

"Yeah…sure, Okay, um, I'm going to wait out front for my ride."

In his haste, he rushes out without his jacket and has to go back for it like an idiot. "Forgot this. Um, bye again."

"See you next week." Wooyoung says brightly with a wave.

When in gets in the car he lets out a groan. Why is he always such an idiot at the worst time. 

"What's wrong with you?" The Man asks, eye brow curious and concerned. It's nice that someone is concerned about him. He forgot what that felt like. 

“Nothing.”

“You made a friend?”

San whips his head across. “How do you know that?” He asks defensively.

“Because the cafe has windows?”

"I don't want to talk about it." San flushes and stares out the window. They let the topic go.

The drive to the old paint factory is quiet and they park two blocks away, walking the rest of the way through the back roads. 

“What are we doing here?”

“Just recon stuff, I need you to cover my back okay?”

“From what?” San replies in a panic. He isn’t ready to be promoted to a job like that. “Is someone coming after you?”

“Relax. Nobody is coming. We’re just going to do some walking and some measurements.”

He’s gives instructions to mark walls with glow-in-the dark stickers. And despite asking three times, he doesn’t get any explanations. 

“Geez, slow down. You’re going to choke on that hot dog.” The Man says later, when they're eating at a sleeping diner.

San slows his chewing but it feels like a waste of time. 

“I need to talk to you about something. And after I’m done, you’re not going to repeat it to anyone. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I need you to stay away from the paint factory for the next two weeks. No sneaking to look or anything. If you get caught, you don’t tell anybody you saw me or know me.”

San swallows the last of his hot dog and frowns deeply. This doesn’t good at all. This sounds final. Like another goodbye. 

“Don’t go looking for me.”

“But-“

“Don’t go looking for me.” The Man repeats again firmly. “If I need to find you, I’ll find you. There’s money in that locker at the gym. It’s yours. Use it.”

San’s mind is reeling now and it takes him agonising seconds to put it all together. 

The Man is leaving and it’s somewhere San can’t follow. Something will happen at the paint factory but he doesn’t know when. He’s going to be left alone again. 

“Geez, cheer up,” The Man says, as if he didn’t just drop a depressing bomb in San’s lap. “I’ll be back in a few weeks. You’ll be fine. You’ve survived for two years, just remember everything you’ve learned. And always trust your gut instincts okay? Even if it goes against what I said.”

San nods dutifully, unsure if he should be as sad as he feels. He doesn’t know anything personal about the man next to him but they've spent almost every day together. He doesn't want to admit he's attached to the routine but what else could he call it?

“Okay, I should go. Be good. Stay out of trouble. Remember what I said.”

There’s a squeeze on San’s shoulder and then he’s all alone again. 

****

The normally black night sky is lit up angry orange and smokey. Even a block away San can feel the intensity of it. 

It’s unreal. Like a scene from a horror movie that he can’t quite trick his mind into believing. 

The closer he runs towards the flames, the worse his gut feels. 

It’s the old paint factory. The entire property is on fire. Everything is engulfed in flames, there’s no sirens because the fire must have melted all the cameras and sensors. Across the street, the 7-Eleven is closed. It never closes. 

There’s a small section of side fence that hasn’t caught fire yet and San slips through it, pulling up his shirt to try and stop breathing in all the smoke. He runs to the nearest window where the light is still flickering but he can barely see anything and his eyes both water and burn. 

Then he sees him. The Man, crouched on the floor, next to what looks like a hole in the ground, stuffing files into his bag, seemingly unbothered by the flames creeping closer towards him. 

“What are you doing!! The whole place is on fire!!” San yells out, voice shaky with a fear he hasn't felt in a long time.

The Man whips his head up and San can only see his eyes flashing angrily.

“What the fuck are you doing here! Get out of here before they come!”

The Man forcibly pushes him back out the window with a strength that San didn’t know he had. When he reaches his hand back through the window, it’s gripped still.

“You are leaving right now!”

“But you’re going to die here!” San coughs, tears already tracking down his face. 

“Yeah that’s the point.” The Man says sadly. “Go. Go find him; Seonghwa. You can trust him but only him. Tell him what you saw.”

“But-“

“Just go. Do this for me.” 

The Man lets go of his arm and runs back through the burning building as San sees another group of men chasing him down the corridor. 

A wall collapses and San has to drag himself away. Every step full of dread and feeling wrong.

Climbing on a rooftop, numb and exhausted, all he can do is watch as the whole factory burns to the ground. The big Maybach cars speed off as the police and fire trucks converge on the area. 

And San waits. Half expecting a smiley face to pop up unexpectedly to scold him for crying over someone he barely knows. 

It’s not until nearly dawn, when there are only a handful of officers guarding the ashened property, that San gathers himself to go down there. 

But there’s nothing. 

Every building is flattened and destroyed. There’s no way anyone could’ve survived that. 

In the room where he last saw the Man, the hole in the floor has buried under mountains of debris.  

He knew. The Man knew this was coming. 

There’s quiet voices to his left. And that’s when he hears it. 

“Fuck, get him on the phone, I need to tell him.”

It’s a tall and broad man, imposing in both presence and stature, frowning at the burnt factory. There’s another standing beside him, dark and in glasses, who holds out a phone. 

“You alone? Line clean?”

“Kim’s missing.”

There’s a knowing tone to the way the man says it. A weary sadness. If he was the enemy, the response would’ve been different. 

San’s gut tells him that this must be the boss he was told about. 

He watches the two men for a few more minutes, quietly following them until they reach their car that’s parked a block away. 

It’s the one in glasses that sees him first. 

It all happens faster than San prepared for. The hands that grab him are strong and efficient. He’s shoved against the car in a headlock. 

“Talk.” The boss says, voice deep but calm. “You followed us a whole block.”

He’s bristling with an intensity that San hasn’t felt before. 

Terrifying.

Yes, this must the Boss. 

“I....want to talk...to Seonghwa.”

The man raises his eyebrow in shock and shares a troubled look with the other.

Then it all goes black. 

[doctorsiren]

ford please help your brother 😭

[stars-obsession-pit]

Following an accident, Danny wakes up in Gotham City in a DC universe. Lacking any forms of ID or possessions beyond the clothes on his back, he’s forced to commit some crimes to survive. Minor crimes, but still.

And then he gets caught.

During the court proceedings, they come to the mistaken conclusion that he’s a Meta suffering from some psychiatric issues such as Cotard’s Syndrome (a real rare condition where a person holds the delusional belief that they’re dead/don’t exist/etc).

Thus, between his “need for mental treatment” and the concerns about housing someone with his unique physical traits, he is sentenced to spend time in Arkham Asylum. He’s under pretty low security aside from the anti-Meta stuff and has more freedoms than some other inmates, but it’s still not a great experience. Even at the best of times, Arkham is hardly a nice place.

Some of his fellow residents are decently chill all things considered, but lots very much aren’t.

[introspectivememories]

was it casual when i sat in your lap in public? was it casual when i said "recently my heart is crying because you're leaving"? was it casual when we decided how your last name would fit with mine? ("yuki tsunoda-gasly" / "no tsunoda, only gasly" / "yuki gasly?") was it casual when we sang adele's "someone like you" together at your going away party? was it casual when i knew it was you just by touching your ass? was it casual when i knew it was you by smell alone? was it casual when "will you miss me?" / "for 2-3 minutes maybe" / "i'll take that. even if it's just 2-3 minutes, i'll take that"? was it casual when that bus was completely empty and we still sat right next to each other, all the way in the back? was it casual when i picked you up multiple times so you could dunk a basketball? was it casual when i begged to come over to your house multiple time and then you finally let me and we cooked fried rice together? was it casual when we played christmas twister together and i said "your big eggplant is touching my ass"? was it casual when we were pressed up against each other on a scooter going two miles per hour? was it casual when-

[basalting]

after jasons death bruce "accidentally" slips harvey a crowbar while hes in arkham and kisses his cheek and says, voice soft and colder than ice, "make him hurt for me honey"

it takes 6 guards to sedate and drag two face off the joker the next time two face sees him and for the rest of their lives as soon as harvey sees the joker he goes after him like a rabid dog.