Authors: sypherus_xiii and gambino
Rating: R. Sexual Content and some violence.
Summary: A past and future revealed. 15,000+ words.
Disclaimer: This fiction was created for our own personal perverse desires in which we decided to share it with the rest of the world. It can also be more appropriately dubbed Murder Boyfriends. You've been warned.
part i. || part ii. || part iii. || part iv. || part v. || part vi. || part vii.
a/n: Thank you everyone for all of the support! I apologize for slow updates, this thing is such a monster to put together but I hope you all understand! Enjoy!
Rain falls lightly on the rooftop of his car, the sound his substitute for music as he sits across the street from his current target's residence. His eyes stay trained on the front room window. As usual, the man is watching television at this hour. His eyes flick away to the face of the stereo and he taps the power button to illuminate the time. He's got about 20 minutes before--
There he is. The son of the man he is there to kill, but he's quite early tonight for some reason. He knows the boy doesn't usually return home until after his father is asleep--with quite good reason not to...
It'd been at an event at one of the schools that he had come across the boy. The way he flinched when his friends tried to wrap an arm around his shoulders and the obvious bruises hidden beneath a layer of makeup had caught the man's attention. There was something wrong with the situation. It was easy enough to find out more about him when he searched for both the name of the school and the name that had been on the tag on his uniform. From there, finding out about his father was easy.
His police record read more like a list of crimes it was possible to commit without heavy jail time: countless charges of battery and assault, public intoxication...the man was certainly a real winner.
He had finished up with his last case and figured that he could take on another, even if it was both unexpected and soon, one he hadn't even been really looking for.
So he'd followed him for months and watched him in his home. On more than one occasion he had seen the way that the man beat his son.
A few times he had wondered how the boy was 18 and hadn't yet snapped and just killed him. He wonders that about a lot of the people whose lives are so negatively impacted by things his targets do. There's no sense to him that killing these people is anything wrong. They're generally useless members of society, wasting resources and bringing pain to the people directly involved with them. There shouldn't be any reason to keep them alive.
He watches the boy now, him standing in front of the door to his home, foot toeing at the ground with the hesitation he feels at going inside and he sighs to himself. "Why not just wait somewhere until he goes--aish. This kid..."
He continues to watch as the boy slips inside his home. He isn't surprised when the dull sound of yelling permeates the air and reaches even his car. He has to wonder what kind of society they live in where the neighbors can hear this so often and not do anything about it. His eyes don't move from the sight, even when the boy comes into the frame of the window and the scene threatens to turn uncomfortably violent. He's seen this too many times over the course of the months he'd spent studying.
For a few weeks Hakyeon had been planning on running. Silently, in the night, digging into his father's wallet for money and disappearing forever--just like his mother. However, he decided he'd rather be bold about it, tell his father to his face why he had enough of his treachery and was leaving him.
So when he finally works up the courage to head inside, the front door shutting behind him, the pungent odor of stale cigarettes and beer causes him to grimace.
"Oh, you're still alive?" The gruff voice travels from the chair in the corner of the room and he has to walk in front of the TV in order to reach the hall to his room. Hakyeon doesn't reply as he continues, going straight for his bedroom where he grabs his bag from his closet, already packed. He strides back into the living room.
"Don't you ignore me, boy." He's staring straight at him, unrecognizable. There are family photos on the wall from years ago, of a man smiling with bright eyes next to a beautiful woman and a young boy full of hope and the wildest, biggest dreams. This man before him is different: sallow, unkempt hair, a shadow of a beard covering his face, and black eyes that show nothing but contempt right now--contempt for his only son.
"I'm leaving you. I'm leaving this house. For good,” he states, the words dry off his tongue as his heart leaps into his throat. He's been wanting to say that for so long now, but just saying it doesn't give him the liberation he wants.
His father's eyes narrow and he stands. His first step sways, and Hakyeon knows that even though there's alcohol flowing through his system, his force will be stronger, just less accurate. "You say you're leaving?" He's closing in and Hakyeon wants to step back, to run, but he stands his ground and doesn't waver in his gaze.
"Yes." His fingers tighten around his bag's strap.
"I put this roof over your head! And you say you're gonna leave?! I paid for your food! I made sure your stupid ass went to school! You can't leave!" The shouting is so sudden that it actually makes him jump, stumbling back a few steps as his father stalks towards him. He's in a state of panic that he's unable to stop it, the first blow that connects with his face. He doesn't have time to defend himself as a pair of hands grab onto his shirt, pulling him forward as his bag drops to the ground and he cries out from a hand yanking at his hair now. "You can't fucking leave! She left! Like a coward! Are you a coward, boy?!"
He's disoriented, unable to process where exactly he's being handled. But with a lurching burst of energy, he pushes at his father hard, hands releasing him as the man staggers back. Hakyeon's watching in wide shock as his father looks taken aback, since Hakyeon never pushes back, he always just takes it. Moving backward slowly, his legs bump into the side table behind him, and he's breathing so hard right now as he watches the fury grow in his father.
Then there's a loud yell and he's coming closer and Hakyeon closes his eyes as he grabs the closest item and just throws it with all of his strength. There's a shattering sound of glass breaking and when he opens his eyes again, he sees the lamp broken on the ground, his father having fallen back onto the ground. There's blood on his arm, and Hakyeon...feels satisfaction. It's this zealous satisfaction that his father is far from invincible, that his flesh is just as weak as his.
"You're gonna pay for this you fucker! I'm gonna kill you!" His father's yells echo in the room, but Hakyeon watches as he has trouble getting up, the alcohol clearly distorting his mobility and the blow from being hit with the lamp further dampening it.
This is when he gains more strength and he reaches for the closest items--books, the remote, empty cans--and throws them. But none of it is enough. Staring quickly around the room as his father is still recovering, he spots the vase of a dead plant and he hurries over, lifting it up, dirt and all; standing above his father he thrusts it down. It doesn't break like the lamp but it's heavy enough for him to hear something else break, his father groaning in such a pained voice. Still it's not enough. He hurriedly goes into the kitchen, knowing right where the knives are--he freezes. If he uses this knife, it means he wants to kill him. ...Kill him. Kill his father.
"Where the fuck are you?!" He hears heavy footsteps and his breath hitches as he looks behind him. His hand is trembling a little as his grip tightens around the handle of the knife. He can't call this man his father anymore. He lost that title years ago. He lost it the first time he laid a hand on his mother.
Swallowing hard as he stares at the wide blade of the knife, he hears a loud bump and the curses of the man are right there. Turning around quickly, he sees him with unbalanced weight lunge right for him in the small space, and Hakyeon's so taken with a fear and a desire to end it all, that he holds tightly onto the object in his hand and when the body of the wild male is on him, hands digging into his throat...he feels warm liquid pool about his fingers.
The fingers on his throat loosen and both of them stare down. Dark red is spilling out of a dirtied white shirt, both of his hands trembling as he sees them partly coated with that dark red. The man steps back, the knife sliding free from flesh and Hakyeon stares on. The shock on his face is contagious but Hakyeon's quickly wipes off as he cries out and lifts the knife, driving it right into his shoulder. His body crumples right down to the ground again, and Hakyeon lowers the knife and this time goes for his side. The next time for a leg.
All he can think about right now is the countless times he's had to cover his bruises and bandage his own wounds. He thinks about the hatred in the man's eyes, alcohol reeking in his breath, and how this monster needs to die.
He's breathing hard as he drops the knife. When he sees red everywhere, on the floor, on the cabinets, on himself...he knows it's done. It's over with. And he falls back, leaning into a cabinet as his body starts to quiver, and he keeps gazing on at the mess he's created. Was it a mess though? Or did he just clean up a mess? He doesn't know. But there isn't fear in him. He blankly stares, the adrenaline still coursing through his limbs.
What did he just do?
The days after New Year's drag on. One day Hakyeon is writing the fourth of January on his time log and the next he's already writing the seventh. He doesn't know where the week goes, honestly. The hours at work are spent sitting there, staring at the computer screen, the words fading out into the white light as his mind is elsewhere.
His head writer notices his lack of production and scolds him in front of the whole office, leaving him to apologize and bow before curious, wondering eyes. They don't fire him because they presume he's still suffering from grief over the death of his close co-worker.
Although he doesn't push Taekwoon out of his life, he's not incorporating him in it as much. The meetings in the bathroom slow down to the point where Hakyeon actually goes to use the bathroom for real one time, and when he leaves the stall he sees Taekwoon standing there. Eyes are on him as he washes his hands, and Hakyeon's gut feels heavy.
The only reason why he refused to take a short vacation from work, is because he still needs excuses to know the one person who cares about him, is nearby. So this longing in him still breaks through, and instead of walking by Taekwoon, he walks straight into his frame for an embrace, holding onto Taekwoon with the tightest of grips into his blazer, until footsteps come and he's slipping away again.
After work they still get together, having found someone new to target. It's an older man who gambles away the household money, leaving his wife at home to struggle with three jobs while trying to raise their two kids. A common man in Seoul, but someone who needs to be eliminated for the better future of his family.
As they plan for Wednesday night, the time when he usually visits the slot machines instead of his Thursday night card sessions, Tuesday comes and Hakyeon tells Taekwoon they need to wait a bit longer. Apparently one of the children has a piano recital and he wants to see if the father will attend it. A poor excuse for an obvious outcome--the father's never going to show.
It's not that Hakyeon's giving this man a second chance to prove himself, it's just...every time he leaves his apartment, he's looking, searching, waiting for any sign. Every time he sleeps at night, he locks his bedroom door and sets his watch’s alarm to wake him once an hour.
And every time he's with Taekwoon, his gaze lingers on the back of Taekwoon's head; or his hands want to tremble with how much he wants to hold Taekwoon's, but he always stops himself because Hakyeon's being paranoid and afraid. He doesn't want Taekwoon to worry (which he knows Taekwoon does, but he does his best to offer jokes and smiles to the conversation whenever they can make it past the constant lump in his throat).
Taekwoon can tell everything has gone so silent between them. Even when they're together, Taekwoon feels the distinct difference in it all--the distance, the way that Hakyeon's smiles don't meet his eyes. It takes him back to when they'd first met. When they'd shared dinner and Hakyeon faked his way through the entire thing. He doesn't like this giant leap backwards. It leaves him feeling too lost; confused.
But he doesn't press Hakyeon for an answer. Not even when he knows he's being lied to. There's a part of Taekwoon that's still incredibly fearful of questioning things. He isn't supposed to question things, he's just supposed to do them and do them well.
He tries his hardest to make Hakyeon smile at him honestly, but it's difficult work. He's never cared so deeply about someone the way he does Hakyeon to even want to make them smile.
So when Saturday comes and they're sitting out in the cold with bowls of hot noodles in front of them from a ramyun stand, waiting for the time to set their plan into action, Hakyeon keeps spooning up the soup base and watching it pour back out as he tilts the utensil.
It's difficult to focus on the target but he knows that this could be what Hakyeon needs, a way to distract him from his thoughts. This is the work that's important to Hakyeon and he knows that if he focuses on it, so will Hakyeon. It's why it's so surprising to him when they're seated outside with their bowls that Hakyeon looks like he's off in another universe.
Taekwoon’s brows furrow together and without saying a word, he's reaching over to take the spoon from his hands gently. He dips it in and lets it fill with broth from Hakyeon's bowl before he's raising it to his own lips, using a few quick blows to cool it down a bit faster than just the night air does before he's bringing it to Hakyeon's mouth, offering it to him to take.
"You need to eat,” he tells him quietly, his eyes set somewhere else other than Hakyeon's face, embarrassment the reason.
When the spoon lifts, it takes Hakyeon a second, the way his heart springs to life in his chest deterring him, and he ends up simply nodding as he takes the spoon back and sips at it. An apology wants to fall from him, but he knows Taekwoon won't accept it. As he focuses on at least filling his stomach partly, he soon glances at his watch, "Ten minutes."
Taekwoon breathes out a little louder than he means to. It's a sigh--a frustrated sigh because he isn't helping Hakyeon no matter what he tries to do and at this point, he doesn't even know what would help him. He simply nods his head when he's told the time they have left and stares down at his bowl of food. It's his turn to not feel hungry enough to eat it (a rarity for a man with few vices in life outside of food).
Saturdays are the nights he bets on sports, the biggest portion of his household's money dwindles on these nights. Just last week they witnessed him getting so angry at losing nearly 1,500,000 won, that he went and beat up an innocent passerby on the street.
Taking one last bite, Hakyeon pushes the bowl away and stands, flipping the collar to his jacket up as the faint wind is ice cold on his ears. Checking his pockets to make sure he has the vial, Hakyeon then pulls on his gloves, welcoming the protection they offer from the cold. Thanking the lady with a smile and wave as he takes the soju bottle, he looks at Taekwoon with a nod before stalking off down the street.
Right about now the online fight should be ending, and when it does, when he comes out, all he has to do is catch the man off guard, one hit, and get him to the ground. Inside the vial if he pours it down his throat, it'll make him regurgitate what's in his stomach and make him choke on his own vomit. Then the last note will be the open soju bottle in his hand, making it appear even more like he staggered home drunk and passed out, or if the police are remotely intelligent they'll think he was mugged while drunk. Simple. A little distasteful, but it doesn't require blood.
Hakyeon can do this. As he starts to take deep breaths, he glances behind him to make sure Taekwoon's there. He is. Staring ahead again with more concentration since it's hard to focus, he takes one step at a time.
You can do this. He's not watching. He's not here. You can do this.
Hakyeon stumbles a little, and he uses the brick wall to catch himself. But he doesn't push himself away from it, his weight heavy against it. Pressing his forehead to the hard gravelly surface, he repeats it to himself in his mind.
He's not watching. He's not here.
There was something new in the boy as he watched him finally fight back with his father; it was a burning desire that he could feel even at this distance from the son.
Everything happens so quickly and with so much fervor that when they both have finally disappeared from his sight and into the kitchen, that it leaves him momentarily confused and overwhelmingly disappointed. A silent stillness has settled on the house and with as much time has past, there's only two possible outcomes; either the son killed the father, or the father killed the son.
Gloves pulled on and bag slung over his shoulder, he leaves his car and crosses the street to the home. The door hadn't even been locked and that just lends to the mental state he must have been in when he's returned home; this isn't a neighborhood to leave your door unlocked.
He's silent as he enters the house, creeping through slowly. The living room is a wreck, the television playing some bright commercial for ice cream serves as an almost painfully unfunny juxtaposition for the situation at hand.
He says the boy's name softly as he stands in the entryway to the kitchen, eyes taking in the scene laid out before him. It isn't shock he feels at seeing the mess, but more a sense of wanting to educate him.
"You need to clean up now,” he tells him, cautiously setting his bag on the ground as he's very aware Hakyeon would probably be highly emotional in this moment.
Hakyeon almost thinks it's the ghost of his--the man he just killed. But there's movement and his eyes fleet over, his fingers curling as they itch to reach for the knife again but he doesn't move, bound by the sheer curiosity and surprise. His lids raise as his eyes grow a little, and he's not sure if he's staring at a person or an illusion, if he can see right through the figure to the wall behind, or if he's really being addressed by a stranger. A stranger in his--no, this place. It's no longer his home.
"Are you real?" his voice is so far away from his ears, everything reverberating soundly in his head.
If he had less control over himself, the man probably would have laughed at the boy's question. He doesn't think there's enough humor in him yet to laugh in the confines of this situation yet and he does still have that knife within reach, so he controls himself.
"I was going to save you, but you saved yourself." It's half a lie. It didn't have much at all to do with saving the boy as it had to do with getting rid of a foul person.
There had been an immediate and overwhelming sense that this is someone who will serve him purpose--someone that he was supposed to meet and now it would only do him good to try and quickly win his favor. He steps into the kitchen, careful of the pooling blood and around the dead body to the boy on the other side.
Gloved fingers are gentle when they touch his hair, his foot carefully kicking the knife out of reach. "Cha Hakyeon, you've had a very hard life, haven't you?" He pulls as much pity as he can from the depths of his soul and up into his voice.
So he's real, but the words coming from him make no sense. Had he been watching him? He knew what kind of a monster the lifeless body was? Wanting to jerk his head away from the touch, there's something magnetic about the man that prevents him from doing so.
With his full attention on him now, that question pierces a very vulnerable spot in him and he nods so faintly. Then the lingering thought brings his lips to move, "You're here to save me?" That concept is so foreign, someone he doesn't even know wanting to save him. "Why do you wanna save me?"
Nothing comes free in this world, he learned that a while ago. Now he wonders what this man wants from him, and this fear starts to rise in him again. Hakyeon's not the type to settle for death, otherwise he would've done it already to himself.
The man knows that he's already got Hakyeon hooked. He only needs to reel him in. Crouching down beside him, his hand moves this time to the boy’s face, covered finger brushing so carefully over the fresh bruise forming there. "Because no one else is going to--" he tells him, the words are a little harsh but his tone is entirely soft, a warm smile on his lips, "And you're very special."
A slight wince causes Hakyeon to sharply inhale, the portion of his face already sensitive. Yet his words are true. Hakyeon was prepared to leave this house and live on his own, housing himself in a sauna if need be, plead for part-time jobs--whatever it took to get stable all on his own.
The part that brings more skepticism and wonder is that this man describes him as special; it’s a descriptor that usually is for the person next to him at school, or the captain of the soccer team. It’s not for someone like Hakyeon who sits near the back of the classroom, doodling in circles as he plans what he can do after school to avoid going home.
The man lets his hand fall from Hakyeon’s face and turns to look at the mess before them. It isn't his typical style, but he thinks that this could work. "Will you let me help you, Cha Hakyeon?" he asks him, eyes once again finding the boy's to meet them with a false sense of warmth.
As the adrenaline starts to flush from his veins, and he begins to process the situation, Hakyeon really doubts that anyone can help him at this point. He's beyond helping, isn't he? "How do you plan on doing that?" There's invitation in the man's words and his gaze, and it's not like Hakyeon has many other options...he's just truly curious.
No one's bothered doing it before, and if this man is so sure he's special and he's here right now, not scolding or freaking out at how he's currently covered in the blood of a dead man...he wants to know what great plan this guy has.
He has to think for a moment about the best way to go about this. His words have to be phrased perfectly and he has to make sure that Hakyeon feels like he has a choice in the matter. "I know how to handle this," and he makes a general motion around the room. "You're the first person they'd look for in relation to this man's death and--" He nods his head towards the side of the counter and then towards the knife on the floor "your fingerprints are everywhere. If you went to jail, Hakyeon, it'd be a painful waste. You're far too special for that."
He stands up then, brushing his knees off despite the fact that there's nothing on them. "I can give you a home. Food. Security," his gaze turns down towards Hakyeon, holding out a hand to help him to his feet. "The only thing I'm asking for is that you help me take care of other men like this who hurt their families."
Although Hakyeon’s gaze shifts now to the outstretched hand, the glove sleek about those fingers, it clicks in his mind...with gloves there'd be no fingerprints...this man really was going to come in and save him. It was true. He could proclaim self defense but the criminal justice system was already so tainted; he'd seen its injustice play out when he first tried to seek help from the local police.
The next moment Hakyeon’s hand is on the man's, the liquid already drying and crusting about his hand; that makes his chest tighten since he wants it off. He wants any remnant, any evidence, any part of this erased and cleansed.
As Hakyeon stands, the ache in his legs is nothing compared to the fascination he feels--that there's others out there like him that he can help, to save them from the downward spiral at the expense of another person.
What is this feeling in him, that drives his heart to pump with a vibrant heaviness? Is it hope? Is it excitement? Definitely emotions he hasn't had in far too long.
"Just tell me what to do," he finally speaks, stare lowering to the form on the ground. More satisfaction. Never again was he going to be hurt by this man. Never again was he going to see him. It was a great feeling.
"Let me take care of you." The hand in his own feels like a victory and the man helps pull the boy back up to his feet--helps pull him into a new world. "Let's start with cleaning you up.”
Taekwoon waits for Hakyeon to move away from the wall and when he doesn't, he's at his side, an arm carefully wrapped around his shoulders to pull him away from the cold wall and into his own warmth.
"What's wrong?" he asks instantly, a hand moving underneath Hakyeon's bangs to feel his forehead. The concern in his tone is obvious enough, but to back it up, the grip he has around his shoulder is tight. His eyes flick over momentarily up the street, their target still there.
Taekwoon sounds distant, his hold faint, like he's not even there. The target...he has to do this. "Nothing's wrong!" he exclaims with an extra forceful exhale because it's hard to breathe right now.
At first he tries to gently shrug Taekwoon off, but that doesn't work and he doesn't mean to do it as hard as he does but he elbows Taekwoon while jerking away, his legs heavy still as they stride back down the alley. He sees the man ahead. His back is to them and it's so perfect. He's unsuspecting and his walk is staggering as he can barely keep himself up.
Hakyeon has to do this, or he wins. If he doesn't kill this man right here, then he'll know he still has a power over him and Hakyeon doesn't want that. He wants to be free. He is free. He can't...lose--
Everything before him seems to further itself away and the weight in his head suddenly hits him hard as the once narrow alley turns all too quickly into towering walls of a building and a dark sky above before blackness greets him. He thinks he feels someone holding him, and the last thoughts running through his consciousness are:
Let me take care of you.
"You'll never be able to come back here." He tells him. "And you can't take anything with you..." He places a hand on Hakyeon’s shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly. "If there's anything you want to take one more look at, do it now."
Looking over at him with a glance at the hand on his shoulder, searching his thoughts for what he'd want to say goodbye to...there's only one item: the family photo on the wall. Hakyeon stares at it, fingers it, mostly his mother's face.
There's a void in him he knows will never be filled, the role of a nurturing mother. Eventually he nods, turns on his heel, muttering out a, "We can go."
Hakyeon doesn't even know where this man's going to take him. He hasn't even dared to inquire his name, how old he is, where he's from--all of the details that he knows about Hakyeon already. Everything feels automatic now, to follow him out the door, out of the house, to do the ritual last look at a home he grew up in, but now just walls nailed together with shadows around every corner.
The car the man brings him to is nice, a luxury sedan that Hakyeon sits in, shoulders curling as he hugs himself, afraid to dirty the leather seats. The seatbelt feels tight around him and he doesn't pay attention to where they're going. Every kilometer he drives feels like Hakyeon's gaining one more step towards freedom.
The further away the better; the less he has to be reminded of his past, the easier it'll be to move on to a future. When he trails his eyes to the driver's side, his stomach clenches and he wonders right then, if he'll ever find out what this man saw in him, to bother coming in and helping him, to declare that he was special.
The driver asks him where to go and Taekwoon hesitates, unsure of where exactly Hakyeon would want to be taken but for the sake of convenience, closeness, he mutters the name of his own apartment complex, his eyes never leaving Hakyeon.
He's taken to his bedroom when they finally arrive and he carefully lays him out on the bed. The soft jingling of his cat’s collar as she hops on to the bed beside Hakyeon is the only sound in his apartment. Taekwoon can only assume that it's sleep deprivation that's done this to him. There's a moment where he thinks that he should certainly be taking Hakyeon to the hospital, but then he's unsure of whether or not he even can. If Hakyeon doesn’t have official, real, documents to give, it could possibly do so much more damage than good.
So Taekwoon sits on the edge of the bed and very gently works Hakyeon out of his coat. He sets it aside, brow furrowing as he works at pulling off his gloves and then his shoes. He reaches a hand up and lets the back of it touch Hakyeon's cheek, chest constricting from the pain of the concern he feels. He has to make Hakyeon talk to him when he wakes up. Taekwoon can no longer dance around the issue and wait for Hakyeon to bring it up to him--not when it's gotten this bad.
He stays watching over him for quite some time before his own eyes begin to feel heavy. Without meaning to or realizing it, Taekwoon himself slips off into sleep, an arm across Hakyeon's stomach and his head rested against it, as if he were trying to cover and protect him even while asleep.