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I'm a sinner, forgive me
Kimhan hasn't said it out loud, the words always stuck in his throat, until it died down; until it almost lost its meaning. Apologies were never found in his tongue, instead they are engraved in his hands along with regret and they gush over with oxblood staining his white shirt. Love, it was something he didn’t want to acknowledge. Because if he did, just like every part of him, it would be feral. It would be excessive. Boundless. Plethoric. Obsessive.
… and all of that was for Porchay to take.
Yet,
… he remembers how his hand let go of his, unwillingly, how he fell unconscious–almost lifeless–in his arms with a quiet murmur of his name, strained and broken. He felt like his heart died when he couldn’t stir him awake, when he didn’t hear the screams of his name— ”Porchay!” —the loudest and most painful wail of agony.
He sees red.
If you'll let go of me, I'm only going to break.
It was languid—the way he went inside with slow music playing in his headphones that he couldn’t hear the sound of the flames crackling with every step he took. He wonders if Porchay would love this. How his apologies came with a gun in his hand and unforgiving grin on his face, a manic destruction bleeding from his eyes as the fire grew and bodies fell down, some running for their lives as if Kimhan would let them out alive.
No.
“Khun K-kimhan.” He tilts his head with the recognition given, a crazed smile on his blood-splattered face.
“You know why you’re here?” he asks the man, the last man on his pack, as he trembles on his feet. Kimhan looks at the gun he took from him, the same gun he used as he dared to take what was his.
“No, K-khun. All we ever did was business.”
“No?” he laughs, sardonically. “Then why is he in a hospital bed, unconscious, with three gunshots that came from this very gun?”
“P-pardon?” Kimhan smiled, his fist tightly closed as he advanced, anger flooding his veins. .
“You hurt what’s mine.” he gripped his neck as tight, and smirked wickedly as his breath came short. “You tried to take what’s mine.”
“You dared to want what’s mine.” He saw what happened in a camera, how he approached his love and tried to take him away, holding his face, looking at him in a haze. “You tried to touch his skin and when he fought back, you hurt him .”
“You tried to kill the person who kept me alive. Should I try what you failed to do … to you?”
He lets the man go, aiming the gun in his leg that slumped as he fell. “ Should I shoot you here, too, while you run?” He watches as the fear in the man’s eyes flamed, as it should be.
“Then here,” he points the gun in his stomach where a wound was already bleeding, “while you try to fight back? Should I shoot here? No? I should probably shoot you in the head, right? Just like what you wanted when you saw that just like your lost love, he wasn’t yours.”
Kimhan stood up and the guards came in with a man in their hostage, tied up, bruises all over his face, and when he smiled with the fear in his eyes, Kimhan rejoiced when the man’s face morphed into agony as he saw who it was. Good.
“You know, we are quite alike. I lost someone, too. But I don’t go after someone who looks like them and try to kill them because they weren’t them— I get them back— and I just got him back.”
“And you tried to take him away, again.” He let his smile fall, turning his head to the fire that was currently ablaze it could burn someone alive.
Then, his sinister smile came back, “So I’m going to do the same thing to you.”
“Please,” the man begs and tries to fight his men who held him down.
“You see him?” Kimhan points at the man now being pushed into the ring of fire.
“Please,” the man shouts in despair, crying as he trashes around completely helpless.
“You won’t get him back. Ever. Again.” Then he turns his back, completely ignoring the cries that echoes in the ashed corridor.
“Make him watch,” he instructed his men. “ make him feel what dying feels like while being alive.”
I'm in pain and you're my salvation
“Kim,” he heard his brother call his name but his eyes never left the boy who was sound asleep in his bed, unmoving .
"It's been three years, Kim. Let him go— "
"No."
The doctor said it was fatal. That it's only the machines keeping him alive. That it was over.
But he could spend every waking hour waiting. He was still alive. He was still breathing.
All he needs is to wake up.
"Kim—"
"I'm not letting him go," he says. "Not again."
Not when he knew what being with him feels like. Not when being alive with him is everything he didn't know he would need. He'd go crazy if he lets him go.
He'd go ballistic the moment he stops breathing.
He looks at the beautiful boy that stunned his world the moment he walked in it, beautiful even with his eyes closed and his hands cold for the last three years.
He'll wait. A sinner like him can't escape in his grasp, when he was willing to be caged in it. As long he stays.
He hears a sigh of resignation, or maybe of pity, and the sound of the door closing.
He climbs to where the boy was sound asleep, resting his head on his chest to feel his heartbeat, his warm breath.
Even if you let go of me
I'm always here
“You’re safe,” he whispers against his chest, kissing his cold hands. “You’re safe with me now, darling.”