Chapter Text
Technically speaking, Seong-je was not the one who broke Hyun-tak's knee.
But it had started with him.
The memory was not vague, not in the way trauma usually was. It was vivid. Hyun-tak could remember the exact angle of Seong-je’s wrist when the first punch landed. The swing that caught him below the eye and made the inside of his skull rattle.
He hadn’t even had the chance to respond to Seong-je yet. No insult, nor protest. He did not even bother to ask a "what do you want, punk?”. Then the second hit came, then the third. And then the point where keeping count felt stupid, because Seong-je didn’t stop.
It wasn’t like Hyun-tak did not fight back.
He did. He always did.
His body remembered to move before his mind did. Shifting his weight on his right leg for a front kick, the slight break in his knees for balance, the instinctive guard he brought up the fourth time Seong-je closed in. Years of taekwondo hadn’t gone anywhere. For a second, he actually thought he could hold his ground.
But Seong-je wasn’t a fighter. Not in the way he was used to.
He didn’t move with any kind of rules. He didn’t plan his strikes or wait for the right opening. He was there to ruin.
Every time Hyun-tak landed a hit, it felt like punching a wall that only learned how to hit back harder. Seong-je didn’t flinch at his hits. Each and every time, he absorbed the pain, and laughed at it with that unimpressed look on his face.
He would laugh, almost like he felt embarrassed on Hyun-tak’s behalf. As if this attempt at resistance, this trained defense, was the best Hyun-tak could offer.
“Your punches are weak.” he even said once. Not even in daring, just mockful.
Hyun-tak’s footwork slipped once. Just once. And that was all it took.
Seong-je hooked his arm, yanked him off center, and drove his knee up into Hyun-tak’s stomach. That took the air out of his lungs.
Trained muscle and practiced technique couldn’t prepare you for someone who didn’t care how much he could take.
Ans it wasn't like Seong-je was doing this out of anger. Not like he was proving something. But because he simply could.
It was almost like testing how long Gotak’s body would hold up under pressure before something gave. Almost.
Almost like there was no need to deny how much Seong-je was enjoying it.
He wasn't just enjoying beating Hyun-tak up. He was savoring it. The control, the silence between each blow, the way Hyun-tak’s body flinched even before impact, the way his muscles tenses where it was hit… it all seemed to thrill him.
He smiled, all teeth. Not in a sadistic way, really. It was more like he had been waiting for this.
This wasn’t simple violence for him.
It was a pleasure.
At some point (he wasn’t sure when exactly), Hyun-tak became aware of every muscle in his body, every bone straining just to inhale. And when he finally managed it, all he could smell was cigarettes.
His mouth tasted like blood and dust.
He remembered his vision going dim. Not all at once, but gradually. It wasn’t exponential, but linear. A fixed amount at each step.
Hyun-tak didn’t remember when his knees hit the ground, only that they did. And that when he tried to push himself up, he couldn’t. His shoulder had already stopped cooperating. His lips were split, and his pulse was loud in his ears, he could barely keep on functioning eye open.
Seong-je paused eventually, though not out of exhaustion.
He never looked tired. He straightened up, tilted his head slightly, chuckled in disbelief at how boring that was, how that was all Hyun-tak could offer in resistance, and reached into his coat pocket.
He unlocked his phone, the camera app open in the next.
Hyun-tak had seen many things in his life, many that stayed with him. Some he could laugh at now, some he never would.
One he never could was the way even. when Seong-je then stood over him, the camera tilted downward. Supposedly, it was a cruel act. So why did it look so… normal on Seong-je?
“Say kimchi.”
No words. A photo. One single click. And then the image sent. Hyun-tak didn’t know who the picture had gone to until the footsteps arrived.
He should’ve known from the beginning.
There weren’t many people Seong-je took orders from, or entertained. But Baek-jin was always the exception. Hyun-tak used to think it was for the money. Now, he wasn’t sure. Loyalty was a complicated thing. So was silence. So was Seong-je. So was standing to the side and watching as someone else finished what you started.
Baekjin didn’t bother asking questions. He barely glanced at Hyun-tak face.
His eyes landed on his legs. One knee bent, the other struggling to hold his weight, the limp already visible, and that was all the permission he needed.
“You should thank Baku,” Baek-jin muttered, voice low, like he was talking to himself more than to Hyun-tak. “It’s because of him that this is happening.”
The sound was nothing like in movies. It didn’t crack, exactly. It was more like… a thud?
Hyun-tak's scream caught in his throat, somewhere between a gasp and a sob, and didn’t fully make it out. His knee bent sideways. His stomach turned. His breath came out in sharp, stuttering bursts that didn’t sound human.
Baek-jin walked away before Hyun-tak even registered he was gone.
But Seong-je hadn’t moved. He stood off to the side, still holding his phone. Still watching. Not out of interest. Not with judgment. He looked bored, maybe, but faintly curious. Like he wanted to see if anything would change.
Hyun-tak met his eyes.
And Seong-je took a step back.
Sure, the pain that came along every now and then did too. The nights he spent on the hospital bed. The scar tissue that still stung every now and then.
The smile before leaving as they made eye contact.
Uncanny. Terryfying. With lazy steps, putting out his cigarette by pressing it at a near pole before he threw it towards trashbags near Hyun-tak.
-
The lights of the hospital were always too bright for Hyun-tak’s liking. Too bright, washing thr color out of everything. Making it seem soulless.
Hyun-tak hated hospitals. He hated the sound of nurses rushing, the muffled coughs through thin walls, the crying sound of babies.
Su-ho was awake now. Si-eun’s friend.
He looked pale, slow to move, hooked up to machines, but awake.
That should’ve been a relief. And it was, technically. But actually, it came with its own complications. A complication hard to find the right words for, something that no one wanted to talk about. Especially not near Si-eun.
Su-ho didn’t talk much. He was scrolling through his phone. Catching up. That’s what he said earlier, “catching up”. On his old school, on group chats, on all the shit people said when they thought he wouldn’t wake up.
And all the messages Si-eun had sent during the year Su-ho was asleep. One after another, like time wouldn’t count unless he shared it with Su-ho.
Su-ho’s thumb paused, he had stopped scrolling. He leaned a little closer to read it better.
“Keum…” Su-ho’s voice cracked a little. He cleared his throat, tried again. “Seong-je?”
The name sounded strange out loud.
It was not unfamiliar, for obvious reasons. But it never belonged here. Not to this room, nor near Su-ho.
Jun-tae wasn’t sure he heard right, looking at others for some kind of confirmation.
Hyun-tak felt his jaw tighten, barely. A muscle memory he’d accidently trained himself to have.
Su-ho was still looking at the screen, thumb hovering just above the message.
“Why’d you mention him, Si-eun-ssi?” Su-ho asked. His voice was slightly suspicious, he was not dumb after all. If anything, he could even be called smart in terms of reading the room.
“He’s… a weird guy,” Jun-tae said, trying hard to sound as normal. “I mean, he beat the shit out of Hyun-tak, but he also stopped those guys from beating me up even more after…” His voice got quieter with each word. “...after I got caught, with the evidence.”
“Didn’t stop them,” Hyun-tak corrected. “He just didn’t let them finish.”
“Oh- Right.”
Jun-tae went quiet after that.
Su-ho finally put the phone down, his eyes finding Si-eun. “Is that it?”
Si-eun didn’t look at him. He hadn’t moved much since Su-ho read the name. Been sitting there, posture too still. There were a lot of things Si-eun didn’t talk about. The Union. Baek-jin. The days after the final fight. Seong-je was just another name in that category, filed under things that couldn’t be said out loud because there was nothing useful to say.
But Su-ho had been unconscious for a year. And now he was awake. Awake and looking at them.
“He threatened you,” Si-eun said, unable to find a sensible reason to hide the facts from Su-ho.
Su-ho squinted a little.
“When you were still out,” Si-eun continued. “He told me to stop seeing the others. To stop seeing Park Hu-min. Said he’d make it hurt if I didn’t. Through you.”
For a second, it looked like Su-ho might have cut him off, but he didn't. He nodded once, showing that he understood.
“He’s not in the Union anymore,” Jun-tae offered, lik that made it better. “Well-! There is no Union anymore, anyways."
“Not sure he ever was in the Union,” Hyun-tak muttered.
And he wasn’t wrong. Seong-je had always been strange. Not loud like Dong-ha, nor loyal like Seong-mok. He didn’t seem to care about territory or pride or who got paid the most. He was there for the fun of it. For the violence, too, at that.
“I beat him.” Si-eun said.
His tone wasn’t bragging, it was just stating a fact. Just another thing that had happened along disbanding a gang.
That caught Su-ho off guard a little. “You fought Seong-je?”
Si-eun nodded. “After he beat Hyun-tak and Jun-tae.”
Hyun-tak didn’t try correct this time. There was nothing to correct.
It hadn’t been a real fight. He had fought, yes. Always did. But that didn’t make it a fight. He remembered the smell of cigarettes. He remembered the way Seong-je looked at him, not giving two fucks about Hyun-tak.
Because to him, Hyun-tak was just another cattle in a farm.
Worthless. Not even worthy remembering the existence of after it was taken care of.
In Hyun-tak’s eyes, Seong-je had just wanted to see what would happen.
If he had improved, if we would be fun to fight with now, or just fun to hurt.
“He’s interesting,” Hu-min added, as if that explained anything at all. He did not know how to include himself in this conversation without making it about himself and Hyun-tak, which he should not, as this was not his story to tell.
Jun-tae looked at him like he’d lost his mind. “Interesting? He nearly killed Hyun-tak and Si-eun.”
“And?” Hum-in’s tone didn’t change. “He’s still interesting. Not in a good way, though. Like-” He looked up, trying to find the right word as he stuttered. “What’s that called- like- hmmm… A pissopath?”
“Psychopath, dumbass.” Hyun-tak had his chance to correct, trying not to snort.
Su-ho leaned back, exhaling. He didn’t press the topic again. The pieces were there. He was already putting them together.
Nobody dared to say it out loud, but the truth was simple. Seong-je was still around. Same district. Different school, Ganghak. He wasn’t part of the Union, but they weren’t sure if he was exactly free from it either.
Something was clearly left unresolved.
Speficially after Baek-jin’s funeral.
Hyun-tak hadn’t really expected to cry that day. Not at the funeral, at least.
He’d gone in with the plan of just staying quiet. Keeping his head low as a sign of his mourning. Saying nothing unless someone else said something first.
But it hit anyway. The silence. The finality. The stupid uniform suits that he felt so uncomfortable in. The casket. The framed photo. An old woman crying, clutching the tissues and pressing it to her mouth, wearing a paper badge indiciating she was coming from a charity organization.
None of those were what cracked him.
It was Park Hu-min. Baku. His best friend.
Hu-min started crying early as his body, his emotions reacted before his brain could take charge over his nerves. The usual.
First it was just sniffling, but by the time they were standing in front of the flowers, it was all over his face. No attempt to hide it. He felt no shame showing his open grief. The world owed him so much yet it kept taking instead.
And Hyun-tak couldn’t take it.
Because he’d been crying too. Eyes burning, nose stuffy, throat doing that dumb thing it did right before he crashed out.
He had stayed calm enough for the final bow, the incense, the last group photo that would never be taken. Then he slipped out. Told them he was going to the bathroom. Nobody stopped him. Hu-min was still crying into Si-eun’s shoulder by then, trembling.
If Hyun-tak cried in front of him too, that would've been it. Hu-min would've shattered.
Outside, the air wasn’t fresh, but it was cold enough to at least make him sense something other than the way his throat tasted like bile. He would throw up if he stayed any longer.
He walked past the cars, past the parking lot, found a narrow alley beside the building where no one would bother looking.
He squatted down beside a wall and pressed his palms to his eyes. Tried not to sob. Not to wail.
But it was all useless.
He felt so… guilty. Confused. It wasn’t just the grief that brought him down- but the feeling that Baekjin had never finished being a person before he stopped being one.
That none of them really knew what had happened.
There were whispers. Theories. Accidents. Maybe a fight. Maybe not. No one said Union. But no one ruled it out, either.
He was still wiping at his nose when he felt it, that feeling. The feeling of being watched.
Hyun-tak didn’t lift his head, catching his breath. Slowly, he looked up, eyes catching someone at the end of the alley.
A figure lit by the gray sky. Lean, one hand in his pocket, the other near his mouth, a cigarette between two fingers. His face was partially shadowed by the angle of the light.
Keum Seong-je.
“Damn, who am I seeing?” he said, chuckling.
Fuck.
Treating everything like it was a joke, expecting Hyun-tak was supposed to laugh, get up, react, or brush it off, maybe.
Well, Hyun-tak did neither.
He knew Seong-je wouldn't be satisfied with himself by a simple greeting. But given the situation, there were other greetings he could have given. More normal ones, at that. Like 'long time no see', or 'how is Baku doing' or 'I heard about Baek-jin.'
Not that Hyun-tak had expected him to, but still.
"Damn, who am I seeing?"
Hyun-tak no longer existed in Seong-je's version of the story anymore, apparently.
Seong-je took another drag from his cigarette. standing a few meters awar from a funeral hall. Five steps away from the boy whose knee he hadn’t broken but absolutely ruined.
He wanted to be noticed. That much was clear. The sound of his steps, the way he walked had always annoyed Hyun-tam. Arrogant, someone who saw themselves so much higher than others.
The cigarette glowed with every inhale, burning hotter as he approached. His lips pulled into a smile, but not full with teeth as Hyun-tak was used to. He was too busy smoking.
“Didn’t think I’d run into you here,” Seong-je said, not stopping until he was standing just a meter away. His voice was relaxed. “Or any of the Eunjang guys, honestly. Thought you lot would’ve moved on. Gotten a new hobby. Therapy, maybe.”
He laughed, then shook his head in amusement at.
“Baku’s here too, right?” His tone shifted to curiosity, still smiling. “Bet he’s bawling his eyes out. Shit, I can see it. All red faced and snot nosed, holding onto someone like a goddamn toddler.” He chuckled again, then gave Hyun-tak a look, thinking they were in on the same joke. “When I said he and Baekjin should end their little lovers’ quarrel, this wasn’t really what I had in mind, you know? Bit dramatic, even for them.”
Hyun-tak's hands were resting loosely on his knees now, the tears mostly dried on his face, but the feeling was still there, heavy in the corners of his jaw.
He didn’t care what Seong-je said. Or maybe what he did. It was hard to tell. He’d gotten good at making his silence look like indifference, when really it was the opposite.
“Put out the cigarette.” he said, voice low.
Seong-je tilted his head, slow and exaggerated, hand cupping to his ear with mock confusion. His grin widened, entertained.
“What was that?” he asked, still smiling around the cigarette. “Didn’t catch that. Speak up.”
The cigarette burned on.
Hyun-tak got up, and moved.
His fingers reached up and pulled the cigarette from Seong-je’s lips, two fingers curling around it. He turned, pressed it hard against the concrete wall behind him, and dragged it out. Ash crumbled down onto his Vans shoes.
When he looked up, his eyes finally met Seong-je’s.
“I said,” Hyun-tak repeated, “put it out.”
For a moment, Hyun-tak thought Seong-je might have actually been offended.
But then he let out a small sound. Not quite a laugh, but not not a laugh either. A whistle, a chuckleish sound through his teeth, lips parting, revealing his straight teeth.
“Damn,” he said at last, must be talking to himself, clearly. Since he never bothered to have conversation with Hyun-tak before. So, why would he now? “Didn’t know you grew a spine.”
His grin was smaller now, more focused on Hyun-tak and less on the situation.
Seong-j's eyes flicked up and down, all over Hyun-tak. Amused with a different intention now, curiosity aimed at him.
Some kind of interest.
He took a step forward. He wasn't touching Hyun-tak, but they were close enough that it could be taken that way.
Seong-je spoke, tone suddenly light again, mocking in a way that made Hyun-tak’s stomach turn, “So. How’s your knee?”
He said it like he cared.
As if he gave a shit.
Hyun-tak did not bother to answer. He knew it was pointless, that Seong-je didn't really give a fuck. But if he did answer, he would have talked about how he could still feel the bruising. Not physically anymore, the injury had healed at least a year ago. Mostly.
But the bump, the ugly scarring was still there. He had gone through rehab, iced it, wrapped it, let it pop and click its way back into some version of functionality. But the stiffness stayed. That slight sting when he crouched too low, jumped without preparing, sat down with his knees bent for too long…
And even when it didn’t hurt, he could feel it. The scar. Maybe the bone was healed, but the vivid memory of it. The sound. The second before and the breath after. It lived there now. In his body.
A part of him.
He blinked, and hospital lights cut back in. The white lights that bothered his eyes.
He hadn’t noticed how long he’d been staring at the floor, or how long he'd been dissociating.
The conversation had changed again, somewhere into Jun-tae asking something stupid about whether the Union had ever paid people or if they just gave them cigarettes, as they all seemed to be reeking of it. Hu-min laughed his ass off at that.
No one had noticed that Hyun-tak had left the conversation. Or maybe they had, and no one was going to bring it up. That was how things worked now. One could zone out, leave the room without putting the chair back, or hear something that triggered something and came back only when you could on your own.
It happened to all of them.
Hyun-tak's eyes still stung from the lights.
“We should go.” he reminded.
Jun-tae looked up, speaking low. “Go where?”
Hyun-tak stood up. His knee didn’t hurt in that moment, but the shift in weight caused a faint freling he didn’t usually feel physically. A mental reminder that it had once been something broken. Maybe somethinf that was still broken. In ways that didn’t show up on x-rays.
“Let's go,” he said. “He needs rest.” He didn’t look at Su-ho when he said it, but it was clear who he meant.
Su-ho didn’t argue. He hadn’t said much since the last question. Lying there, breathing slow, eyes often dazed towards Si-eun. They were still catching up, too.
Nobody protested.
Jun-tae got up with a sigh, stretching to move his muscles as he had been sitting for too long. Si-eun stood next, looking at Su-ho.
“I will text you,” he added quietly.
Hu-min sat the longest. He wanted to add something to the conversation but couldn’t find the start of it. Thus, he stood too, putting his jacket back on.
They left without much sound. Hyun-tak was last to move after the others had left the room.
He waited until the others were halfway down the hall. His eyes drifted once more to the heart monitor.
He looked at Su-ho for a moment longer. The strange luck of it. The strangeness of being allowed to keep something when others had to let go.
Others like Na Baek-jin.
“See ya.”
Su-ho nodded, waving him off.
Then he stepped out, and let the door shut behind him.
-
It was late by the time they left the station.
Hu-min’s place came up first. They paused at the corner where the pavement split. Hu-min turned, scratched the back of Hyun-tak’s neck, then looked right into his eyes.
“You good?” he asked, not pushing it, but still holding his neck.
“I’m fine,” Hyun-tak answered, because that was what you said when nothing hurt enough to make a big deal out of it.
Hu-min didn’t argue. He gave a short nod and smacked him lightly on the nape.
“Don’t get jumped,” he said with a grin.
And then he was gone, pulling his keys out before he even got to the door.
When the door shut behind him, Hyun-tak was alone again. He didn’t mind the quiet. But some nights it sat wrong on him.
The air smelled like cigarettes.
He noticed it before he wanted to. That familiar burnt stench. His nose wrinkled. He hated it. Always had, but now it was worse. Now it was tied to things that had nothing to do with nicotine or the smoke itself. It made something under his skin crawl.
The taste of iron in his mouth, the sound of footsteps behind him, the moment his vision blurred, causing him to miss a hit.
His teeth clenched as his pace picked up. He shoved his hands deeper into his hoodie pockets and kept his head down. Told himself it was just some guy smoking on a balcony nearby. Told himself it didn’t matter.
But suddenly, his body moved on it's own. A reflex.
It happened too fast for thought, a quiet movement behind him. He turned back, shoulder dropping, knee bracing. A foot passed through the space where he’d just been standing, aimed at the back of his knee. It missed him by centimeters.
And of course, it was him.
Seong-je stood just a step behind, grinning. He had just found his favorite toy buried under some trash, hadn't he?
“Still got those reflexes, huh?” he said, amused. “Thought you might’ve gone soft after the last fight. Guess not.”
Hyun-tak straightened slowly, eyes narrowing. He did not feel afraid, yet his pulse was thudding in his ears.
“What the fuck do you want?” he said, though it didn’t come out like a question.
Seong-je tilted his head, thinking. “Just checking in. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” His grin spread wider, a little proud of himself. “You’re still fun to sneak up on.”
Hyun-tak’s fists clenched. He took a half step forward. No more talking. They could talk with their fists instead.
But Seong-je didn’t move.
“My little playmate,” he said softly, almost like it was a compliment. “I missed this. You always walk like you want someone to start something. Thought I’d help.”
“I’m not playing.”
“Hmhm. You never are.” Seong-je’s tone was teasing, but there was something off in it… he seemed disappointed already. “But I gotta say… the look on your face right now? Kinda makes me want to see what else you’ve learned.”
“Then try me,” Hyun-tak snapped, stepping fully into the space between them now. Close, so close that if one of them moved, it would start. “Let’s go.”
Seong-je looked at him before he let out a small chuckle, and stepped back, putting his hands in his pockets.
“Ehh. Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t feel like it right now. It’s not fun to beat people up at night, the pictures don’t turn out good.”
He chuckled at his own joke, thoug he expected Hyun-tak to laugh too. When he didn’t, his chuckled died down.
Seong-je reached into his pocket, pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, then lit it.
The flame illuminated his features for a moment. The cupid bow of mouth, a nice, pointy nose... Then it was gone, and the smoke went up.
Hyun-tak stepped backwards, not wanting to inhale the smell.
“You’re disgusting,” he said.
“Am I?” Seong-je said, lips still curled lazily around the cigarette, smiling with his teeth.
His eyes scanned him from top to bottom, taking a little too long.
“You’re the one still standing here,” he said, smoke curling out with each word. “Could’ve walked." He shrugged. "But you didn’t.”
“I was waiting for you to leave.”
“But you didn’t tell me to.”
Hyun-tak squinted. “...Put out that cigarette. Or I will make you, like last time.”
“Like last time?” Seong-je’s smile faltered for a second, thinking about it. Then it came back just as wide. More teeth. “Didn’t ask nicely about this one yet, though.”
He took another drag, eyes still locked on Hyun-tak. The way he watched him... was weird. Hyun-tak was a Lego set he had no intention of building, just something to rip apart for spare pieces to make the ones he actually liked look more romantic.
“How often do you think about it?” Seong-je asked, uncalled for.
“About what?”
“Back then. You and me. That day.” He tapped ash off the edge of his cigarette. “If Baekjin hadn’t shown up. If it’d just been us.”
Hyun-tak stared at him. His throat felt tight, heart fast from adrenaline.
Even though the memory was vague besides how he felt when his knee got broken, he remembered Seong-je. Vividly so. Every punch. Every breathless pause between hits.
As if the whole thing was an experiment. Tryinf to see how much, how long it would take for Hyun-tak to break. Wondering how many trials it would take.
“Would’ve fought back harder,” Hyun-tak said, though it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than Seong-je.
“No,” Seong-je said in a matter of fact tone. “You would’ve stayed down longer. But maybe that would’ve been fun too.”
The cigarette burned down between his fingers.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Hyun-tak muttered.
He was confused. It was genuinely hard to tell tell if the person in front of him was kidding or not. Mainly because some part of him was still hoping he was.
But Seong-je’s smile didn’t fade. If anything, he seemed to have found something even more fun in the confusion.
“Been bored lately,” Seong-je said, tapping the cigarette, even though the stick was nearly burnt out. “Annoyingly fucking bored. You know how that gets. Nothing hits the same anymore. Everyone’s so damn scared, or tired, or busy trying to be better. Even the fights feel too clean now. Like everyone’s trying not to get blood on their shirts.”
Hyun-tak stayed silent. He wasn’t sure if he could even move. The cigarette was burning short, dangerously close to Seong-je’s fingers, and he hadn’t stopped talking.
“You know who I miss?” Seong-je continued. “The newbie. Yeon Si-eun. That kid? He was fun. He’s the only one who surprised me. Not strong. But so… unexpected. I like that. I like people who don’t flinch when they should.” His grin widened. “I want to fight him again.”
“You’re fucking delusional,” Hyun-tak spat out. “He’d never give you the time of day. He’s not like that anymore.”
“Exactly,” Seong-je said. “That’s the problem. He wouldn’t fight me unless I gave him a reason. And not just a little reason. Not a ‘bump into him on the street’ kind of thing. Something that hurts.”
Hyun-tak’s stomach made a flip as Seong-je continued.
“But not Su-ho. Too obvious. Too... sentimental. And Baku? Please. That guy’s already broken after Na Baek-jin. Hurting him would feel like kicking a puppy. Doesn’t count.”
Then the grin returned, slow this time. His eyes flicked to Hyun-tak again. And this time, he stepped even more forward.
The gap between them closed in seconds. His arm reached up before Hyun-tak could decide whether to move or not. Seong-je placed his hand on Hyun-tak’s chest, and pushed. Pressing him into the wall behind. Hyun-tak’s back hit the surface flat. No room to twist out.
“And then I thought...” Seong-je whispered, leaning in, cigarette still burning between two fingers. “Why not ask the bridge himself?”
Hyun-tak’s breath caught. His hands twitched, one rising to lang a punch, but Seong-je caught his wrist before it could move further. Held it there, pinned against the wall.
“You’ve always been the one in between,” he murmured, voice close, too close. His other hand came up, holding the cigarette now just centimeters away from Hyun-tak’s neck. “Between Baku and Baek-jin. Between the glasses guy and Si-eun. Between me and a real fucking reaction.”
Hyun-tak didn’t speak. His throat moved, the muscle tight. His eyes were wet from the smoke.
Seong-je smiled wider.
“You wanna be useful again, Gotak?”
And with that, he pressed the cigarette to his neck.
The burn was instant. Hot, biting. Hyun-tak’s body jerked, but Seong-je slammed his shoulder back into the wall. His grip stayed firm. The cigarette made a sound against skin for two seconds before Seong-je flicked it away, landing somewhere near the curb.
“Volunteering’s easier when you don’t talk,” Seong-je said, unaffected. Smiling. “Thanks for that.”
He let go a second later, stepping back.
Hyun-tak stayed against the wall, his breath catching in the center of his ribs.
Seong-je dusted off his hands, checked the corner of his sleeve for ash, then looked back at him.
“You can tell Yeon Si-eun if you want,” he said. “That you saved your friends tonight. Or didn’t. I’m not really sure which.”
With that, he turned and walked off.
But Hyun-tak could still feel the heat on his skin, smoldering in the exact shape of Seong-je’s cruelty.