Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sieun used to be withdrawn, back in their first year. Eighteen, quiet, blank face. The untouchable boy.

Juntae didn't notice him from the start. Not until their first exam. Yeon Sieun, top-marks, not a single mistake. 100%.

Juntae almost flunked it.

He wasn't the only one tripping over his feet trying to get him to tutor them. Practically all of their chem class tried their luck.

Somehow, Juntae was one of the lucky ones, along with Park Humin and Go Hyeontak.

The worst in their class. Made him think that maybe, just maybe, stoic Sieun might have a weak spot for idiots. The emotionless mask a front to hide a bleeding heart.

Ridiculous.

Yet what other explanation was there? Pity?

Well. Maybe.

He still doesn't know. Til this day. Third year, so close to graduation. Sieun has yet to ditch them, years after their tutoring sessions first began.

Juntae wouldn't hesitate to call him one of his best friends. Their tight little group of chemical engineering students, practically spending all their time together at uni.

Not outside of classes, though. Never off-campus. Always dodges their invitations, be it karaoke or dinner or a night out at some club or bar.

Juntae didn't understand. Not at first.

Not until.

Baku, Gotak and him actually manage to catch Sieun—Sieun, who usually leaves class right after the professor dismisses them, before they are even able to put their own things away—exiting the campus. Toward a guy. Leaning against a motorcycle, confident while half-sitting on the seat, legs splayed. Windbreaker, tight jeans, combat boots; sunglasses pushing his hair back.

A windbreaker. Turquoise. Almost an exact replica to the one Sieun wears every day.

Sieun hurries toward him. A friend, their little group whispers toward each other. High school bestie, maybe?

An universal oh zips through their brains when they see stoic, always cool Yeon Sieun, practically throw himself at the guy. He instinctively grabs Sieun by the waist so they won't topple over the motorcycle.

Sieun kisses him, right there in front of the whole campus. Raw and desperate and downright filthy; a kiss that shouldn't leave the privacy of a bedroom.

None of the other students react. Like they've seen it before. Like they're used to it.

Juntae's scandalized. Half out of his mind. Gotak and Baku, too. They exchange bewildered looks, Baku mouthing, What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck?? over and over again, all of their eyes like saucers.

The guy says something to Sieun, once parted. Something that has—

Sieun smiling. Actually smiling. Small and affectionate.

The group has never, ever seen Sieun smile. Not in all their years of friendship.

Yet here's this guy, handsome and gorgeous and right out of some fashion magazine, a guy they've never before seen, getting Sieun to smile like it's a regular occurrence.

Like he's used to it.

The guy puts a red helmet on Sieun's had. Pushes the visor down. Raps his knuckles twice against the top before mounting the motorcycle, Sieun easily sliding in behind him, arms wrapped around the guy's middle.

“Holy fucking shit,” Baku almost shouts when they're out of sight. “That's—I didn't just hallucinate that, did I?” He slaps Gotak's arm, who in turn nudges Juntae's. “Gotak, light of my life, what the fuck was that.”

“How should I know!” Gotak exclaims, but he's just as baffled as them.

Eventually, Baku crosses his arms, nodding to himself. Face Serious. Never a good sign. “Corrective hallucination,” he declares.

Gotak hits his arm. Juntae, weakly, says, “It's collective hallucination.”

They corner him the next day. Not before class. After. When they're seated around their usual table in the library. Sieun has his workbooks out.

They don't immediately say anything. Intently stare at Sieun. His head is already hanging low over his notebook. Scribbling intently.

They stare at him. Squint. Interrogation mode activated.

Baku wanted to bring a flashlight, no matter how useless that would have been in the well-lit library. Gotak had barely prevented it.

“So,” Baku says, finality in his voice. Unusually serious. It still doesn't make Sieun lift his head. He just hums, barely acknowledging them. “Are you. Like. Dating anyone? Right now? Maybe?”

Smooth, Juntae thinks.

Not.

Sieun doesn't freeze. Doesn't react. Still doesn't lift his head. “What's this all of a sudden?” he says, writes something in his notebook, distractedly. Like this isn't important. Like he didn't rearrange reality twenty-seven hours ago.

“Just,” Juntae starts, weakly. “Just, you know—”

“We saw you sucking face with some dude yesterday.”

It's not Baku. It's not Baku.

It's Gotak. Gotak. Who usually tries to reign in Baku's impulsiveness. He must really be rattled.

Sieun finally lifts his head. Eyebrow raised. Twirls the pen in his hand. Entirely unfazed.

“So?” he asks. “Never seen someone kiss their boyfriend before?”

Baku slaps his hand on the table. The librarian gives them a warning look, and Baku nods his head apologetically. “I knew it,” he hisses at Sieun, “I fucking knew it.”

The other eyebrow joins the first. “It's not like it was a secret.”

A beat of silence.

“We've know you for years, dude! How come—how come that never came up—” Gotak hurriedly says.

“Is it a new thing? It's gotta be a new thing, right?” Baku asks.

“No.”

“What...” Juntae says, small and out of his element. “What do you mean?”

Sieun sighs. Like this whole situation isn't worth his time. He gazes down at his workbooks, mournfully. Like he knows they're not gonna get any studying done today.

“He's my boyfriend. Has been since high school. Satisfied? Can we go back to studying? We've still got an exam on Friday. Do you want to fail that badly? I don't have to tutor you, you know?”

Ignoring his words, Baku leans forward. Eyes resolute. “Dude. Since high school. You've had a high school sweetheart hidden away all this time and never thought to mention him?”

Sieun exhales through his nose. Puts the pen between the pages of his workbook before flipping it closed.

“Is that really more important than studying?”

"Of course it is!” Gotak exclaims.

“Our ice princess has a boyfriend! I didn't even think you were, like—like that!” Baku adds.

Sieun exhales heavily. Like he doesn't even want to ask. “Like what?”

“Romantic! Sexual! Normal!”

Juntae paws at Baku's arm. “Baku!” he reprimands, “That's not nice!”

“What, it's true! Did any of you expect Sieun to be in a relationship, like, ever?”

Silence. They all exchange looks. Sieun looks like he wants to stalk out of the library and never interact with them ever again.

Or beat their heads in with a bible.

Baku, always the bravest (most stupidest) of them, exclaims, “You gotta introduce him to us! You have to!”

Siuen looks like he wants to say I don't have to do anything, shitheads. Surprisingly, he just pinches his nose and says, “If that will get you to shut the fuck up.”

Baku and Gotak cheer. Juntae, even if he wouldn't admit it, is giddy himself. Always ready to find out more about their withdrawn friend, their very own enigma.

Ahn Suho is not what—what any of them expected.

Still in the same fit he was that day, sunglasses high up his head. He looks cool, Juntae thinks, with his combat boots and the way he's got one leg crossed over the other's thigh, cigarette dangling from his fingers.

Juntae's surprised Sieun doesn't mind the smell. He's always so sensitive to them, pushing Baku away whenever he tries to throw an arm around him after a round of basketball.

Well. He always evades their touches. Period. But especially when any of them smell.

You reek, he'll say, don't get your dirty sweat on me.

Juntae's surprised. He never expected someone like Suho to be Sieun's type.

“I've heard so much about you,” Suho says, raising his cigarette back to his mouth to take another drag. He turns away to exhale so the smoke doesn't touch any of them.

“And we've heard absolutely nothing about you, dude!” Baku says, practically vibrating in his seat. Ready to interrogate the shit out of Suho, since he seems way more talkative than Sieun.

Which doesn't mean much, but. Yeah.

Suho throws the arm not holding the cigarette around Sieun's shoulder. Draws him in close, head against his chest.

Sieun doesn't react. Doesn't throw him off. Scold him.

Just lets him. Even smiles. Small and barely discernible but it's there and it's true. Genuine.

“My babygirl's always been a bit possessive of me. Probably wanted to keep me all to himself.” Teasing smirk as he looks down at Sieun. Sieun huffs. Unimpressed.

Still doesn't disentangle himself from Suho's hold.

Babygirl, Juntae thinks. Babygirl. He looks at Baku and Gotak, who both mouth the word out, perplexed. Thrown off. Like they once again think this entire situation is just some collective group hallucination.

What even, Juntae thinks. Sieun's dating someone that actually talks. Willingly! He can't wrap his mind around it. Expected Suho to be—someone more quiet. Someone more like Sieun. Even after he saw them that day, he still didn't expect Suho to be like this.

He could practically jump over the table and interrogate Suho for all that he's worth, if he was anybody but himself.

How did you meet? Were you in the same class? When did you start dating? Fall in love? How many years?

How the hell did you make someone like Sieun smile? Accept cheesy pet names? Are you a wizard? A lunatic for even daring to?

He doesn't have to. Baku basically asks all of that without any shame at digging into his usually so private friend's life.

Same class, yeah. First year. Also first year. Six years in three weeks.

Baku leans even closer to them over the table. His eyes are sparkling. Devious.

Junate's got a bad feeling about this.

“When did you first fuck?”

“Baku!” Juntae and Gotak scream in unison. Gotak hits Baku over the head and pulls him back into his seat.

“You noisy asshole! You don't just ask things like that!” Gotak reprimands, pulling on Baku's ear.

Sieun rolls his eyes at their antics.

“Oh—ow, ow, ow, alright already, Gotak. Love of my life, light of my life, I'm begging here, it hu-”

“Also first year.”

Everything freezes. Like someone snapped a polaroid. Juntae and Gotak turn their gazes from a still thrashing Baku toward Suho, while Baku victoriously screams, “I KNEW IT FUCK YEAH!!”

They're definitely gonna get kicked out. Banned from ever setting foot in this Café again. Nevermind that they're sitting outside under one of those cute sun umbrellas. The other customers are already staring. One of them even waves for a waiter.

Suho's grin is innocent, but his eyes are daring. Mocking. Cocky.

Sieun, still held tightly by Suho's arm, just rolls his eyes. Again. Doesn't say anything.

“Duuuuude,” Baku says, practically jumping in his seat, “you really jumped the gun, didn't ya?”

Suho shrugs. Flicks ash off his cigarette into the see-through, blue brand ash tray. “What can I say,” he says, already raising his cigarette back toward his lips, “why waste time when you know it's true love?”

Baku coos. Half-genuine, half-teasing. Gotak rolls his eyes. Juntae almost wipes a stray tear at the sweet declaration.

Sieun huffs, unimpressed. Smiles nevertheless. Nudges his elbow into Suho's side. “Sappy asshole,” he says.

Suho takes another drag. Says, on the next exhale, “You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Sieun's infamous boyfriend.

Ahn Suho.

Cool, relaxed, yet nice and funny Suho.

They became quick friends. He easily fell into their group dynamic, hit it off with Baku especially.

They all welcomed him with open arms.

Juntae wishes it had always stayed like that.

They're the last ones in the bar. Baku and Gotak left about twenty minutes ago. Something about Baku's father.

They didn't ask. They all knew.

Suho and Sieun on the other side of the table, Suho swaying his glass of whiskey, ice clinking together. Sieun's glass of some sugar-sweet cocktail is half-empty. Another thing they couldn't believe at first; stoical, uncaring, untouchable Yeon Sieun drinking pink, girly drinks?

Well. They learned a lot about their friend in the short span they've known Suho.

Suho tips his chin at Juntae's empty glass. “Another one?” he asks.

Juntae wants to say no. He's already feeling kind of woozy. But Suho's had who-knows-how-many glasses of pure whiskey, and even Sieun's on his seventh cocktail.

He doesn't want to look like a wuss. Baku and Gotak hadn't seemed even the least bit tipsy after their beer drinking contest.

“Sure,” he says. Tries to sound self-assured. Probably fails. Sieun's eyes flick from his phone toward him. He doesn't say anything. Just looks, for a moment.

His eyes go back to his phone screen.

Juntae exhales a breath he didn't know he was holding. Shoulders uncurling. His gaze swipes over the bar. Stop at that by now familiar turquoise windbreaker. Suho's got his arms crossed on top of the bar counter. Waits until he's got the barkeeper's attention before he orders another malibu orange. Even from here, Juntae can see the girl raise an eyebrow. Her gaze flicks toward Juntae. Eyebrows scrunched.

Juntae tries to look as sober as possible.

The girl sighs when Suho leans forward with a grin, knuckles of one hand rapping against the counter. The girl puts another glass on top of the counter, pushes it toward Suho. He's about to take it, fingers outstretched.

A man. Lanky, gaunt cheeks. Hair in a messy, oily bun. Skin white like a porcelain doll. An old, decayed doll. He sidles next to Suho, one hand fisting the collar of his windbreaker.

Juntae shoots a hurried look toward Sieun. Still looking at his phone.

Junate looks back toward Suho, already half out of his seat. He doesn't—he can't exactly do anything, being him, but—

Suho laughs. Loud enough that Juntae can hear it from their table. He's casually pulling the man's hand off his collar. Pats his arm. Leans forward to whisper something in his ear. The man's eyes darken, but he nods. Turns away.

Disappears into the crowd.

Suho sways back toward their table like nothing happened. Holds the glass between thumb and pointer as he sits it down in front of Juntae.

“Cheers,” he says as he settles back into the booth he's sharing with Sieun. Sieun hums in acknowledgement. Huddles closer toward Suho, their sides touching.

Suho doesn't mention the man. Taps a cigarette out of the box, catches it between his lips. Flicks the lighter, inhaling deeply as he takes the cigarette from his lips and between his fingers.

Juntae doesn't ask.

Belatedly, Juntae thinks—the man weirdly looked like. Well... Either like a cancer patient, or—

A drug addict.

But that couldn't be right.

Right?

Suho and Sieun already left. Juntae went to the bathroom, drying his hands on his clothes. There weren't any paper towels left.

He walks toward the exit, a little wobbly on his legs. The good kind. Not too bad. Kinda funny.

He spots the man. The one from before. The one that looked so pissed at Suho.

The man pushes the heavy door open. Lets it fall closed uncaringly and loud. He looked around hurriedly before leaving, like he was worried about being followed.

Juntae worries at his bottom lip. Nervously rightens his glasses.

He shouldn't. None of his business. He's never been one to get involved.

…

Curiosity wins out. He walks out the door, more confident than he feels. Looks around quickly so he won't lose sight of the man.

Bus stop. He walks into the bus, and Juntae hurries to follow. Scrambles for his wallet when the bus driver stares him down. Fumbles for the fare. When the money slips out of his hand for the third time, the driver sighs, annoyed, and waves him inside.

“Just this once,” he warns.

Juntae nods gratefully. Sits down two seats behind the man.

When they've passed six stops, coming closer and closer to—that part of town, Juntae starts to feel uneasy. Liquid courage wearing off.

Maybe this was a bad idea, after all. Gotak and Baku always warned him around this part of town. To never set foot in it. Avoid it at all costs.

Scum of the world lives here, works here, operates here.

But he's already here, so he might as well pull through. It's something he can boast about tomorrow. He'll probably get reprimanded, but he's an adult, for god's sake. It's not like someone will actually kill him. He'll be mugged at best. That wouldn't be his first rodeo.

Maybe the alcohol's still working, if the thought doesn't scare him.

He gets off at the same time as the man. Sits down at the bus stop until he sees the man walk into some shady alley before he stands up to follow him.

This is a wild goose-chase, he thinks, as he enters the alley. He should go home. Call it a day. What was he even thinking? The alcohol really must have gotten to him.

A grunt. Juntae looks farther into the alley. The man's—on the ground, on his knees. Rubs his right one. There's a figure standing in front of him. Face unrecognizable in the shadows until they lean down, hands in pockets.

A guy. Tall. Black boots. Nice face.

Turquoise windbreaker.

Holy shit, Juntae thinks. That's Suho. Juntae was right, his gut instinct having paid off for once. He doesn't know what it paid off for, exactly, but these days, Suho's as elusive as Sieun when it comes to his private life. Seems so open at first glance, talking about this and that, word-flow never stopping. But at one point you'll realize that the things he says are meaningless. Little whatevers.

Juntae's always been too curious for his own good.

The flick of a lighter. Suho crouches down in front of the man. Blows smoke right into the man's face. His face is bored. “So you got it, then? My money?”

The man lowers his eyes to his thighs. Like this, it almost looks like he's doing dogeza. He's still rubbing his knee. Like something made contact with it. Like someone kicked him.

Suho's free hand grabs the man's chin. Roughly pulls his face up so his head's lying in his neck. Looks painful, the sudden stretch.

“So?” Suho repeats, more force behind the word this time.

“No,” the man whispers. A husk of his former self. None of the bravado from the bar left.

Suho laughs. Dark and ugly. Head thrown back. Ash from his neglected cigarette falls to the ground. “No?”

The man shifts uncomfortably. Like he wants to hide at the end of the world. From Suho.

He doesn't leave. Bows his head. Hand curled into his jeans. “I promise, just one— just one more and I'll have your money by the end of the week.”

Suho laughs again. Loud and boisterous. Like this entire situation is just so, so funny.

He leans forward.

Foreboding. A dark feeling curls in Juntae's gut. He should leave. Leave now. Whatever this is—it's not alcohol-induced. Not a hallucination. Somehow, he knows he's not lying passed out in some ditch.

This is real.

And he's too scared to leave. Too intrigued.

Suho lifts his cigarette. Twirls it twice.

Presses the lit end right against the man's cheek. Keeps pressing even when the man tries to lean back, a pained shout escaping him.

“Stop wasting my fucking time and get me my money.”

He flicks the stub of the cigarette to the ground. Doesn't extinguish it when he stands up. Just turns around to walk away.

There's no more embers left to extinguish.

They're all stuck to the man's cheek. One hand presses against the burn. Mouth slack. Eyes wide in pain.

The man grabs Suho's back. Fabric of the windbreaker scrunched together. Desperate. One hand still clutching his cheek. Despite the threat, he's still reaching out for Suho.

Juntae can't look away. Glued to the ground. Caught in the moment.

Suho stills.

“Please, man. Help me out here. Just one more. You'll get your money by Friday, I swear—”

The man's on the ground. Suho's leg's raised.

His face is—

Empty. Only an annoyed twitch of his eyebrow shows his agitation. He stalks toward the man. Roughly grips his hair. Tugs until it must be painful.

“You fucker,” Suho hisses. “You actually thought you could touch me and get away with it?”

The man's trembling. Eyes wide and black, pupils blown in fear.

“Please—”

He still hasn't given up.

Suho rolls his eyes. Pushes him back on his back by his hair. He crouches back down. Pulls something out of his pocket.

A knife. Oh god, a knife. And not just any knife. It looks like a combat knife.

Suho carelessly twirls it. Looks down at the man on his back in front of him.

“Maybe I will consider it,” Suho drones, “if you let me stab you through the eye.”

What the fuck.

Juntae can't believe his ears. His eyes. Heart in his throat. Choking him. If this is a dream, it's one hell of a nightmare. Something he didn't even think was possible to dream up.

If it's reality—

The man's shivering. Uncontrollably. Entire body a shaking mess. He's half-curled into himself.

“Which one?”

Suho grins.

Juntae gapes.

That man—is that what addiction does to you? Desperate enough for another hit that you have no regard for your own body? For your goddamn eye?

Juntae doesn't want to see this. Believe it.

Why, why, why did he follow the man. Why couldn't he just have minded his own business.

Suho grins. Wide. Cruel. Eyes amused.

“Whichever I choose. You used to be an archer, right? You're right-handed, aren't you?” The tip of the knife draws a line under the man's right eye. Not enough to draw blood.

A warning.

“An eye for an eye.”

The man lies there. Shaking. Defeated. Scared but not scared enough.

“An then you'll give it to me?”

“I'll consider it.”

“Then do it.”

No preamble. No more words. The knife immediately stabs through the man's right eyeball. He howls in pain, fingers clenching around the knife embedded in his head.

There's blood everywhere. At the corner of his eye, on the crease of his brows, on his cheeks.

Some in Suho's hair, on Suho's face, on Suho's collarbone.

Suho—

He's grinning. Wide. Downright maniacal.

A madman. An absolute lunatic. Willing to hurt a man about—about drugs? For money?

Who even is this man? The one Juntae shared drinks and laughter with only an hour ago?

The knife pulls out with a horrendous noise. The man howls again. Whimpers. Tears trickle out of his good eye.

Suho grabs something from his windbreaker pocket. Small. Bag. White powder. Like sweet icing sugar.

Fuck. Cocaine. It's really about drugs. Really, truly, real.

“This is what you want, no?” Suho says. Still grinning.

The man sobs. Bites his lip. Raises his good eye to look at Suho. Arm half-raised and hand outstretched. “You promised—”

A laugh breaks him off. Dark and rumbly. “I did no such thing.”

The man's good eye widens. “What—”

“I told you I'd consider it if you let me stab your eye. Did the word promise ever leave my mouth?”

The man tries to push himself up. He kicks one foot at Suho. Suho easily backs away, faux-surprise in his eyes. “Whoa, dude—”

“You fucker!” The man howls, “You crazy fucking asshole! I gave you my eye—my fucking eye—how can you—”

“How can I?” Suho coos as he stands up, one hand in his windbreaker pocket, the other still holding onto the knife. “I—”

He suddenly looks up.

Right at where Juntae is standing.

Juntae instinctively ducks behind a wall blocking the view from inside the alley. Hands over his mouth. Heartbeat rabbit quick.

A monster just looked at him. Locked eyes with him. Was about to—

Holy fuck, hopefully he didn't see Juntae. He's doesn't want to end up like the man on the ground.

“Huh,” he hears Suho say, “thought I heard something.” The noise of moving nylon. He must have shrugged.

“Now, back to you. Crazy fucker, you called me?” An eerie silence. “You have no idea what crazy even is.”

Juntae can't believe it. Doesn't want to believe it. Feels overwhelmed tears prickle at his eyes, hands pressed so tightly over his mouth his teeth hurt.

Suho. Suho, cool, protective, nice Suho—always sweet and doting on Sieun Suho—a drug dealer?

A criminal?

Someone who stabs someone's eye without hesitation? Who even mocks his victim when they're half-dead at his feet?

That can’t be. Suho’s not a criminal, he's a—

…

Juntae.

Actually.

Doesn't.

Know.

What Suho does for a living. What he does when he's not hanging out with them, when Sieun's got lectures all morning and afternoon. Suho's never mentioned. Sieun didn’t, either. Just introduced Suho as his high school boyfriend. His loving, doting boyfriend.

Drugs.

Drugs.

Drugs and violence and maybe even murder.

Does—does Sieun know? Shit, what if he doesn’t?

…

What if he does?

Juntae tries to peek around the wall. Carefully. Pressed into it like he wants to melt together into one. Scared shitless. Fearing for his life.

He’s only got the man on the floor in his field of view. Combat boot on his chest. Right on the breastbone. Sole pressing down, the man gasping for air. Clawing at the ankle of Suho's leg.

His eye fucked beyond repair.

Juntae fumbles for his phone. Doesn’t know why, when any sound could reveal him. What if he accidentally drops the phone and draws Suho's attention? But he—he has to do something. Anything. Call the police, call—

Call Sieun, warn him the fuck off of his crazy boyfriend. His drug dealing, eye-stabbing boyfriend.

His thumb hovers over Sieun’s name. Decides to message him, rather than call. Is safer. Won't get him revealed. Make him the next target, caught under Suho. Left to his mercy.

He's considering what to write, something between please help, your boyfriend is a fucking lunatic and is probably gonna kill a man in cold blood and please rescue me holy shit I'm gonna die.

“Babe,” a voice says. A little raspy. Rather deep.

Familiar.

Achingly familiar.

Juntae freezes. Ice cold water douses him immobile. Like someone's pressing ice cubes over every one of his vertebrates, slow and deliberate.

With intent.

Presses his back as far as it will go against the wall. Peeks around the corner again. Measured steps. Sounds of boots on asphalt. Loud and ear-splitting, only accompanied by Juntae’s rapid heartbeat pulsating inside his ears, hot like it's trying to fry his brain, to save his mind from this cruel reality.

A form melts free from the shadows. Slow and careful. From the bitter darkness of the alleyway. Like it's meant to. Like it belongs.

Kneels down next to the man on the floor. Carelessly grabs the man's chin.

Gun in hand. Lazily dangling from long fingers.

The red windbreaker. A perfect match to Suho's. One Juntae knows. Knows well. Sees it almost every day, wrapped around a boy, a boy who laughs with him, makes jokes with him, was there for him when Juntae almost failed his chem exam and was so close to having to repeat the semester.

Keep on pushin'.

Sieun knows.

Knows.

Knowsknowsknowsknowsknows.

The realization's like needles to his skin, a sledgehammer to his brain.

Sieun knows. Is partaking in, in—whatever the hell this is supposed to be.

Sieun knows.

And Juntae is screwed.

“Babe,” Sieun repeats. Octave entirely too bored, as he's still pushing the man's face from left to right, like he's a doctor inspecting his wound and not—

“I'm bored. Let's get this over with, shall we?”

A snort. Suho's still out of view, but it definitely came from him.

Suho's his friend. Has been for month. Goes out for drinks with him and Baku and Gotak, is always there when Baku gets into another pretty fight with his high school nemesis' lackeys. Ready to back him up, get him out of shit.

And Sieun, he's one of Juntae's best friends, silent yet always there for him—

Were, Juntae realizes. They were his friends.

There's no way to salvage this. To make this right.

Suho's a drug dealer, a fucking lunatic, out her torturing people.

And Sieun knows.

They're both—crazy. Out of their minds.

Criminals.

Murderers.

Juntae shudders. Full-body motion. He went out to have drinks with two murderers only an hour ago.

“You just want to get fucked as soon as possible,” Suho says, mocking tone in his voice.

There's a sigh. Juntae can't see his face, but Sieun must be rolling his eyes. Knows he's rolling his eyes. Those words so mundane, Sieun's reaction to Suho so normal, like they're joking in some bar and not in front of a fucked-up drug addict in a deserted alley.

“Well, not if you take any longer,” Sieun says. Daring.

Another laugh. “Always so coy when it comes to what you want, doll-face.”

“There was nothing coy about me when you fucked me in the uni bathroom this morning.”

A low hum. “True,” Suho agrees.

The sound of the safety of a gun clicking off.

“Let's get this over with,” Sieun—Sieun's voice says, because that can't be the Sieun Juntae knows. Must be some demon-possessed version of his friend.

Maybe Suho turned him into this, Juntae tries to reason, weakly. Maybe he's blackmailing Sieun into doing this. Maybe he's brainwashed him.

Juntae doesn't give his own thoughts any semblance of belief.

“See you in hell,” Sieun says, and it sounds almost cheerful, for his standards. Like he's not about to—

The sound of a gunshot. Juntae twitches automatically, crouches down against the wall, palms over his ears.

He doesn't dare. Doesn't want to.

He still does.

Once again peeks around the wall. The man's—

He's dead. Head blasted open. Blood and gore and brain and Sieun's crouching in front of him like he's watching a cat lazily bath in the sun. Like he wants to coo at the image of the corpse.

Demons. Devils.

Suho's back in the picture. Hauls Sieun up by the arm. Kisses him, wild and hungry. Noisily, the wet sounds of tongues echoing in the now quiet alley. “You're so hot,” Suho says between kisses, “so fucking hot when you kill someone.”

He's slowly backing Sieun against a wall. Still in perfect view for Juntae.

Sieun's panting when Suho stops kissing him. One of Suho's hands on his waist, the other behind him, between wall and his body. Fondling his ass through his jeans.

Sieun cocks his head. Smiles. “Not like it's the first time you've seen me all bloodied.”

Suho sighs contently as he pushes one hand under Sieun's windbreaker, palming his stomach. “Never gets old, babygirl. You're so pretty in red.”

Another kiss. Teeth and tongue and Juntae doesn't even want to know. There was blood on Sieun's mouth. Suho must be able to taste it.

Maybe they get off on it, Juntae thinks, horrified. He wouldn't put it past them. Not after the things he's witnessed tonight.

He eyes the entrance of the alley as the panting and growling gets louder. Sucking noises. Moans and whimpers and whines.

Maybe he can make it. If he's quick enough. Get on the main street before they catch him. They won't do anything to him in front of people.

He swallows. They might. Who knows how the people in this part of town are? Juntae's seen a boy beaten to a bloody pulp by his schoolmates close to university. No one had intervened.

He doesn't think people here would be any more caring.

He puts his hands back over his mouth so they won't hear his hopeless whimpering.

He's gonna die. He's gonna fucking die. Just because he was too curious for his own good.

Curiosity killed the cat.

The opening of a belt buckle. Sieun's breathless voice. “Gonna fuck my face?”

Suho's answering voice is saccharine. “Since that's what my baby wants.”

“More like it's what yo—hgrmpf.”

Suho unceremoniously shoves his cock into Sieun's mouth. Sieun gags for a moment, tears at the corners of his eyes.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Suho doesn't give him any time to get used to the weight. The fullness. He starts wildly rocking his hips, hands fisting Sieun's hair. Tilts his head so his cock is able to slide in deeper. The perfect angle. Sieun opens his mouth wide, as far as it will go. Juntae sees his pink tongue twirl around the tip, one of his hands gripping the base while the other holds onto Suho's hip. He's pushing according to the rhythm of Suho's thrusts, bobs his head like it's some fucked up dance, giving a blowjob in some dirty, dank alley.

Juntae can't look away.

It's like some fucked up gory, porny version of a car accident.

Sieun whimpers. Suho groans as he pistons in faster, more uncoordinated by the second. Sieun's making these sweet hiccuping sounds, tears spilling down his cheek as Suho's just—using his mouth for his own pleasure. The grip on his hair must be ruthless, scalp burning something awful.

He probably likes it, Juntae thinks. In horror. Dread. A terrifying realization.

Suro growls as he he touches Sieun's cheek with the hand not tangled in his hair. Thumb drawing through the wet mess of tears and drool. They're red, burning, and Juntae wishes the street lamp was a few inches to the left, so he wouldn't perfectly see every little twitch of Sieun's mouth.

Sieun whimpers around Suho's cock, his grip on Suho's hip desperate. Fists the windbreaker. Whines.

Pulls off with a deafening pop as he looks up at Suho through his lashes. Wet lashes, wet cheeks, wet fucking mouth, the way his eye are half-lidded, the way his face is ruined, absolutely filthy.

“Come on my face,” Sieun says, voice hoarse but resolute. Wanton.

Suho growls. Low and deep in his throat as he pulls on Sieun's hair. “Sweetheart,” he says, “you really are gonna be the death of me.”

Sieun just smirks as he wraps his lips back around Suho's cock, swallowing the entire length in one go.

Fuck, Juntae thinks. Baku, once, drunk and shitfaced, said Sieun's got cocksucking lips.

Juntae, dazedly, supposes he was right about that. Sieun looks like he was made for it. This. Sucking Suho's cock like it's his lifeblood, his only purpose in life. A doll for Suho's pleasure, the way his head gets jostled from side to side with every thrust.

Suho stills. Back straightened. Head hanging low as he roughly pulls out of Sieun's mouth. Comes all over his messed-up face, come catching in his hair, his lashes, dribbling down his lips.

“Fuck,” Suho hisses as he pulls Sieun up to his feet. “You're so fucking hot. The prettiest girl around the block. My precious doll.” Kisses him, deep and dark, not minding his own come on Sieun's face.

He probably likes the taste of it. That he marked Sieun like this. That goddamn obsessive, possessive, unhinged lunatic.

They kiss for what feels like ages. Lips slotting together perfectly, moving in a perfect rhythm, trying to suck the other's soul out through the mouth.

They part. Foreheads pressed together. Breaths mingling.

Sieun softly pushes Suho off, palm on his chest. Pulls Suho's jeans up without breaking eye-contact. The noise of a zipper being closed.

He slips his fingers under the collar of his own windbreaker. Pulls up the t-shirt from underneath to wipe his face.

“So fucking pretty,” Suho coos as he cups Sieun's cheek. Sieun smirks. Exaggeratedly flutters his lashes.

“Only ever for you, babe.”

Suho's grip on Sieun's cheek becomes cruel. Nails digging into soft flesh. His eye are dark. “That's right, princess. Only ever for me.” Another kiss. Just as possessive, just as obsessive, as all the others before.

Juntae tastes salt on his lips. He didn't even realize he was crying. It doesn't surprise him. Everyone has a breaking point.

Juntae's wasn't just crossed, it was broken. Destroyed. Crushed into a million tiny pieces.

He wants to die. Wants a re-do. Wants to change everything. Turn back time to two hours ago. Wants to go wilfully through his life, never knowing two of his closest friends are crazy, murderous madmen. Demons walking the earth in pretty meatsuits.

The tone of a message notification. One of the guys must have texted Suho or Sieun. If they got home alright or something.

Steps. Hurried. Loud.

Fuck.

Fuck.

FuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK Juntae thinks as he fumbles for his phone. The screen is still lit up. Baku.

You get home alright 🙂

He wasn't entirely wrong in his assumption. It was one of the guys asking if he got home alright.

It just wasn't Suho or Sieun.

He looks up slowly. Boots skid to a halt next to him. A hand grabs him roughly by the collar. Pulls him up without care.

He knows when Suho and Sieun realize who their uninvited spectator is.

Suho's grin is lazy. He's the one gripping onto Juntae. “Well, well, well,” he says, “what do we have here. Seems like we've caught ourselves a curious little kitten.”

Sieun stares at him. Eyes dark. Listless. Empty. Lips plump and red. Glossy.

He just sucked Suho's cock, Juntae reminds himself, despite the situation. Of course he'd look like—like that.

“S-Suho-yah…” Juntae stutters. Helpless. Hopeless.

Full of despair.

“Please—”

“What are you doing here?” Sieun cuts in, voice dead yet commanding.

Juntae feels more tears pool out of his eyes. “I just—I just—” He's heaving. Hyperventilating. Breaths shallow, these warm little puffs of air that make him dizzy.

He's going to die.

He's going to die.

He's going to get killed.

“Aww,” Suho coos. Lets go off Juntae. Straightens his collar. All nice and friendly. “Don't be so scared. We're not scary, are we, sweetheart?” Sieun doesn't react, but Suho acts like he just wholeheartedly agreed. “See, we're harmless. Promise we won't do anything to you.” He holds out his pinky. Like he expects Juntae to wrap his own around it.

Juntae keeps breathing. Wishes he would just pass out already so he doesn't have to feel whatever they're going to do to him.

Not the eye, he pleads internally. Anything but the eye.

Juntae looks away from Suho. That faux-sweet face, fake and ugly and intimidating and Juntae can't believe he ever thought Suho was nice. A friend.

Looks at Sieun instead. He still hasn't moved. Lips pressed together. Not tightly, mouth just—closed. Pupils blown wide. Cold. Empty.

Juntae's eyes flicker down. Unwillingly.

The gun is in Sieun's hand. The gun is in Sieun's hand.

Juntae does it on instinct. Survival-instinct kicking in, self-preservation taking over. He cowers against the wall, shaking and pathetic as he watches those two bloody devils in front of him, and starts begging.

“Suho-yah, Sieun-ah, please, please, don’t—don’t do it. I promise I won't tell anyone. Really. I promise. I’ll—I’ll even transfer to another university! Move cities! Just, just don’t—please don’t kill me!”

Suho grins. Takes a step back so Sieun's in front of him. Sieun hums. Steps closer to Juntae. Lifts his hand up to Juntae's cheek.

Juntae flinches. Presses against the wall like it's his last lifeline.

Fingers draw down Juntae’s wet cheek. An—an emotion. Finally. Consideration. Familiar, like he's trying to console Juntae after another flunked exam and not—

For one painful, sorrowful moment, Juntae thinks he might have gotten through to Sieun. Convinced him. Whether it be the tiniest bit of affection he's got left for Juntae or the sheer patheticness of his pleas.

Sieun cocks the gun. Presses the barrel against Juntae’s temple.

“Sorry, Juntae,” Sieun says. There’s a smile on his face. Ugly and cruel. Some come's still in his hair, at the corner of his mouth

His grin non-withstanding, the image's ridiculous. Suho just fucked Sieun's mouth, and he's pointing a gun at Juntae. Intending to kill him.

It's the most terrifying thing Juntae's ever seen.

It's the last thing he ever will.

“It’s nothing personal.”