Jin winced as the tiny blades snipped, a pinprick of blood forming on the nailbed of his little finger. He always cut too close, too forcefully, and ended up with tiny red scabs on his fingers. But it had to be done, his nails had to be cut short and neat. Even with a bit of blood on his hands, Jin felt cleaner this way. Presentable, so that his image could match this palace of a place he had built.
He polished the scissors with a handkerchief, wiping away the spot of blood on the golden blades. He traced his thumb over the handle, over the ridges and dips that formed the impression of a crane, its golden beak extending into pointed blades. It was just one of the many luxuries he'd come to appreciate in the last few months, although Jin feared he was perhaps getting too used to it. He worried that once he had the taste of extravagance he would be unable to live without it.
(But I've earned it… haven't I?)
Jin lay the scissors onto the dark mahogany desk. He had most certainly earned it — there should not have been any doubt about that. Every piece of furniture, every casino chip and escort, was his because of his own diligent efforts. He had built a beautiful temple in this rotten city, each pillar with his name on it.
But even so, it was not all his. Jin had debts to pay — who didn't? — before he could really consider the 'Poisoned Apple' his own. Jin had it all settled, all laid down and planned, and so he knew he could get it done. Jin was always good with finances, with management and getting things done efficiently. A few loan repayments should not have been of much concern.
And yet… Jin thought as he ran his finger over each nailbed, checking he had cut them all smoothly.
It was of great concern.
Jin caught himself picking at the scabs in this fit of nervousness, pulling his hands away from the table and staring into the folding screen that stood on the other end of the office. His eyes lingered over the ornate design, the elegant curves etched into the wood.
Yong Soo had picked it out. It was in surprisingly good taste… perhaps too good. Whilst Jin was always careful with expenses — even when considering luxuries such as golden scissors and mahogany tables — Yong Soo was crudely indulgent with his money. With Jin's money, to be more accurate.
Jin scoffed.
(So much for a 'business associate'…)
Yong Soo was little more freeloader than anything else. Really, what had Jin been thinking when he suggested that the two become business partners? Yong Soo should have stayed behind the counter, counting change and occasionally stealing a drink or two. Not guzzling down half their profit on escorts and flashy red convertibles.
The phone rang, its ring irritating him as he reached to pick it up.
'Hello?' he sighed, pulling out his expenses book and opening it up to yesterday's date. Waiting for the caller to respond, he picked up a pen and drew a line underneath the expenses list, writing in the totals and how much of their profit would have to go towards the loan repayment.
'Come on, Yao. Wake up! Ah, fuck…' a voice crackled through, distant and somewhat muffled.
'Hello?' Jin said, punching numbers into the calculator and noting them down. 'Yong Soo?'
'Jin!' Yong Soo said, voice high-strung and panicked. 'Jin, I don't know what to do. He's so cold. He's so fucking cold —'
'Who's cold?'
'Yao! He… He might be gone, Jin…'
Jin's pen stopped still. 'What do you mean? Where are you?'
'Somewhere — I don't know, Jin! I was just driving by and I see him lying here like fucking roadkill and I don't know what I'm going to fucking do —'
'Calm down. Is he in your car?'
'Y-Yeah. He… He's not moving, Jin.'
'Check his pulse.'
Jin heard shuffling on the other end of the line, a pause before Yong Soo's panicked voice broke through.
'I think he's dead, Jin. I can't feel one. He's fucking gone. He's gone…'
'Yong Soo, listen to me.' Jin dropped the pen down. 'Bring him over. You've got the hood closed, right?'
'N-no. But he's dead, shouldn't we call an ambulance or something? Oh god…'
'Yong Soo, listen to me. Close the hood. Get him here as fast as you can. You got that?'
'… Y-Yeah.'
Jin closed the phone, combing his hands over his head with a drawn out exhale. He considered the possibilities, weighing the decisions he may have to make with each one. This was a troublesome ordeal, to say the least. Wherever his cousin had run off to in the past few months, Jin knew it wasn't any place good. From what he'd heard from Yong Soo, and what Jin suspected himself, Yao had gotten himself deep in a place he did not belong, an underworld that he was not built to thrive in. Jin would not be surprised if it ended up killing Yao.
But the one possibility that bothered him the most, the one that seemed to persist at the forefront of his mind, was the possibility that Yao was not dead. It was while he was thinking of this that Jin absentmindedly peeled off an old scab from his index finger, causing him to hiss in pain.
This possibility was indeed troublesome.
.
In the midst of the bustling crowd, Alfred tensed. His white shirt stood out like a flag, tinted pink by the red lights that seemed to make the place look all the more like a pit in hell. He had been here several times before, although he had always visited during the daytime when the place had been empty and quiet. But once the sun had set and streetlights flickered on, it seemed that the 'Poisoned Apple' had come to life. Fluorescent lights glimmered, drinks started to pour, and a hazy mist of tobacco settled over the place like a thick blanket.
It was almost overwhelming; Alfred felt as if the 'Poisoned Apple' had swallowed him up, pulsating music and the musty smell of the place stifling him as he pushed through to get to the bar, ignoring curious glances. Perhaps they too knew that Alfred did not belong here. Although he stood taller than most people, he felt incredibly small.
When he finally reached the bar, illuminated a little more brightly than the rest of the place, he caught sight of Arthur. He was slouched over the counter, an empty glass in his hand.
Alfred had not even made it two steps further when the Englishman turned to look at him.
'You're late…' Arthur drawled out, face flushed — perhaps already drunk.
Alfred took the seat next to him, eyeing his watch. 10:15. He was late, although it was no accident.
'Got stuck in traffic,' he lied, but he knew Arthur could see through it easily.
'Hm.' Arthur nodded, his eyes flickering to the collar of Alfred's shirt. 'And you're still wearing the same shirt you wore this morning…'
'Was I supposed to change?' Alfred said. He noticed that Arthur was not wearing his usual black trench coat, but a leather jacket instead, the collar of a deep red shirt peeking out. It made Alfred wonder, who was the wolf trying to lure today? Or perhaps it was just another costume, to blend in with the rest of this crimson place.
Arthur shook his head, a drowsy smile etched on his lips. 'No, I suppose not.' He turned to the bartender behind the counter, lifting his glass up. 'Another one, Leon!'
The bartender glared back, eyes brown and empty in their expression. 'It's not Leon. It's Chun.'
'Fill it up, Leon!' Arthur lifted the glass higher up in the air.
The bartender took the glass without another word, glancing over at Alfred curiously. The bartender's eyes flitted down to something behind the counter, presumably a bottle of whatever Arthur had ordered, but the bartender quickly turned around and picked off a bottle from a shelf behind instead. He poured the drink — it looked like whisky — all the while his stony expression lingering back to Alfred.
'Thanks, love.' Arthur took the drink from the bartender, earning a heated glance.
'So now it's love, huh…' the man said, voice barely audible beneath the loud music.
'I'll call you what I like!' Arthur drawled, turning back to look at Alfred with a dry smile and prodding him. 'This man here will tell you! Tell him, Alfred! How I used to call you James…'
Alfred turned to the bartender, opening his mouth to tell him just this, only to be stopped by the cold stare he was met with.
(What an odd guy.)
The man's eyes flickered, looking over at something beyond Alfred's shoulder. Alfred glanced behind, watching the crowd he had waded through before. The mob split in two, parting to let someone walk through. He caught glimpses of a dark-haired man entering, carrying someone in his arms as he hurried through to the stairs in the corner of the bar. There were whispers, concerned and speculating mumbles, before the man was gone, leaving the scene to resume as if nothing had happened.
'What was that about…?' Alfred asked, not to anyone in particular. When he turned around, the bartender was gone. He frowned, looking to Arthur in question.
'You're looking at me as if I just ate him,' Arthur set his glass down, already half empty.
'Did you?' Alfred rested his arm on the counter, realizing he hadn't even the chance to order a drink.
Arthur suppressed a chuckle. 'No… He just left.' He glanced over at Alfred. 'Did you think I was going to eat him?'
Alfred shrugged, caught slightly off guard by Arthur's gaze. It looked unhinged somehow, perhaps uninhibited by the drink in his hand. 'Didn't you once tell me you weren't all that different from them?'
'From the monsters, you mean?' Arthur smiled, a small sigh escaping his lips. 'Yes, I suppose I'm not all that different.' He swivelled around in his chair, turning so that his entire body was facing Alfred. 'You're wondering when I'm going to snap, aren't you?'
Alfred blinked, suddenly conscious of the distance between them. 'I've considered it.'
Arthur chuckled, his hands reaching down for the cane, propped up against the bar. He held it between his open legs and stabbed it into the floor, idly swaying it left and right like a cat's tail. 'But do you ever think what might happen if I did?'
'I'm hoping you'd turn yourself in.'
'Hm!' Arthur hummed. '… Suppose I didn't.'
'Then I'd have to come after you.'
Arthur leaned forward. 'Suppose I go into hiding.'
'Suppose I found you,' Alfred shot back.
'Suppose I put up a fight,' Arthur inched closer.
'Suppose I pulled out my gun and aimed it at your head.'
'Suppose you didn't shoot.'
Alfred hesitated. He wondered, would he have even pulled out his gun in the first place? Could he shoot Arthur — in fact, could he shoot anyone — if the situation called for it? Part of his job required that he be prepared to do so, but only to injure. Not kill. Arthur knew this too, surely, but Alfred had a feeling that wasn't what he had in mind when he challenged him. As Arthur's eyes bore into him, curiosity brimming at the surface, Alfred felt uncertainty twist and turn in his stomach.
Why's that? Arthur's expression seemed to ask, his eyes closer than they were before. Music pounded in their ears, but the silence between them felt louder. It grew, this silence, twisted and curled around Alfred so that it started to speak for itself.
(Why is that, Alfred? Why couldn't you shoot me, if you had to…?)
Why was it? Alfred shifted in his seat, a hesitant chuckle breaking into the silence. He didn't know. He didn't know and that was perhaps what bothered him most.
'That's a telling answer, Alfred.'
Alfred's weak smile faded. 'But I didn't say anything.'
'Sometimes, Alfred, it's the things you don't say,' Arthur said, leaning back, his words crisp and clearer than before. Alfred had to wonder if Arthur was only feigning drunkenness a few moments ago, eyeing the half empty whisky glass. 'You know something's good when someone's hiding it. Haven't I told you that?'
Alfred felt his lips purse into a thin line, feeling as if he had exposed too much, in some strange way. 'Yeah. You have.'
Arthur lifted the whisky glass, tilting it at a dangerously slanted angle, so loosely in his hand that it looked as if it could easily slip out. 'Want some?'
'No…I'm fine.'
'Suit yourself!' Arthur gulped down the remaining whisky, setting the glass down abruptly and breaking into a fit of giggles.
Alfred said nothing, letting his gaze trail over the crowd around the bar absentmindedly. Strangers faces, once again passing by fleetingly. Alfred felt a familiar tune on his lips again, but he did not dare hum it out loud.
.
'He might be gone, Jin… He's not moving…'
Lights, bursting once again in Yao's eyes. Sounds throbbing in his ears and warmth slowly crawling over his skin. His hand grasped something. It felt like a sleeve.
'Ivan…?' He croaked through frozen lips, but no sound left them. He opened his eyes, met by red lights overhead. Voices barraged him, hissed whispers and distorted faces swarming him. But his eyelids felt so heavy, and like black curtains they swept back over him.
'Is he breathing? I think he's still breathing…'
Feeling something solid beneath him, Yao was no longer floating. A hand pressed onto his cheek, shaking him, warm in its touch. But it wasn't cold, and it wasn't Ivan's. Yao furrowed his brows and turned his head away.
'Yao… Yao, wake up.'
He felt something wrap around him, so tight around his chest that it made his shallow breath almost lose itself completely. White light spilled into his eyes, the glare of it thrashing his aching head like a hammer.
Yao groaned. He wasn't ready, not yet.
(Let me stay here a little while longer…)
'Yao!' a brusque voice rang in his ear.
When Yao's eyes adjusted to the light, he found Yong Soo's face hanging over him. There was a moment of silence, of Yao staring at his face and wondering. He felt chuckle rise out of his throat, but it was so weak that it sounded more of a pained exhale than anything else.
'He got you, too?'
'What?' Yong Soo brows creased. 'Yao, what happened to you?'
'Hm?' Yao shuddered, the frost on his numb fingers thawing and leaving them trembling. 'Oh, I… I just th-thought a little walk would be nice!' he giggled, his entire body now shaking. 'It's uh… It's really c-cold in here, isn't it?'
He felt his smile falter as his skin began to sting, feeling raw as the ice that had coated itself over him began to melt. It was with this that Yao suddenly felt emptied out. Like the phantom arm of an amputated shoulder, Yao felt that something should be there, when it wasn't.
Yong Soo opened his mouth to say something, when Jin's voice cut in.
'Yao… I'm not going to ask where you've been, or what you've done.'
(What I've done…?)
Yao chuckled weakly, waiting for Jin's stern face to enter his frame of vision.
(Oh, yes… the things I've done.)
Jin approached from the foot of the couch, arms crossed so that his hands were hidden in his sleeves. His steps were slow and deliberate, not too dissimilar from the way someone might approach a wounded animal. When Jin's face was hovering over him, Yao shifted on the couch, trying to break himself out of the blanket that was wrapped around him. It felt more like a net than anything else, trapping him instead of reassuring him.
'And I'm not sure you're even supposed to be here,' Jin said.
Muddled and thawed out thoughts began to swim more frantically in Yao's head. Not supposed to be here? Yes, he had certainly felt that, this feeling of misplacement. Almost feeling like a writhing fish out of the water, Yao felt his arms seeking to break out of the net that had caught him. The warm hands clinging onto him, the cold gaze studying his uneasy form on the couch, it was all so incredibly stifling that Yao felt sick to the stomach.
(What am I doing here?)
'It would be in both of our interests if your presence here wasn't noteworthy to anyone.' Jin sat by Yao's legs, which lay tied up and strangled by the blanket. 'But we both know that's wishful thinking.'
'Ease up on him, man.' Yong Soo grasp on Yao's shoulder tightened, causing the sickening feeling in Yao's stomach to rise. 'Your cousin just like, came back from the dead!'
'He's compromising everything I built.' Jin shifted his gaze to Yong Soo.
'Everything we built!' Yong Soo stood up from his crouched position by the couch. 'Dude, this place was a dump before me! A boozed-up loser pit! I'm the one who suggested you turn this place up into something more!'
'Is that so?' Jin smiled. 'And what about actually carrying that out? Compiling client lists? Training our escorts? Handling imports from overseas? Did you do all those things, too, Yong Soo?'
Yao scooted up on the couch, sitting upright. Everything shook violently, teeth chattering and numbness fading away to leave behind a dull ache. The pain was back, chest hollowing out as the ice in it melted. But there was nothing he could do, except bear it in silence.
He looked around the room, perhaps searching for something familiar to anchor him in this trembling frenzy. But so much had changed… though it was still Jin's seedy little den, it was now papered over, perfumed and glossed so that it gave the impression of glamour.
It smelled sweet — was that honeysuckle? — but this did nothing to quell the jittery nervousness that was overtaking him as he listened to Jin and Yong Soo argue back and forth. Like two hunters, two giants towering over him and pulling his tangled net between them. Who would get to eat little Yao up? Who would get the first bite? Yao could only watch.
'You know what, Jin? You won't have to worry about Yao screwing up your pretty little office.' Yong Soo yanked Yao off the couch. Yao nearly tumbled over as the blanket loosened around him. 'So why don't you file your nails or something, and we'll be on our way.'
Jin pursed his lips and stood up. 'That's fine with me.' He walked over to the door and opened it.
A young man was already stood out in the hallway, his dark eyes widening when they met Jin's.
'Chun. What are you doing out there?' Jin asked.
Chun blinked, hesitating. 'I…' He glanced curiously at Yao and Yong Soo. 'That guy you told me to keep an eye out for… he's here.'
'Is he?' Jin raised a brow. His hands fidgeted beneath his sleeves. 'I suppose I'll have to talk to him at some point…' He drew out a sigh, turning to Yong Soo. 'I trust you can show yourselves out whilst I... deal with this?'
'Yeah, yeah. We get it.' Yong Soo put his arm around Yao to support him, using his free hand to wave dismissively at Jin. 'We're leaving this shithole.'
'Good,' Jin said, still holding the door open for them.
Chun shifted in his position for a moment, looking between Jin and Yong Soo uneasily before turning to leave.
Yao followed Yong Soo drowsily as he was led out. The door shut behind them with a distorted bang, its echo cluttered by footsteps that followed behind. Yao wondered if it had sounded the same to Yong Soo, and began to think that he had perhaps not recovered, regretting leaving the couch. His legs wobbled with every step, bare feet stumbling over each other as Yong Soo tugged him down the hallway. Suddenly hollow, suddenly distant from everything, it became difficult to judge just how far down the ground was from him.
Yao took a step towards the stairs, only to be pulled back.
'You need a moment, Yao?' Yong Soo asked, his grip biting into Yao's arm.
Yao looked to him, brows furrowed. Jin and Chun walked past them, not even offering a glance as they made their way down the stairs. When they were out of earshot, Yong Soo chuckled.
'About time. Alright, let's go.'
'Where're you taking me…?' Yao said, his mouth not quite feeling in synchronization with the words as they were spoken. Nothing matched, and nothing stood still. The world seemed to tumble alongside his footsteps.
'Hm?' Yong Soo snaked his arm around Yao's waist as they approached the stairway. 'Nowhere. We're staying here, man.' He flashed a smile.
'But I thought —' Yao felt the world drop suddenly, only to realize they had taken the first step down the stairs. The second step still trembled. '… I thought we were leaving.'
'Nope!' Yong Soo tugged Yao down the third and fourth steps in one jerk, sending Yao nearly flying down to the fifth. Yong Soo laughed. 'I want to show you the Red Room. It's… uh… it's something, alright. You'll see when we get there. Dude, trust me. You'll like it.'
Yao said nothing, his eyes glued to the shaking ground beneath him and wondering why these steps felt more like clifftops than anything else. He only wanted to get out of here, and so he followed Yong Soo in search of a way out. Anywhere but here, where he felt a strange sort of pulse beating within his head. Yao felt this place was the pit of something he did not want to lose himself in.
When they had reached the bottom of the stairs, Yao was overtaken by the throbbing music and stifling stench of cigarette smoke. So familiar, but so different, overwhelming almost. It was as if the place he had once spent away his afternoons had swollen up and saturated, to the point at which it had become a monstrous exaggeration of what it used to be. Dim lights had been transformed into pulsing red ones. Hazy tobacco smoke had become a thick cloudy curtain. Old drunks had become twisted and hungry men, hands itching on the poker tables.
(But I wonder…)
Would it still be there? The little table at which Ivan had once sat and watched Yao? Or had that too, changed?
Yao choked on the air before he could search for it, guided by Yong Soo's arm to a room hidden away in a dingy corner. Two large men stepped aside for them, closing back in on the entrance to guard it when they had walked through.
Curtains drew behind them, in the same way a prison door would slam shut, leaving Yao in near darkness until his eyes adjusted to the candlelit room.
The room was doused in red, cherry-colored leather couches spread throughout the room and almost blending in with the crimson walls and red tinted floorboards. It was excessively decorated with gold frames and trinkets, candles lit throughout the entire room. An almost rotten stench wrapped itself around Yao, holding him still.
He felt a tug on his shoulder, turning to find Yong Soo pulling his black parka off. Instinctively Yao grasped the sleeve, resisting the movement of the jacket as it slid off one arm.
'No coats, Yao.' Yong Soo pulled the other sleeve off. 'Just one of our rules. It's for the girls' safety, you understand?'
'Right,' Yao croaked out, his voice still a weak whisper.
As the jacket was thrown off to the side, he felt the separation. Vulnerable, cold without it. He looked helplessly to it, itching to at least rummage through its pockets and retrieve his pocket knife.
Yong Soo chuckled and led him to the couch. 'Have a seat. It's empty today, so enjoy it, man. Not everyone gets a chance in the Red Room.'
Yao sank into the leather seat, shivering even more so when he did. He wanted his parka back, the only thing that kept him somewhat warm. He did not care for the bloodstains that once resided on it, for the groans of agony that were woven into its fabric, for the memory of Ivan's hands sown into it — these were purely incidental, and could be forgotten. Yao would wash them away, stain by stain.
(But the scars won't fade.)
'Want a drink?' Yong Soo threw himself onto the seat next to him, splaying out onto the couch. He slapped Yao's back, leaning closer. 'How about that new drink I made, like, ages ago? The one you never tried? Huh?'
'Ah…' Yao felt the air spring out of him with the force of Yong Soo's hand. 'I-I'm fine.'
'You'll change your mind later! I'm telling you!' Yong Soo laughed, giving one last pat before turning back towards the curtain. 'Bring them in!' he shouted.
Yao looked over to the black curtain, its fabric peeled back by slender fingers. A tan woman slithered through the curtains, followed by another, and then another. Adorned in black and crimson dresses, their heels clicked against the floor as they approached, circling around Yao and Yong Soo.
A pair of hands slithered across Yao's shoulders, and almost in reflex he squirmed in his seat.
Yong Soo chuckled. 'Don't be shy, dude! They're all yours! Well, technically they're all Jin's. But for now, they're yours!'
Yao swallowed as the hands slid beneath his shirt and across his chest, moving too fast and too low. He shifted on the couch, feeling fingers trace over his stomach and wanting to flinch away. He should be enjoying this, should be finding something pleasant about it, but all Yao could feel was the crawling sensation of something spindly on him. He shuddered and reached up to pry the hands away. The girl pulled away and frowned.
'I-I'm sorry.' Yao fumbled to straighten his shirt, unable to look anywhere except his own trembling hands, pale and bony. White as fine china, not a trace of the red that had once stained them. How was it they had stayed so pristine?
His sleeve had ridden up above his wrist, and it was in pulling it back down that Yao saw the pale line etched onto his skin.
(I don't belong here.)
'You okay there, Yao?' Yong Soo asked in a mumble, though his face was already buried in the throat of one of the girls seated in his lap.
'I... I need to leave.' Yao stood up, unsteadily swaying when he did.
A hand grabbed his, yanking him back onto the couch.
'No, no, I get it!' Yong Soo laughed, pulling away from the girl. 'You're uh… You're just not up for it. I get it.' He pushed the girl away, her thin frame obediently climbing off and leaving. A golden anklet glistened as she did so, the candle lit glimmer of it catching Yao's eye. A delicate shackle, a beautiful lead from which she would always find her way to her prison. Yao glanced back at his wrist, now covered, but the pale scar beneath it still vivid in his mind. A shackle bound by skin.
(I wonder if it'll lead me back…)
Yao felt a cigarette being pressed into his hand, a lighter hovering near him. He snapped his gaze up to Yong Soo. The lighter clicked as Yong Soo's thumb pressed down, a flame swaying in the air. Teasing, almost, to have Yao catch it. Perhaps if he let the flame lick him, let it singe away the pale shackle, he would have nowhere to go, nowhere to be lead to.
'You having a smoke or not?'
Yao blinked, twirling the cigarette between his fingers. 'No…'
'Are you sure?' Yong Soo leant closer, a grin plastered on his face. 'They're not just any cigarettes, you know. Jin would kill me if he saw me handing these out like freebies, man.'
'But he's not watching,' Yao said, the cigarette still twisting and turning in his hand. He pinched it, feeling its centre crush beneath his fingers. Ah, how lovely it felt to break it…
'He's not watching now,' Yong Soo lowered his voice, glancing around. 'But you know… sometimes it's like he appears out of nowhere. I'm sure he's got some secret entrance somewhere in this room. I haven't found it yet, though.' Yong Soo scoffed. 'Sneaky fucker, isn't he?'
Yao stayed quiet, eyeing the crushed state of the cigarette.
(I ruined it.)
'I don't think I can smoke this,' Yao said.
Yong Soo frowned, looking down at Yao's palm. 'What did you do to it?' He pulled out another cigarette from his breast pocket. 'Here, I'll give you another —'
'Don't.'
Yong Soo let his hand fall to his lap, looking up at Yao for a brief moment. '…Okay.'
His eyes seemed to bore into Yao, searching for something. But Yao would not let him, would not allow him to see any part of him. He turned away from Yong Soo, staring off into the candles and melting into the couch.
(I only need to breathe. Nothing more, nothing less.)
Yao would not think of the prison he had left, or of the cold hands that kept him shackled there. It was gone, far away and lost somewhere in the night. Even if he wanted to —
(I want to)
— return to Ivan, he couldn't. There was only air to breathe, and a pair of trembling hands to still.
Yong Soo leant back into the couch, spreading his arms across the back of it and sighing. He puffed out billows of rotten smoke.
'You've changed, man.'
'Have I?' Yao let words fall out of his mouth, hollow in their sound.
'Yeah. It's like you're a zombie,' Yong Soo turned, leaning with one arm against the back of the couch. 'Have you like, been bitten by one or something?' He chuckled, and took hold of Yao's chin, turning it so that the side of his neck was more exposed.
Yao watched the distant flickers of flames, ignoring the itch that came with Yong Soo's clinging touch. 'I guess you could say that.' He pulled his chin away.
A breath of silence. 'You're not still cutting yourself, are you?'
'What?' Yao snapped, turning his head to Yong Soo. Without another second passing by, he felt his sleeves being rolled up.
'Huh…' Yong Soo turned Yao's arms, leaning his face in towards his pale wrists. 'Still just that one cut…'
Yao yanked his hands away. 'I'm not cutting myself.' He pulled his sleeves back over his arms, although he felt the need to scratch at them, scrape away where Yong Soo had touched him.
'Right. And you didn't leave yourself out to die in the snow, either.'
'I —' Yao wanted to deny this, only he wasn't so sure himself. He had not intentionally driven out to pass out in the snow, and yet in some way it was the exact kind of solace he had been looking for. Tempted to feel numbness again, Yao wanted to leave. 'I didn't,' he said, but the lie weighed heavily on his tongue.
'Yao. Dude.' Yong Soo leaned closer, the stench of the cigarette filling Yao's nostrils. 'I can't have you like, hurting yourself, man.'
'I said I didn't,' Yao seethed, pulling away from Yong Soo's hot breath.
'But I know you did.' Yong Soo inched closer, advancing with every flinch Yao took. 'Why can't you just talk to me?' His eyes, now slightly bloodshot, seemed to search Yao once again. Yao felt his fingers curl, wanting to crush the cigarette again, only it was already limp and broken.
'I know everything about you already…' Yong Soo whispered, chin resting on Yao's shoulder.
Yao tensed. 'You can't know everything.'
(You wouldn't want to know everything.)
'But I do.' Yong Soo chuckled, prying the crumbled cigarette out of Yao's hand and throwing it aside. His hand returned back to Yao's lap, resting on his thigh. 'Like that panda tattoo you got ages ago….' His hand trailed down to the side of Yao's thigh and up its length. 'On your —'
Yao pressed his hand over Yong Soo's, stopping it in its tracks. 'You were the cause of that.'
He wrenched the clinging hand away, skin itching once again where Yong Soo had left trails. Unpleasant. Repulsive. Skin was left aflame and Yao wanted to claw it away.
Yong Soo burst into laughter, his head trembling on Yao's shoulder as he did so. 'Not my fault you hogged the whole bottle… without watching me open it.'
Yao shook him off, getting up from his seat. A clammy hand quickly took hold of his.
'No, dude! Don't go! You can't still be mad about that!' Yong Soo giggled, laughter still as loud and brusque as before. 'Come on, it was funny wasn't it? Getting a panda tattoo on your ass? Just a harmless joke, man!'
Yao pulled his hand away, thinking to wash it — no, to scald it — afterwards. He turned and walked out of the room, not saying a word. Yong Soo called out after him, but as Yao pushed through the black curtains, he was not followed.
Yao walked through the hot hazy air, red tinted lights and loud music stifling him. It was too warm in here, sweaty and drenched with the smell of tobacco and booze. Realisation hit him as his hand fumbled for his coat pocket, finding nothing but his sweatpants and shirt beneath his fingers. He stood still and considered going back for his parka, only to decide that it wasn't worth it. He would not need his pocket knife where he was going anyway.
Yao caught sight of the door, of the black night peeking in through its window. Making his way toward it, he anticipated the cool and icy feel of the night air on his skin. Fingers twitched eagerly for that numbness again, for the snow coating them entirely. He was only a few trembling steps away from this, when a soft voice drifted into his ear.
(Look, over there…)
Almost of its own accord, Yao's head turned to the corner of the bar. Upon the sight of it, the hole in his chest deepened, buried further into him.
It was still there, this lonely table. Dimly lit and empty, it stood there barren as if waiting for someone. The red lights from the other side of the bar bled into its wood, but everything else about it was the same.
All the same… save for that one person that should have been seated there.
Drawn to it, lured into it as if a hook had grappled onto him, Yao's feet no longer shook as they stepped toward it. His fingers reached out for the wood of the table and swept over it. A little taste, a little bit of flavour, before he gave himself up to the snow again. Yao took a seat at the table, instantly regretting it when he saw the empty seat opposite of him.
'Tonight…' a voice crooned, distant and overpowered by glasses clinking and raucous laughter. But it was there, flowing from the mouth of the songstress that stood on a small stage. 'The starlight flows in to my window…'
There were no accompanying instruments, only her lingering voice. Yao watched her distant form, and although he could not see her feet, he was sure that she too, wore a golden shackle.
'Where is that bloody bartender? I want the blank-faced one back!' a voice drawled out from nearby. 'You must be thirsty, Alfred! Please, take my drink!'
'It's empty,' another voice said, grating irritably in the air. 'I think you've had enough.'
'I'll pour another one for him,' a smoother voice said. 'It'll be on the house.'
'No, please don't. He's had enough.'
Yao turned to the voices, finding two men seated at the bar. Jin was stood behind the bar, a polite smile plastered across his lips, though his eyes darted between the two men as if to examine them. The man with a cane in his hands stumbled out of his seat.
'Take me home then, dear Alfie…' A chuckle. 'You are taking this stray home, right?'
The other man remained seated and stared. He seemed to consider the drunken man for a moment, his blue eyed gaze trailing in Yao's direction. Upon seeing Yao, his brows furrowed — recognition, perhaps? Yao flitted his eyes away, feigning interest in the surface of the table. His skin burned, and Yao was sure the man was staring at him intently. A shadow hovered nearby, but Yao did not look up, for fear of further provoking the man.
(I need to get out of here.)
'Hey.'
Yao snapped his gaze up. His clenched hands relaxed, a sigh escaping his lips when he only saw Yong Soo standing by the table. Glancing back at the bar however, Yao could still see the man seated there. No longer staring, but stealing glances in the same way Yao did. Neither Jin nor the drunken man seemed to notice. His stomach twisted uneasily, unsure why the man had taken an interest in him.
Aware of Yong Soo standing idly by, Yao looked up at him. 'What is it?'
Yong Soo laughed, but the smile faltered. 'Um… I wanted to apologize.'
Yao flitted his gaze back to the blue eyed man again, checking if he was still looking his way.
'Could… uh… Do you mind if I say this in private?' Yong Soo scratched at the back of his neck. 'It's kinda tough with the music and everything.'
The man, who was previously caught in conversation with Jin, had now paused and turned to look at Yao. Yao snapped his head back to Yong Soo, though he knew the man had seen him staring.
'Fine.' He got up, wanting to go anywhere but here. He shoved his hands into his pockets, feeling conscious of them. Though they were clean, his hands felt wet, stained crimson red. His stomach churned once again as he followed Yong Soo, all too aware of every glance and whisper. Yao knew it couldn't be, but he felt as if everyone knew. Exposed even in the dim light of the bar, Yao sought shelter of some kind.
He followed Yong Soo to the back of the bar, up the stairway that led to an office upstairs. Closing the door behind him, Yao recognized it as Jin's office. Yong Soo leant with his back to the desk, eyes wandering around Yao, to the wooden floor beneath them, silent.
'You wanted to tell me something?' Yao asked, folding his arms over and leaning back on the door. With only the sound of fluorescent office lights flickering, the pause that hung after his question became all the more uncomfortable, more obvious in its hesitance.
Yong Soo rubbed his forehead. 'Yeah. I just… I'm sorry about what I said earlier, dude. About a lot of the stuff I said. I mean —' He chuckled. 'I was kind of a dick, wasn't I?'
Yao frowned. 'Yeah. You were.'
(But it's more than that.)
'And I am totally sorry, man! All that shit I said, I promise I won't say stuff like that anymore!' Yong Soo pushed himself off from the desk, stepping closer to Yao. 'And dude, if it makes you feel any better, you can totally get back at me! Like, punch me, kick me. Knock my teeth out if that'll make you forgive me! Whatever you want!'
'Whatever?' Yao echoed back.
'Yeah, man!' Yong Soo nodded. 'But, uh… you don't have to. I mean, we could hug it out instead. Like, that's… that's an option, too.'
Yao pursed his lips, considering the offer. Punching Yong Soo, bruising him… it was a tempting offer. The clingy man and his stifling ways, Yao could feel his patience with him wearing dangerously thin. How easy, how wonderful it would be to finally act on it! Yao's hands balled into fists beneath his sleeves, itching to crush Yong Soo's face. He did not quite realise it until now, but Yao had been waiting for such an opportunity for a very long time.
(Take it! Make him pay in blood!)
Yao's skin was branded with this man's stupidity. His anger was only furthered by it. Why shouldn't he take up the offer, which had been made so lightly?
But even so, even as his mind raced through the image of Yong Soo's bloodied face, there was a twinge of guilt. Did Yong Soo really deserve it? He was an annoying bastard, granted. But he was nothing more than that. No, Yao was not entitled to beat Yong Soo.
(I left those shears behind long ago…)
Yao stepped forward towards Yong Soo, walking slowly across the room. He would not beat him, no, but he would certainly relish the uncertainty in Yong Soo's eyes as he approached. Looking ready to flinch, Yong Soo chuckled nervously when Yao was only inches away.
'So… uh. Is this a punch or a hug?'
Yao reached forward and pressed himself against Yong Soo. His hands lightly hovered over Yong Soo's shoulder blades, feeling the heat from Yong Soo's chest and wanting to recoil. Every muscle in Yao's body moved stiffly, hesitant and reluctant in their movement. The gesture was more mechanical than anything else, more polite than warm in any sentiment. Deciding that a few seconds was more than enough, he pulled back.
'Don't expect any more of thi —' Yao said, only to be muffled by Yong Soo's shoulder when he was yanked back into clingy arms. Yong Soo laughed and squeezed tighter, crushing Yao's ribs painfully.
'I knew you couldn't punch me!' Yong Soo rocked Yao from side to side in the embrace, holding on too long for Yao to catch a breath. Yao shifted in his grasp, the uneasy feeling of a net falling over him once again.
Yao attempted to pry himself out of Yong Soo's arms, only to find that it was pointless to do so. Yong Soo's arms held on tightly, burying his face in Yao's hair and laughing.
'Let go,' Yao said, his breath unsteady.
'But this is so nice!' Yong Soo spun around, taking Yao with him in a dizzying turn. Wobbling in their balance, they fell toward the desk. It screeched as it was pushed across the floor, Yao leaning back against it.
He felt Yong Soo inhale by his ear, air trailing across his throat and jaw.
'This is really nice…' Yong Soo mumbled, his chuckle lower as he buried his face into the crook of Yao's neck.
'That's enough.' Yao squirmed, sickened by the heat of Yong Soo's breath on his skin. The feeling rose up from his stomach, forming a lump in his throat. 'Let go.'
'But I don't think I want to...' Yong Soo murmured, his arms snaking around Yao's waist and drawing him closer. His lips dragged across Yao's throat, resting just below his jaw. Yao pried his one hand away, leaning back on the desk to keep from falling over. Unable to free himself completely, his hand searched the desk surface, looking for something — anything — to tear away the net that had trapped him.
As Yong Soo's lips pinched against his skin, Yao bit back a yelp. His hand frantically felt around the desk, coming across a cold surface. His hand fumbled around it, finding its pointed edge and grasping it.
'Stop it,' Yao said, the lump in his throat making his voice hoarse. His hand dragged the cold item across the desk, bringing it closer. 'Stop.'
Yao lifted his hand up, curling his fingers around it tightly. Just as he was about to thrust it into Yong Soo's side, Yong Soo pulled away.
'Ah, fuck…' Yong Soo rested his head on Yao's shoulder, hands still grasping onto his arms. 'Yao, I am so, so sorry,' he mumbled into Yao's shirt.
Yao sighed and let his hand fall back to the table, making a light clanging sound as the sharp object hit the desk. Yong Soo did not seem to hear this.
'Let go of me.' Yao said.
'I- I don't know what got into me!' Yong Soo lifted his head, chuckling. 'It's… it's like I just…' His gaze flickered, searching Yao's face. 'I-I don't know why I did that.'
'Just don't do it again.'
'I… I won't.' Yong Soo's hands fell to his sides. 'Um… yeah. Are we… are we still cool?'
'Yeah,' Yao said, though the word felt hollow. 'We're fine.'
His hand, however, could not seem to let go of the blade it held. Rather, it seemed to grasp onto it tighter, hanging on to it even as the moment passed. But Yao would not need it. Yao would not use it.
(You want to, though…)
His thumb ran over the object, feeling little dips and crevices over the handle. His index finger trailed up to the point of the blade, pressing into it and realising he was holding a pair of scissors in his hands.
(Shears, if you prefer…)
Yao could not see them, but he knew — he felt — that they were beautiful. And oh, how much more beautiful would they be coated in red! How much more beautiful Yong Soo would be, if his face was no longer animated by that brash grin. His stupid, reckless grin, that still played on his lips as Yao's body thawed and melted and broke apart into tiny little pieces.
Not once had Yong Soo really asked about how Yao had ended up in the snow, to pursue the question even when Yao refused to answer. Clamping his warm and clingy hands on him, Yong Soo only wanted to have Yao to himself, and nothing more.
'I know you'll probably not want to,' Yong Soo said. 'But you can stay over at my place tonight, if you don't have anywhere to go.'
(I forgave you.)
Yao fiddled with the scissors behind his back. 'Maybe.'
(But that doesn't matter anymore.)
He grabbed Yong Soo's collar and raised the scissors in the air. The blade struck down on Yong Soo's face, ringing out a scream with its trail. Whimpers and bitten back cries reached Yao's ears, but they were muffled, overpowered by the metallic scent of blood.
(Beautiful…)
The blades struck again, carving another line. A third time, slicing away bloodied skin. Yao's grip on Yong Soo's shirt was coated in red, feeling sticky in its hold as fat droplets fell onto it.
Yong Soo shrieked, tearing himself away and stumbling back. His hands held onto his face, a cry of horror as he fumbled around for the door, blinded by his own blood.
Yao grabbed Yong Soo's wrist, hacking at his fingers so that they remained as torn stumps. Yong Soo shoved him away with his other hand, knocking Yao to the ground. Yao got to his feet, taking hold of Yong Soo's throat and pushing him against the door.
'I'm not finished,' Yao said, having to hold Yong Soo back with whatever little strength was left. But Yong Soo was stronger than he was, pushing Yao back and sending him stumbling to the floor once more.
Yong Soo felt for the door handle with his other hand, pressing down on it and pulling the door open. Yao pounced onto his back, pushing him against the half open door with a loud bang as it shut. With one arm wrapped around his throat, Yao dug the scissor blade into Yong Soo's face. He pulled it out, thrusting it into his shoulder, his chest and throat. Red spattered onto the door, onto his hands and his creased sleeves.
Yong Soo crumbled onto the floor with a groan, crushing Yao beneath him. Yao scrambled up, straddling Yong Soo and raising the scissors above his chest. His hands were poised, ready to slam the blade into Yong Soo and carve him open.
He froze.
(What am I doing?)
Yong Soo lay beneath him groaning, too weak to scream, to even writhe in agony. One eye was a deep crimson pool, a dark river flowing onto the floor beneath him. His face was so torn, so shred apart and ripped at the surface, that Yao could not see Yong Soo in it anymore.
A sob was caught in Yao's throat, only stopped by the lump that had made itself present only moments ago. The scissors trembled in his hands, wavering over Yong Soo's chest.
(It hurts so much, doesn't it?)
Yong Soo's mangled hand reached for Yao, barely able to even touch his sleeve before falling back limply. 'Yao…' Yong Soo choked. 'Don't…'
(Open up and see.)
The blade held still over his chest, inviting Yao to finish what he had started, to strike through Yong Soo's heart and be done with him. But Yao couldn't. He could only feel the tears burn his eyes. They filled up his chest up, until his lungs felt as if they would burst.
('It's for both of us, myshka.')
Yao's hands wilted, letting the scissors fall softly onto Yong Soo.
'But there's only one of us,' Yao croaked out, a cry finally breaking through. He crumbled and let his head fall onto Yong Soo's red stained shirt, tears bleeding into it as he sobbed.
'I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…' Yao felt his whole body shake, quivering as if his bones were falling apart inside of him, leaving him a crumpled and shivering mess. 'I've ruined it, haven't I? I've ruined it…'
Yong Soo said nothing, leaving Yao's tears to dry on his shirt in silence. But it was between hiccupped sobs that Yao realised he could not hear Yong Soo's heart. He felt for his own, clawing at his chest with sticky and bloodied hands. Yao could not feel his own heart, either.
(It's gone…)
His ribs ached as if they had caved in, collapsing from the void that had been created. Congealed blood crawled on his skin, spread and entwined around him. Tears had scorched his throat and eyes until they felt raw. Already empty, already hollowed out and crumbling apart. Already gone.
('Ochi chernye…')
Though he whimpered, the sound of it never left his lips. And though he trembled, his body felt still. Yao was only the wooden husk left behind, the marionette with its strings cut.
(There's no one to lead me home…)
