❝DEAD MAN WALKING,
GOT THE REAPER AT YOUR FEET.❞
― dead man walking, sam tinnesz
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APRIL 27TH 2021, 11:30 P.M. KST.
The very moment Jeon Jeongguk's life is declared forfeit.
The phone rings.
Its piercing sound resonates in the vintage office, fills the empty spaces between the wooden shelves, scrapes its way along the dusty blackboards and ornate lamps like a bad omen. It's a haunting sound, the classy ringing of the antique black rotary dial phone.
Ahn Hyejin picks up the receiver, her sharp manicured fingernails tap against it, scarlet on obsidian, blood on blood.
"Administration." The operator's voice is gentle, it's got a certain purr to it, a soft lilt that pulls and pulls and pulls until you're trapped in the den of the lioness. It's a lover's tone, but one that promises certain doom.
Hyejin tilts her head elegantly whilst trapping the receiver between chin and shoulder, swiftly inserting a sheet of paper into her typewriter.
"Put a contract on one Jeon Jeongguk."
The voice on the other line is distorted, metallic, a classic.
A tiny smile pulls on Hyejin's corner of the mouth. They never change, the Administration's clients. Always the same tricks, the same games in perpetuum until they've killed each other off, one by one. The operator isn't one to berate her clients but still, a little bravery, a fresh breath of air won't harm them. Seoul's a city of killers after all, a city where gangs, triads, the mafias ― all sorts of street rats and alley kings ― thrive. And yet, none of those fuckers know how to make a grand entrance. Well, except for one, maybe.
"Bounty?" The constant Click Click of the typewriter echoes through the office. The dark-haired woman hits the keys with a certain finality. Another life ready to be reaped, another soul taken to the Underworld.
"26 Billion Korean Won." Hyejin's fingers halt for a split-second, her tattooed knuckles hover over the typewriter's keys. Damn, her client needs somebody dead very badly. The operator shakes her head in disbelief, amusement glinting in her dark eyes before she resumes her monotone task.
"Open or exclusive?"
"Exclusive, obviously," the client says and Hyejin can almost see the arrogance dripping from their lips. How typical of anonymous customers, always so cocky and confident until somebody so much as points a gun in their direction. Scared little lambs, the lot of them, hiding behind the fake power and authority of a lion. She almost feels pity for them, almost.
"In addition, you will send me a list of potential candidates who are interested in taking this job. When that has happened, I myself shall decide on the perfect individual who is worthy of killing the Crown Prince of the Underworld." Hyejin narrows her eyes as the client's demands sink in. The woman dressed in a pastel pink office worker's uniform can't do anything other than scoff at those bold words.
There are rules the Administration must adhere to, that the clients putting contracts on people must adhere to. These are not guidelines, not suggestions. These are fixed regulations that must be followed under every circumstance possibly imaginable. Without the safety of rules, there is chaos ― Hyejin's personifications of lions and lambs would become a reality, they'd tear each other into pieces and the mess left behind for the few to clean up wouldn't have been worth the bloodshed.
"With all due respect, dearest client, but the Administration cannot allow such―"
"The Administration will allow whatever the High Table deems adequate," the client explains, their cool, collected voice sends a shiver down Hyejin's spine. A sudden cold seeps into the dark-haired woman's back, its imaginative talons dig into her arms and limbs. The feeling induces her fingers to start shaking slightly. Whoever the client is, they definitely aren't taking any chances. "Besides, I won't just let any random killer take the life of this man. He's the Prince, after all."
Hyejin swallows hard.
"Of course, dearest client, I understand." Her tone of voice is saccharine, sweet but polite. The operator taps away at her typewriter but hits the keys harder than necessary, slowly but surely banishing that unwanted feeling from her body.
"Processing order," Hyejin purrs, calling over one of the interns with a wave of her hand. Shin Ryujin skids to a halt in front of the dark-haired lady. She looks adorable in her pastel pink uniform which is a tad too large for the frail girl, a soft rosé colour tints her cheeks.
"Ryujin-ah, be a proper doll and fetch me Jeon Jeongguk's file, eighth row on the left."
The intern's smile brightens her features and makes her seem even younger than she is, her dark eyes gleam with excitement.
"Yes, Unnie." The girl's breathless, almost stumbling over those two words. She rushes to the section of the office where the files on Seoul's highest ranking Underworld members are stored, her soft pink pony tail cutely bops up and down with every step she takes.
The younger woman does a poor job at concealing her crush on the operator, but still, Hyejin regards her rather fondly. She admires the girl's carefree nature. Putting bounties on people's heads and declaring wayward assassins fair game isn't exactly a lighthearted job but Ryujin keeps on caring, keeps on smiling. In a world like this, that's quite the achievement. Sooner or later, Seoul's Underworld breaks its inhabitants, it breaks them all. Thieves, beggars and kings alike fall prey to the scariest of monsters known to mankind: Greed.
Seconds later, Ryujin returns with the file and as she quietly hands it to Hyejin, the girl's small fingers accidentally come into contact with Hyejin's longer ones. Ryujin's touch lingers there for a few seconds more than what can be considered appropriate.
"Thank you, Darling," the infamous Hwasa Le Fay hums, her obsidian eyes glint dangerously as the antique lamps' lights flicker over her elegant features, gently contouring them. The older woman's luscious waves seem to be spun from the night sky itself, made from the darkest of inks merged with moonlight manifested. Ryujin flushes scarlet, quickly bringing her hands up to cover her pretty cheeks as Hyejin's blood red mouth curls into a smirk. The intern mumbles a soft "You're welcome, Hyejin-Unnie" under her breath before she's off again, helping Krystal rearrange the enormous blackboard which dominates an entire wall of the Administration's office.
Hyejin flips the file open and skims over its contents.
"Well, well, well." The woman chuckles darkly as she takes in Jeon's file, putting his data onto paper. "You've been a busy boy, Jeonggukie." Her tone of voice is silky soft, but golden specks of wickedness are swirling in her stygian eyes. Whilst the contract is being passed onto Krystal who regards Hyejin with a soft smile before carrying on with her task, the dark-haired operator picks the receiver up again.
"Order confirmed."
Like a lamb to the slaughter.
"Good."
The contracting entity hangs up and leaves Hyejin with the ominous beeping tone which confirms that the call has been disconnected. The operator puts the ornate receiver back onto the phone cradle before turning her attention towards her colleagues. The gigantic blackboard displays the names of those with contracts on their heads, miserable souls ready to be reaped, listed from highest to lowest prize.
But what's a human life worth, anyway?
Hwasa Le Fay takes a sip from her now cold coffee, gently tapping her sharp nails against the porcelain cup, red on black, blood on blood. Her dark gaze sweeps over the names ― assassins who have fallen from grace or stepped out of line, undercover cops whose pesky investigations have led them too far, shady CEOs who simply know too much. Powerful people, all of them, and still ― the High Table's power runs too deep, it simply cannot be escaped.
When you're on the Administration's blackboard, you're screwed. You become a measly little pawn in the High Table's grandiose game of chess, prey to those who cloak themselves in the very shadows you used to seek your own vengeance in. A deadly game of survival begins and those who don't participate in the hunt bet on how long you'll last against a horde of professional killers. Truly the entertainment of a lifetime, to say the least.
Krystal replaces the gilded platelet which is sitting at the top of the board, at Number One, sliding in another one with a familiar name stamped onto it.
Subject: Jeon J.
Bounty: ₩26B
Status: Pending
Origin: Haeundae, Busan
It's as if the very display of Jeon Jeongguk's name on the blackboard has summoned a storm which is wrecking through the office, causing operators who were diligently running errands and who were absorbed in their work seconds before to halt immediately. Dozens of pairs of eyes are glued to the top of the board, whispers are getting loud, Hyejin can make out a few gasps here and there.
It doesn't happen everyday that the Crown Prince of the Underworld is declared fair game, his life up for the taking, his soul ready to be ripped from him.
No matter if you're a college student consumed by debt or the member of a notorious street gang, you know this man's name. Hell, all of Seoul does. After all, his dear mother has a seat at the High Table, the council of crime lords who govern the Underworld's most powerful organisations. The Jeon boy is heir to an empire of street rats and false gods alike. That's why they call him the Crown Prince, although the Jeon family's extravagant and regal fashion sense may have influenced that title as well. They're practically royalty in the city, deemed untouchable by some, if not all.
But here's the thing about such royalty: no matter how considerable the empire, no matter how loyal the servants, no matter how feared the monarchs ― someday, all the castle's walls fall down, friends turn into enemies and a once mighty throne is set ablaze until there's nothing left but ashes, bleeding hearts and illusions of innocence.
Ashes to ashes, the outcome is always the same.
People always state that the past should be feared because it catches up faster than one might fancy, secrets best left untold ready to ruin what's left of the person one used to be. Dreading the future should also be a concern of mankind since nobody knows what tomorrow brings, be it chrysanthemums in your hands or stargazer lilies on your grave. But today is deadliest of all, endless possibilities and a still beating heart is all one needs to wreak complete and utter havoc. Not that Ahn Hyejin would know anything about that. Hwasa Le Fay, on the other hand, is well accustomed with such perils.
Hyejin picks up Jeon's file once more, flipping to his profile. A low-quality picture of the Crown Prince is displayed in the upper corner of the document, his facial features barely visible. The operator can make out dark eyes, a strong jawline and a smile made for war. He's clothed in a plain, white dress shirt which accentuates his shoulders and chest nicely. The way the young man's dark hair hangs into his glinting eyes reminds her of somebody from long ago, somebody who's memory she has almost forgotten.
Hyejin wonders if the Crown Prince in the picture is anything like the boy she had known all those years ago. She contemplates if his chocolate brown eyes still have that Bambi-esque shape or if he's grown much since then, the kindness in his demeanor replaced by that calculated chill she usually sees in a killer's gaze.
Hwasa knows that the boy who used to play tag with her brother and her is long dead, replaced by a vicious crime lord in the making. But Hyejin still wonders, asks herself if her and Chen's childhood friend is still in there, somewhere deep inside, woven into memories best forgotten.
It's those pesky What If's that get people killed.
But neither Ahn Hyejin nor Hwasa Le Fay, her alter ego, can prevent the inevitable. There's a contract on Jeon, a bounty of fucking ₩26 billion. In the end, they're all servants of Greed ― the killers, the kings and queens ― ready to obey its every command when the price is right. There's nothing she can do, not when the odds are stacked against the boy, and the price is so very right, almost too good to be true.
Hyejin's dark gaze lies heavily on Jeongguk's picture, a frown distorting her pretty features.
"I'm sorry, old friend, but memento mori."
Hwasa gently scrapes her sharp nails along the Jeon boy's hair, red on black, blood on blood.
It's time to let go.
Jeon Jeongguk never quite gets used to their screams. They rip through the emptiness of the ostentatious hall, echo within the Jeon estate's brocaded walls and marble floors. Later on, in the night, they manifest in his dreams. The cries, the pleas, the wails ― they take on human form and proceed to torment the boy, infesting his mind with vile thoughts. They almost make him feel remorse and pity, almost. Not that they deserve any of it.
The one screaming, the traitor, is tied to a chair, delicate flowers are carved into the dark polished wood. Jeongguk's gaze is trained on the rivulets of scarlet trickling from the man's slightly agape mouth. The blood's steadily dripping down his neck and chest, leaving an angry trail of red in its wake and staining his ripped white shirt. Ever so slowly, the sanguine liquid dribbles from his arms, filling up the ornaments carved into the wood. Red on black, blood on blood.
Byun Baekhyun is about to become another one of his mother's masterpieces, shades of crimson and charcoal scattered on a shredded canvas.
His mother, the Queen, punches the traitor's face once more, an ugly Crack informs him of Baekhyun's broken nose. The light of the enormous crystal chandelier flickers over the woman's figure, shadows contour her facial features and make his dear mother look rather demonic. Her deep black eyes seem to swallow the light, void of all reflection, glimmer or emotion. Her thick, inky hair, which is so similar to his own, is pinned-up in a complex manner, the rubies in her golden crown glitter with every calculating step she takes.
"Tell me who sent you, Baekhyun-ah." The Queen's voice is soft, too gentle for a scenario like this. She gracefully cocks her head to the side and her stygian gaze rests on the traitor's face, studying him, weighing the possible outcomes for this "meeting" in her mind. Jeongguk's mother takes her sweet time, patiently waiting for an answer.
Baekhyun coughs, another spray of blood soaks his already ruined shirt. He tries to sit upright, but the rope digging into his arms prevents him from doing so. The traitor unceremoniously spits in front of the Queen's feet before bursting into laughter. It's a ghastly noise, scratchy and near manic. One look into his bloodshot eyes and Jeongguk knows ― Byun Baekhyun is a man with nothing to lose.
"I didn't think her Majesty would do the dirty work herself." The traitor grins at the woman, showing off his blood-stained teeth. His dark, sweaty hair hangs into his gleaming eyes, the spitting image of a killer. "I should feel honoured that you get your pretty hands bloody all for lil' ol' me."
The matriarch of the Jeon family simply nods, more to herself than to anyone else. She pulls the soaked cloth from her fist, slowly cleaning Baekhyun's blood from her hand. Every movement of hers has something cunning yet mellow about it, her gleaming red sequin dress reminds Jeongguk of a modern high priestess about to conduct a human sacrifice. A fitting description for the scene unfolding in the hall.
"Leave us," the Queen commands, her depthless eyes briefly flicker towards the heavy oak door where a set of guards is positioned. The men who are dressed in the same black suit jackets and slacks as Jeongguk immediately do as they're told, not a step out of line.
"Jongdae-ssi," his mother's tone of voice is as soft as ever when she addresses the person standing next to her son, but there's something sinister in her smile, something that tells the tales of excruciating pain. Baekhyun doesn't know what's coming for him. "Please take good care of our guest."
Clad in an all white suit whose shoulder embroidery glitters like little water droplets under the chandelier's warm light, Kim Jongdae removes the silvery headpiece he's been wearing ― Jeongguk's crown ― and carefully sets it aside. In one swift motion, he pulls the long veil from his head which has been concealing his identity all evening long. Jeongguk takes in his friend's appearance, the cinnamon thatch of hair which slightly falls into his maroon brown eyes, the fading scars littering his face and neck which enhance his beauty even more, in Jeongguk's opinion.
The way his stance shifts when the Queen speaks to him, from fragile little "prince" to capable contract killer in just a few seconds. Power seems to sizzle through his veins and his eyes darken with intent. His bodyguard manages to surprise the Crown Prince time after time with his brilliant acting skills.
Baekhyun's eyes widen comically, the cocky grin is wiped from his face as his frantic gaze meets Jongdae's calculating stare. The traitor seems frozen in time, his limbs rigid whilst drop after drop of blood stain the marble floor. Confusion is reflected in the man's facial features as he takes in his former friend dressed in the Jeon family's garments. Tears prick at Baekhyun's eyes, glinting like tiny diamonds under the flickering light. This man hasn't spilled a single tear after being beaten senseless, but his emotions overwhelm him when he's faced with Kim Jongdae, ex contract killer and now loyal to the Jeons.
"Hyung?" The man's voice is broken, shaky but so genuine, it tugs on Jeongguk's heartstrings. It makes him remember somebody from long ago, somebody whose memory is buried deep inside of him, somebody who used to give him the same look when he had caught them during a game of tag.
"Hello there, Baekhyun-ah," Jongdae says, the softness in his tone of voice seems almost cruel given the situation they're currently in. "I think it's time Hyung and you have a little chat." He pulls a knife from his pocket before approaching the captive, slowly crouching in front of him. The man moves with deadly elegance, like a panther sizing up its prey.
"You were captured by my men before you could make an attempt on the life of Jeon Jangmi, leader of the Jeon family clan and member of the High Table," Jongdae notes, flipping open his pocket knife and ostensibly examining its glinting blade. The bodyguard's sharp gaze flicks back towards Baekyhun whose leather clad thighs have started shaking. "Do you have any idea what you've gotten yourself into?" Tremors rock through the assassin's body as his former friend's words sink in, he gulps.
"Atleast I'm not the obedient lapdog of some stuck-up whore, you fucking traitor," Baekyhun spits, his chest rises and falls heavily and wrath crackles in his eyes. The man's cheeks are tear-stained.
Jongdae moves in a split-second.
A blood-curdling shriek rips through the hall, Jeongguk swears he can feel it vibrating through his spine. The pocket knife is buried in Baekhyun's right thigh which is still shaking slightly. The captive's whimpers embed themselves in Jeongguk's mind, a reminder of who and what exactly his best friend is. Kim Jongdae is a phantom cloaked in darkness who used to murder people for money. He's a soldier who knows his way around knives ― and he looks strangely pretty like this, weapon in hand, vicious words on his tongue and vengeful flames gleaming in his eyes.
"Let's try this again." Jongdae grips the knife, his white lace gloves already tainted with his dongsaeng's blood, and slowly pulls the blade from Baekhyun's thigh. The captive groans, his battered face contorts in agony and panic clouds his dark eyes like inky storm clouds rob a sailor of his view of the indigo summer sky.
"Tell me who sent you," Jeongguk's bodyguard twirls the knife in his hand, his every movement controlled and so calm, it sends a shiver down the Prince's spine. Jongdae's tone of voice couldn't be more inappropriate for the situation they're currently in. His friend speaks in a conversational hum, as if he's chatting with Baekhyun over a cup of lavender tea and buttermilk biscuits. And still ― "Or I'll show you things worse than death, Baekhyun-ah."
Jeongguk sees the way Byun Baekhyun is slightly shaking in his chair. Blood, sweat and tears intermingle on the assassin's body, soak into his ripped clothing and make him seem like a tragic art piece sculpted from pain, betrayal and the deep dark depths of Seoul's Underworld. The man's just another creature molded from the darkness lurking in alleyways and empty parking lots, desperate to climb those criminal ranks in order to succeed, to receive money, power and glory. Because the monsters wearing human skin that roam Seoul's Underworld, the so-called kings and queens who seem invincible on their thrones crafted from white lies, beloved dead bodies and pretentious justification ― all of them are victims of greed.
Jeon Jeongguk wonders, takes in Baekhyun's tear-stained face and wonders some more. What if the Crown Prince himself would end up in one of those chairs some day, his best friend's blade at his throat whilst he bleeds onto an expensive carpet? What if Jongdae was to end his life one day, simply with the flick of his wrist?
Jeongguk swallows when Jongdae raises his knife, the blade ready to rip through tendrils and tissue once again. This time, he sees himself tied to that chair.
"Fucking fine," Baekhyun's voice is in shambles, it cracks on the last word. "The High Table wants her taken care of."
"That's ridiculous," the Queen notes, slowly approaching the traitor once more, her quick steps cause the lavish red dress to swish behind her stilettos like a flag in the wind. "If the Table wants me replaced, they would've said so in one of the meetings. At least one of those fools would've dropped a hint that something like this were about to happen. They can rarely keep their ghastly mouths shut anyways."
His mother scoffs, waving a hand in Baekhyun's direction, silently commanding him to continue with his statement, but Jeongguk interrupts.
"Why would the High Table go to such lengths to kill one person?", the boy clad in the Jeon bodyguards' uniform asks. His voice acts as a catalyst, drawing the attention of all three people currently in the hall towards him. "Heavy weighs the head that wears the crown, am I right?", Jeongguk continues, crossing his arms in front of his chest, fixing his captive with an expectant gaze.
Byun Baekhyun sighs deeply, before carefully shaking his head, mindful of his injuries. "You don't seem to understand, Your Highness." Strangely, amusement drips from his bloody lips, making Jeongguk's skin crawl. This serves as a reminder that in this very room, in front of the traitor to his family, he's still just a boy. The assassin probably thinks of him as a spoiled child who gets everything handed to him the second he snaps his fingers, sees him as a petulant mommy's boy who cowers at every prospect of danger.
Jeongguk's grip on his own arms tightens.
"The Table, they want the Jeon family to fall. This entire empire of madness needs to burn," Baekyhun states, the shadow of a smirk tugs at his lip's corner when his patronizing gaze rests on Jeongguk's form.
His mother breaks the spell by grabbing Baekhyun by his blood-soaked collar, capturing his eyes with hers, void of all emotion.
"If these fuckers want my crown, they need to look me in the eyes and tell me themselves instead of hiding behind pathetic foot soldiers like the scared little boys they are," she spits before letting the captive plummet against the chair's backrest who winces at this.
"Listen here, Your Majesty," Baekhyun coughs, digging his fingertips into the seating surface which is slick with blood and sweat. "They're gonna come for you, they're gonna come for your son." He flicks his head towards Jeongguk, something too close to hope glimmers in his dark brown eyes. "Best get outta the city as soon as possible, leave this shit behind."
The Queen places her index finger against her scarlet lips, grazing her sharp, manicured nail against her cupid's bow, lost in thought. She's weighing pros and cons in her crowned head, elaborating cunning strategies how to get her family to safety. Her son's plan, however, involves something a little different.
Quietly, Jeongguk reaches for the gun which is strapped against his right thigh, gently cupping the textured grip with his fingers.
"End this war before it has even begun," Baekhyun pleads, calling upon the Jeon matriarch's rationality, so sure she'll understand his point. His now clear gaze shifts towards Jeongguk who's still regarding the traitor with silent fury, the chandelier's light is reflected in his dark eyes.
Jeon Jeongguk smiles, his eyes gleaming with a spark of wickedness. The Crown Prince's smile is one made for war, almost as sharp as the blade which has been buried in the assassin's thigh moments earlier.
Death dawns upon one Byun Baekhyun.
Jeongguk pulls his gun and shoots the assassin point blank, the bullet enters exactly between the other man's eyebrows and penetrates the pompous wallpaper behind him.
The Crown Prince of Seoul's Underworld watches with morbid fascination as Baekhyun's mouth falls agape, exquisite fear eternally embeds itself in his slowly glazing eyes. Seconds later, the assassin's body drops to the marble floor, surrounded by a growing puddle of blood.
He didn't have the time to scream. How unfortunate.
Jeongguk turns towards his mother, her expression unreadable.
"I'm the heir to this throne and I alone decide when this era will end," the dark-haired man declares and gives his mother a grin, showing off his pearly white teeth. "Besides, trouble's already brewing."
There's hellfire crackling in the boy's obsidian eyes, a reminder that the up-coming war is one to be fought between killers and thieves, a battle of villains that will change Seoul forever.
Without another glance behind, Jeongguk straps his gun back into the holster before leaving the hall, his every step echoing through the hallways of the esteemed Jeon family's estate.
Kim Jongdae watches as the heavy oakwood doors fall shut behind his ward and turns towards the body of his former friend. Death looks horrendous on the other assassin.
"He's fearless, Your Majesty," Jongdae notes, turning his attention towards the Queen.
"I know," light flickers over the woman's elegant features, but it doesn't reach her eyes, it never does. "That's what worries me."
A mere hour later, Jeongguk and his bodyguard find themselves in the estate's music salon where the Prince attempts to instruct the former assassin in playing the piano.
Jongdae does a rather poor job at pressing the keys, conjuring up one of the most out of tune melodies Jeongguk has ever heard. The Crown Prince swiftly takes over the piano, his long fingers gracefully tickling the keys until Chopin's Nocturne fills the empty hall.
"Did I do well, Jeongguk-ah?", his friend asks, the genuine curiosity in Jongdae's voice makes the boy's heart ache.
Instead of giving him a verbal answer, Jeongguk simply nods, his fingers still dancing over the grand piano's ivory keys. The younger man doesn't have to see Jongdae's face to know that his friend is raising his eyebrow at him, an unimpressed look on his face, the one that perfectly communicates the "I-know-you're-full-of-shit" vibe.
The boy dressed in black gives a dramatic sigh before facing his Hyung.
"It sounded like a cat gently being forced through a blender whilst trying to sing opera, I'm not gonna lie," Jeongguk states drily, a pained smile on his face.
Jongdae snorts loudly before burying his face in the younger man's shoulder, complaining about what a horrible friend he is. Jungkook gently pats Jongdae's head, stroking his tousled brown hair. "I knew the truth would be too much, even for an ex-contract killer," the younger man mumbles dramatically.
At his friend's request, Jeongguk starts playing Frank Sinatra's Fly Me to the Moon whilst Jongdae rests his head on the boy's shoulder.
Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars
"My sources say that someone has put a bounty on that pretty little head of yours, Gguk-ah," the bodyguard suddenly remarks, his voice has taken on a darker tone.
Let me see what spring is like on a, Jupiter and Mars
However, the Prince keeps on playing the piano effortlessly, completely unfazed by this information. "There'll always be people putting bounties on my head, Hyung. What about it?" There's a certain cockiness in the younger boy's voice, something almost arrogant that reminds Jongdae that there are particular things his best friend will never quite understand.
Heavy weighs the head that wears the crown, indeed.
"This one's different," Jongdae continues, worry permeating his gentle timbre that the younger man loves so much. "It's exclusive. Even a few High Table members have got an eye on your contract."
In other words, hold my hand
The Crown Prince is not impressed, continuing with the piece. Still, he has to ask.
"How much?"
In other words, baby, ...
"26 billion, Gguk."
Jeon Jeongguk's fingers come crashing down onto the piano's keys, creating a symphony of distortion and chaos. Jongdae immediately notices the dark-haired boy's shaking hands and takes them into his own, smoothly interlacing their fingers.
"Well fuck." Jeongguk's dark gaze is frantic. He almost resembles that little boy from way back then who used to play tag with him and his sister Hyejin in the meadow. He would cry when one of the siblings caught him, his eyes as wide as those of a timid fawn.
"I won't let them hurt you, Koo," Jongdae says softly, his warm gaze rests on Jeongguk's worry-distorted face. "I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe." The older man presses a gentle kiss to his best friend's knuckles, the touch as soft as the flutter of a butterfly's wing. "I swear on my life."
Jeongguk smiles at him, slowly leaning in and swiftly kissing him directly under his jawline where a fading scar runs from there to his chest. He peers up at Jongdae, resting his head against his Hyung's chest, the perfect picture of serenity.
"I'll protect you too, Hyung," the Crown Prince whispers and Kim Jongdae can see little galaxies glinting in his brown doe eyes. "I promise."
Warmth fills Jongdae's cheek, a pretty blush creeping into his face and softening his usually serious features. He wraps his arms around Jeongguk, glittering white fabric meets dark leather, and pulls him closer, basking in his friend's shining presence.
That boy will be the death of him, he's sure of it.
"But Mother ―," Jeongguk complains, embers of fury gleaming in his eyes once more as he forcefully sets down his porcelain tea cup onto the glass table.
The flowery patterns on the saucer seem to mock him, a reminder of his sheltered little life in the shadows, the faceless heir to an empire who's confined to an existence in the dark of the Jeon manor. He's a ghost, a black spot in the authorities' records. Not even the pretentious High Table knows how the Queen's son actually looks like which gives the boy a major advantage.
Sometimes, however, the young man gets to have his fun ― a bit too much, even.
Oftentimes, he finds himself pushing his own limits, stripping his velvet black hair blonde, littering his arms with ink as dark as his eyes and sneaking downtown with a certain sharp-eyed bodyguard.
The thing about Jeon Jeongguk is that he's an addict, he can never get enough, can always be found chasing one high after the other. More, he always needs more.
That's the reason why the boy adores dancing the night away in Itaewon's underground clubs, indulging in drink after drink, whilst strangers leave lipstick stains on his neck.
No matter how hard he falls for those little white lines or how many funny coloured shots he downs, the night always ends with him and Jongdae in a dark storage room or on one of the scarlet divans in the lounge. Clothes can't come off quickly enough, desperate hands tugging at each other's bodies, leaving marks and scratches on sweaty-hot skin.
Between neon lights, smoke machines and cheap drinks, Jeongguk gets to pretend. When Jongdae's mouth is on his own, he imagines they're just two guys in a club who get fucking high for the hell of it. The empire he's been trained to rule since childhood doesn't exist when he presses his Hyung against the tiled pink wall, gathering the other man's wrists in one hand before wreaking havoc on Jongdae's body.
He adores that feeling when they realize how wasted they both are, the alcohol pumping in their veins, the party drugs fogging up their brains ― skin slapping against skin, the lost look in Jongdae's dark brown eyes when his dongsaeng hits that spot, the little giggle he lets out when Jeongguk brushes their noses together.
It's almost perfect.
Unfortunately, moments like this don't last nearly as long as they should.
"Jeongguk-ah, Kim Jongdae is a trained killer," his mother notes, taking a sip from her tea whilst her sharp gaze holds her son's worried one. "Do you honestly believe he'd let anything happen to you?"
Reluctantly, Jeongguk shakes his head, tracing his black painted nail along his porcelain cup.
One of the patrons at Club Euphoria has insisted on painting them after they've caught a glimpse of Jeongguk's tattooed hands, claiming that they're "the prettiest they've seen in a while". The boy still has marks on the back of his neck and lipstick stains on one of his favourite white shirts, their purple acrylic nails have done a number on him.
"Jongdae would die for me."
"Oh, good." His mother cocks her head to the side, smoothing her cream suit pants and flicking an invisible lint from her Gucci blazer.
And I'd die for him.
The dark haired woman takes another sip before speaking again. Something shifts in her perfectly neutral demeanor ― a crack in the carefully crafted façade of the Jeon family's matriarch, a slip of the flawless mask his mother puts on each and every day.
The chandelier's light hits her face and makes her dark eyes sparkle like the evening sky. It's on rare occasions that Jeongguk gets to see his mother like this ― human, vulnerable.
"This kind of loyalty can't be bought, Koo," Jeon Jangmi says, her voice is soft like rain on a summer night. It tugs on Jeongguk's heartstrings, makes him remember and makes him forget a time long forgotten, a childhood long lost in the storm, back when this woman's smile hasn't been a rarity.
The last time she's called him by that name ― Koo ― he's convinced his best friends Hyejin and Chen to swim in the river with him where the currents are the strongest which almost resulted in the death of the three children. His mother has held all of them in her arms, sobbing their names over and over again.
'Oh, Koo, my baby! What have you done?'
"This kind of loyalty is earned through mutual trust and honesty," his mother continues, reaching towards Jeongguk's distracted hand and taking it into her own. "Treasure it, my boy, cherish it."
Jangmi gazes at him with such intensity, he swears he can see tears forming in her eyes.
"We're all killers, Koo," she sighs heavily, worry distorting features which are so similar to his own. "We rule an empire composed of street rats, thieves and cutthroats who adore to challenge our power. We fight our battles against killers, we die as killers, with the blood of thousands on our gloved hands." His mother halts for a moment, finishing her cup of green tea.
Jeongguk simply stares at her, letting her words sink in.
He swallows hard.
"Loyal followers aren't easy to find in a world like ours. Friends ― true friends ― are even rarer." Jangmi studies her son's reactions closely, before sliding the tea cup aside. "People like us, like you, me and Jongdae, hell, even Baekhyun. I think we're destined to be unhappy. Sure, we've got the money and the power, the power and the money. But what's all that when you've got no one having your back, no one who embraces you after a bad day, no one who actually cares about you as a person instead of the billion Won empire attached to your name?"
"That's true loyalty, Eomma."
"Exactly, my precious Koo." His mother's smile lights up her eyes and Jeongguk can't help the genuine grin on his face.
For a single moment, the boy feels completely at home.
"Your Majesty, Your Highness," a guard clad in Jeon black marches through the door and gives a respectful bow before turning towards Jeongguk's mother. "The Duchess has arrived."
"Send her in," the dark-haired woman opposite him drawls, waving the guard away with her gloved hand. Kim Jangmi has disappeared into the depths of his memory, she's replaced by the Queen.
She's gone, again.
A small, slim woman who shares the velvet black hair with her sister enters the room. She's clad in a lavish purple gown, an elegant black designer hat sits on her head and the Clack Clack of her red-bottomed shoes is the only sound which can be heard in the salon.
"Your Grace, a pleasure to welcome you to my estate," his mother says softly, bowing to the newcomer.
"Your Highness, the pleasure is all mine," the woman purrs, a cunning smile on her pink-ish lips.
"Jongdae-ssi, meet Lee Jieun, the Duchess," the Queen gestures towards him. "This is Kim Jongdae, my son's personal bodyguard. Should you hear any whispers from the Underworld regarding Jeongguk's safety, please inform him right away."
Jieun's acute dark eyes take in his uniform and his facial features, her gaze lingering on his eyes. Seemingly unimpressed by his appearance, she raises a slender eyebrow, somewhat expectant.
"In my and Mr. Kim's presence, the Crown Prince of Seoul's Underworld will be as safe as he can be," his aunt says, a smirk tugging at her lips.
She knows, of course she does. Those stupid eyes...
Jeongguk's laying on top of his king-sized bed, staring at the ceiling, wide awake. He's haunted by Baekyhun's screams, the way his body thumped to the floor like a sack of flour playing over and over again in his mind like a bad movie scene.
He sighs deeply, rubbing at his eyes.
God fucking damnit.
The phone rings.
Its piercing sound resonates in the spacious bedroom, fills the empty spaces between the wooden shelves, scrapes its way along the heavy escritoire and ornate lamps like a bad omen. It's an eerie noise, the tinny ringing of the old throwaway phone Jongdae has given him.
Jeon Jeongguk picks up, his manicured black fingernails tap against it, black on red, blood on blood.
"Yes?"
"Jeongguk-ah," Ahn Hyejin purrs, "I come bearing bad news."
"It's always straight to the point with you, isn't it, Noona?" Jeongguk gives it his all in imitating Hyejin's husky tone of voice, sitting up and leaning his back against the ornate headboard.
"Bold words coming from a dead man walking, my darling dongsaeng." The smile in the woman's voice is unmistakable, Jeongguk snorts.
"What does the infamous Hwasa Le Fay have in store for me?" The Jeon boy crosses one long leg over the other, securing the Nokia between chin and shoulder.
"Let's start with the 26 billion dollar bounty on that clever little head of yours, Your Highness. But you knew that already, didn't you?"
"Stop playing around, Noona," Jeongguk says, impatience permeating his voice. "Give me names, anything, please."
If those High Table assholes are looking for a fight, he'll give them one.
"There are so many candidates on the list, you should feel flattered," Hwasa's laugh is both soft and cruel, sending a shiver down the younger man's spine. "But the only ones you truly gotta watch out for are the Death Angels."
The Death Angels? What a stupid fucking name.
"Are you serious?" Jeon Jeongguk chuckles darkly, shaking his head in amusement. "I ain't scared of no angel."
An unpleasant silence fills the room, not a sound comes from the phone until he's convinced Hyejin has already ended the call.
Until...
"Oh, but you really should be."