Break

by sshhad0w

Summary:

“C’mon, hyung.” Hyunjin spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor and sniffed, wincing at the sting in his nose. He ran his tongue along his teeth, catching the taste of the iron that coated them with a soft hum rumbling in his throat, and he looked up with a bloody smirk. “You can do better than that.”

OR: Escape brainrot

Notes:

Escape MV au, read the tags, enjoy them being psychotic for each other i guess
ty ghost, chem, and gigi for letting me scream at you, and for screaming back
this is only half beta read and completely unedited, so... take from that what you will
~ HYUNCHAN IS REAL! <33333 ~

─── ⋅𓆩⛓️𓆪⋅ ───

It was fucking cold. Bitter and harsh where it clung to his bones, slow-moving and settling comfortably somewhere deep and dark and brittle. The chill was heavy, and Chan watched his own breath stream out of his nostrils in a plume of pale grey smoke as the barrel fire crackled fruitlessly, emitting occasional pops and cracks that echoed in the silence. He watched the embers spark, delicate points of heat that eventually fizzled out in the frosty air, not quite able to hold onto their warmth long enough to flutter any higher than the flames. He dug his hands further into his pockets, clenching and unclenching his knuckles to try and stop the joints from freezing over completely, and he took a step closer to the fire.

He liked the winter. It was quieter. The rest of the world simply disappeared, shrinking back into warm, heated homes, to feed bellies until they were full, to sleep soundly under mountains of blankets and pillows. Where everyone and everything sought comfort away from the cold, Chan liked to stand in it. Feet planted, every inch of his skin alive and screaming, flushed raw and red and covered in goosebumps whenever the wind picked up. He could feel it, locking his bones into place, petrifying him until he was nothing but a statue that threatened to crumble if he tried to move. It was peaceful. Expected. Something normal, and still, and calm, for just a few months every year.

He’d spent years alone. Become accustomed to the isolation that came with having nowhere to go. He probably still had family back in Sydney. Maybe they thought he’d died. Maybe they’d held a funeral for him, under a pretty fair assumption that he’d overdosed in a crackhouse somewhere, pale and convulsing and choking on his own greed. Here lies Chris Bahng. Maybe they’d even cried, mourned, comforted and cared for one another until the pain of losing someone who was already lost eventually subsided. He hadn’t told anyone about the plane ticket to Seoul. He’d just left. It’d felt like the right thing to do. It was the only other place in the world where he could speak the same language, but it was far enough away that he could leave Chris behind. Could abandon the incessant craving that drilled into the back of his skull, could forget how it felt when the needle pierced his skin and nirvana beckoned him home. Chris hadn’t cared whether he’d lived or died, so long as it meant getting the next hit. Bang Chan chose to escape.

Except it was different, now. Or maybe it was exactly the same. He’d just found something else to get addicted to.

Chan blinked when he heard the scuff of boots against the frosty concrete, glanced up when he heard the faint rattle of chains dragging through the ugly grey of churned snow. He’d found Hyunjin in the summer. Covered in sweat, caked in dirt and dried blood, wearing nothing but a ratty vest that clung to tight, sinewy muscle, and a pair of jeans so frayed it was a wonder they’d even stayed on. He’d been trying to pickpocket Chan - the first of many stupid decisions that Hyunjin seemed to get a kick out of making.

Chan watched with sharp eyes as Hyunjin shuffled towards the barrel fire. He still moved differently. With a flair that he couldn’t help, a flourish that’d been born heaped onto the silver spoon shoved between his lips. He sighed heavily and rolled his shoulders, neck rotating fluidly until it hung heavy, bowed towards the flames, hands coming up to press into the warmth. The chains jangled again, and Chan watched as he flicked his left wrist slightly, dislodging the manacle that’d caught on his jacket sleeve until it dangled loosely above his hand again.

“S’cold,” Hyunjin mumbled.

Chan didn’t say anything, just pulled his cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and worked one between his teeth.

“You couldn’t have brought it closer?” Hyunjin said behind a snort. He kicked the barrel and Chan saw the flash of teeth as he grinned at the shower of angry sparks it made.

“Fire hazard,” Chan said disinterestedly. He plucked a long, shattered stick from the barrel and held the burning end close to his face. He locked eyes with Hyunjin, who was watching intently, as he always did, and then pressed the tip of his cigarette against the smouldering wood and sucked the heat through it.

The breath that came out of his mouth came thicker and whiter, and Chan threw the wood back into the fire.

“You live in an abandoned warehouse,” Hyunjin pointed out. He waved his hand, enough for the chains to rattle again, and he huffed, as though he was annoyed they’d interrupted him. “You’re really that worried this dive will go up in flames?”

“Why?” Chan asked. “Got a nice condo somewhere we can move into? An unused mansion, maybe? Beach house down in Busan?”

“Yeah, actually.” Hyunjin’s tongue ran across his bottom lip and he cocked his head. “Let me go, and you can have your pick.”

“Jinnie,” Chan admonished him with a pout. “We both know that’s not true anymore. No one likes a liar.”

He pushed the butt of his smoke between his grin and then threw the pack out to him. Hyunjin caught them, metal links clanking loudly as they banged against the barrel, and he rolled his eyes when he discovered there was only one cigarette left in there, anyway.

“You could’ve had anything,” Hyunjin said. He smoked differently, too. Kept the thing burning between long, slender fingers, using it to accentuate his movements, constantly flicking at the cherry instead of pulling on it. He was wasteful. Careless. Didn’t appreciate the things that he had.

That much had almost always been true. Hyunjin had run away from an affluent family, from influence, and power, and fancy parties and gin cocktails and tailored suits. He’d abandoned the life he’d been born into, much like Chan had, and thrown away the privilege in search of something that made his adrenaline spike. He’d been bored.

“They’d have paid.” Hyunjin licked the nicotine from his lips and took another languid drag. “Billions, probably. They’d have given you anything you wanted.”

Chan didn’t look up, just stared into the fire, watching it dance. He didn’t want money. Money only meant one thing. He was almost crushing his cigarette between his fingers, and he pushed it back into his mouth, sucking the burn into his lungs and holding it there for as long as he could take it.

“Oh, wait.” Hyunjin’s voice dipped low, smooth and melted at the edges, and the chain dragged in the wet slush at their feet as he slowly moved around the barrel fire, long legs casting even longer shadows. “You already have everything you want.”

Chan flicked the butt of his smoke into the barrel and exhaled the last cloud a little too harshly, letting it singe his throat on the way out.

“You have me.”

Chan inhaled through his teeth when Hyunjin came to a stop in front of him, and it burned, both with the cold and the smoke coming from the fire, he ground his jaw as Hyunjin let an airy, knowing chuckle whistle out of him.

“I’m your pet,” Hyunjin said quietly, twisting his arm so the chain around his wrist jingled cheerfully. “Your play date. Nah, you don’t want billions of won in the bank and a beach house. You want me to make you feel alive.”

Chan lashed out and grabbed a handful of Hyunjin’s jacket, dragging him closer, yanking him down so he was level, so his feet scrambled in the dirty snow and the chain around his wrist clanged against the barrel fire. He was still laughing.

“You’re so mad about it,” Hyunjin snickered, looking up at him from beneath heavy-lidded eyes and tilting his head. He still had a bruise above his eyebrow, dark yellow and dull, like he’d smeared dirt across his face. “Why? We’ve been having so much fun for months.”

“You’re like a fucking plague,” Chan hissed, keeping Hyunjin’s back bent with the force of his grip. “Just a stupid, spoiled little rich boy.”

“Not rich anymore,” Hyunjin said with a strangled laugh, winding a hand around Chan’s wrist where it was still twisted in the front of his jacket. “I told you, hyung. You’re stuck with me.”

Chan hauled him up and headbutted him. Their foreheads connected with a sickening thud, and Hyunjin gasped, a surprised, reverent little huff of hot, stale breath that fanned across Chan’s face before he staggered back. Chan stole the momentum, jutting his arm out and shoving, and Hyunjin just laughed as his feet kicked and skidded in the slush.

He was always fucking laughing. Like he’d scored the jackpot, like he had reason to celebrate, like he still remembered how it felt to be happy. But that was the problem, Hyunjin had never been happy. He’d resented the multiple bank accounts, and the socialising, and the need to paint himself into a perfect picture, the perfect son, the pretty heir to a fortune that put him on the covers of magazines and the guestlist to vacuous parties in the business district of the city. But he always laughed around Chan. He’d snickered when Chan had caught him with his hand in his pocket, tongue digging into his teeth as he’d raised a defiant, pierced eyebrow. He’d snorted when Chan had warned him to back off in a low, dangerous voice. Giggled when Chan had faltered at the feeling of long, delicate fingers brushing up the side of his neck, so gently, so carefully, something that Chan hadn’t felt in so long, in too many years, a spectral touch that never existed for him in the first place. Laughed so loudly that a jolt of panic had shot through Chan’s chest, and when he’d shoved him away in disgust, and the silver pendant that lived permanently around Chan’s throat fell away and ended up dangling from Hyunjin’s fingertips, he’d outright cackled. Spun on his heel and took off. Running full sprint away from Chan, with the only thing Chan had in the world clutched in a bony fist and glinting tauntingly as it swung.

He’d been fast. He probably could’ve outrun Chan, he was leaner, had longer legs, could easily get away with his prize. But that hadn’t been Hyunjin’s plan, because he’d wanted to be caught. That had been his prize.

The pendant fell out of the collar of Hyunjin’s stained t-shirt as Chan shoved him back, silver and gold flashing with the firelight, and the Australian dollar coin at the end dangled against the jut of his collarbone. Chan brought his free hand up and punched him in the jaw. He felt the bone shift, felt his knuckles sing with the impact, and he pressed his lips together and flexed his hand against it, suddenly hot, suddenly hyper-mobile, suddenly immune to the chill in the air. It was like he’d swallowed fire, like molten stone had replaced the blood in his veins and the lava was itching to burst through his skin and set everything alight. The first hit was always the sweetest. The catalyst, the beginning of the high, a limbo that Chan suspended himself in, waiting for it to drop of its own accord and swing like the rusted pendulum of a clock, a ticking time bomb that always, always went off.

Hyunjin planted his foot, twisted his hip just as Chan shoved him back again, and swung his arm around. The palm of his hand smacked against Chan’s face, an echoing slap that cracked like thunder, and he felt the skin flush in response, sick, red heat crawling to the surface, yearning for Hyunjin’s touch. Chan didn’t get the chance to even grunt at the sting, because Hyunjin was already slamming both elbows into the crook of his arm where he held him by the collar, hard enough for them both to stagger closer to the floor, pressed together, an unstoppable force greeting an immovable object like an old friend.

“Going easy on me tonight, Chan-ah?” Hyunjin gasped around another evil laugh, mashing his cheek into Chan’s forehead. “Thought you promised to make it hurt.”

Chan lurched forward and brought his knee up into Hyunjin’s gut, and the taunting laughter, the same shitty little cackle that made Chan’s blood surge in his veins evaporated into a groan. Hyunjin went sprawling in the dirt and frost, arm clutched around his stomach and mouth hanging open, pink and plump and glistening, as he fought to catch his breath. Chan inhaled slowly and watched, the pads of his fingers itchy and uncomfortable. Hyunjin coughed wetly and pushed himself up with another laugh, tighter than before, like he had less air to breathe and was choosing to waste it anyway. He propped his arms against his knees and let his head fall to the side as he looked up, waiting. The old yellow bruise on his forehead was already being replaced by a beautiful shade of wine red, purple at the edges, swollen and tight against the smooth honey of his skin.

“Saying I don’t look after you?” Chan asked in a low voice. He pressed his tongue into his cheek and raised his eyebrows, flexing his fingers again to try and hold onto the ache, to savour the dull, sweet pain of it. “Saying I haven’t looked after you this whole time?”

“No,” Hyunjin said, and another smile split his face in two. “You always look after me.”

Chan grabbed the scruff of his jacket and hauled him to his feet again. Hyunjin let himself be moved. Stayed in it, hovered in the anticipation of it, all too familiar with the dance by now, completely expectant, and spoiled, knowing full well that he always got what he wanted. He brought his hand up to his jaw, fingertips grazing carefully against the tight skin, where another bruise was staining his face a pretty pink that had nothing to do with the bite in the air.

Chan took a step forward, crowding the space, reclaiming it, reminding Hyunjin that he was a fucking guest and nothing more.

Hyunjin just hummed and kicked the heel of his boot into the fleshy mound just below Chan’s kneecap, enough to make him buckle and force his back to bend into a warped half-bow, and Hyunjin immediately took the opportunity to slam the point of his elbow into Chan’s shoulder blade. It didn’t hurt, not as bad as Chan liked it, but it was enough to manipulate the way he moved and Chan felt the hazy red rage wash over him like a welcoming embrace. He surged forward with a growl, pressing his face into Hyunjin’s chest and finding the metal that hung around his neck, finding Chan’s most prized possession, where it now wrapped and contorted around the throat of its thief, shackling him to Chan in a far more effective way than the chains around his wrist.

He’d caged him up in the beginning. Considered the idea of ransoming him back to his family, once he’d figured out who he was. Hyunjin was right, Chan could’ve got whatever he wanted. He could’ve escaped the hell he lived in, he could’ve found four walls, and a roof that didn’t leak, and central heating, and a shower he could use whenever he wanted, and a king-size bed with cotton sheets and down pillows, and meals he didn’t have to fight for. Hyunjin could’ve changed Chan’s life.

He just hadn’t banked on him doing it anyway. Hyunjin had never bothered to remove the manacle on his left wrist, even after they’d broken the chain in two. Said he liked the weight of it. Said he liked how the links sounded when he moved. Said it made him Chan’s, whether Chan liked it or not, claimed it was a reminder that Chan was the one who kept him in the first place. Chan was the one who needed him.

A laugh punched its way out of Hyunjin’s chest as they both staggered and moved together, and his face was still split like an atom when Chan brought his head up, as blinding as a supernova with sweat already gleaming against the light of the fire, somehow still soft and golden and full of warmth, alive with something that Chan would never understand. It glowed brighter when Chan slammed his fist into it, like the contact sparked a match, like the moment they connected everything crystallised. Chan’s bitter cold crashing into Hyunjin’s heat and erupting in an impossible surge of energy instead of melting against it.

“C’mon, hyung.” Hyunjin spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor and sniffed, wincing at the sting in his nose. He ran his tongue along his teeth, catching the taste of the iron that coated them with a soft hum rumbling in his throat, and he looked up with a bloody smirk. “You can do better than that.”

The next punch made his eyebrow tear. Hyunjin staggered back with a grunt that turned into another laugh and Chan watched him blink up at the ceiling, fighting the spots of black dancing behind his vision. A delicate trickle of blood spread down Hyunjin’s temple, and he touched a slightly shaking finger to it before curling his hand into a fist and punching Chan square in the sternum, cackling at the dull thud his knuckles made against his chest. Chan choked on a sigh, unable to keep hold of the gratitude as the pain throbbed in tandem with his heartbeat, fast and erratic and needy. He grabbed Hyunjin again, chest heaving and pinching, unable to stay separated for too long, unable to fight it despite the punches, and the scratches, and the bruises and the blood. He shoved Hyunjin back, not before he landed another hit against his eye socket and Chan felt his own skin rip on his forehead as he barrelled forward. Hyunjin’s feet almost left the ground where they skidded in the frost and dragged the wet slush into their makeshift living space, and when Chan slammed them both into the windowed partition, it shattered with a deafening series of cracks, shards of glass clattering around Hyunjin’s shoulders.

“Gonna finally kill me this time?” Hyunjin asked with a cackle that gurgled in his throat.

Chan’s only answer was slamming his fist into Hyunjin’s jaw, his other hand still wound into the front of Hyunjin’s jacket to hold him up. When his knuckles connected with Hyunjin’s mouth, he felt his lip burst. When Chan punched him in the chest, he felt the groan of his ribs. Hyunjin almost immediately slumped when Chan finally released the hold on his shirt, and he tipped forward with another crazed laugh, his cheek mashing into Chan’s shoulder and smearing blood against the leather.

Chan’s chest was heaving. Like he’d run a marathon. Like he’d forgotten how to make his lungs work. Like he was swimming through tar and fighting in vain to find the surface until he realised, like he always did, that letting himself be pulled under was a far, far better option. Hyunjin pressed his forehead against Chan’s collar and sighed.

“You can’t be done already, Hyunjinnie, can you?” Chan asked, trying to twist it into a taunt, fighting to keep the battle raging, not prepared for it to stop so soon. “Had enough?”

Hyunjin giggled, a stifled, maniacal sound that came out garbled where his cheek was still pressed into Chan’s jacket. He shook his head. Hummed softly, almost a sigh, thoughtful, casual, like he was debating what to cook for dinner, or whether they should rob the convenience store again, or whether they should try and steal the main electrical line so they could plug the string lights in.

“No,” Hyunjin murmured, pressing his face into Chan’s neck and smearing the blood from his split lip against it. “It’s never enough.”

The pain ricocheted through Chan’s shoulder, a sudden bolt of lightning, piercing and harsh and demandingly cruel, and a shuddering gasp fell from his lips at the overwhelming heat of it. He looked up, eyes blown and forced wide, and Hyunjin grinned down at him with blood-stained teeth, squeezing his hand around the shard of glass and twisting slightly, just enough to make the tip tear a little deeper into Chan’s flesh.

A soft sigh fell out of Chan, a desperate exhale, a breathy offering, a thanks he could never vocalise, but Hyunjin heard it loud and clear all the same. He heard it every time. Understood it, translated it fluently like it was a language only the two of them knew how to speak, and he dug the jagged glass a little further in response. Carving a deeper cavern into Chan’s skin, splitting him open through layers of clothing and burrowing beneath all the murky years of jaded solitude until the pain of it made a laugh bubble its way up his throat.

“Feels good, hyung,” Hyunjin muttered, eyes heavy and black as his nostrils flared and his grin shone red. “Doesn’t it?”

Chan inhaled through his teeth and pulled Hyunjin away from the partition. He felt a warm pulse of blood spread across his shoulder when the shard of glass clattered to the floor, and he chewed on the moan in the back of his throat, the pain cutting through the fog as he threw Hyunjin down before the sound could betray him.

Their living situation was basic. Chan had been fine with the couch that’d been left in the warehouse break room, but after spending months crammed into it with Hyunjin’s limbs poking him in the sides, he’d gone in search of something better. They’d found two mattresses waiting to be claimed, propped up against a stoop as movers had been busy loading an entire house into the back of a truck. Hyunjin had stolen sheets hanging from a washing line. Chan had broken into a Lotte not long after, taking pillows, and a blanket, and a plastic skull that he’d immediately dropped into the fish tank.

Their fights had come easier, and far, far more frequently once they had a bed.

Chan caged him in before he had a chance to scramble, bullying his legs open and forcing him to wield, and he ignored the scratches to his face and the frantic hits and the panted groans, he ignored all of it, until he was finally close enough to smash his mouth against Hyunjin’s.

It always started as a fight. A direct continuation to the punches and the jabs, a natural progression, an unavoidable path that Chan had been sprinting down at full speed, ever since Hyunjin had ripped his dollar pendant away from his neck and he’d chased after him. He’d always chase after him. He’d never stop. And Hyunjin would never stop running, knowing that Chan would always follow.

“Hyung,” Hyunjin sighed, his laughter suddenly mellow, softer, small enough to trade along a line of spit and the curve of a tongue.

Chan inhaled it, swallowed it until it spread warmth into his chest and he could return it in kind. He brushed his nose against Hyunjin’s, smearing the blood across them both and no longer fighting the shiver that crept up his spine when Hyunjin bucked beneath him, pained and impatient. “I hate you.”

“Liar,” Hyunjin said in the shape of a grin, sucking his bottom lip between bloodied canines and gnawing on it, hands scrabbling in Chan’s hair to pull him down properly.

It always started as a fight. It never finished as one, though. Chan wasn’t sure whether he resented that or not. He often wondered, whenever they were plastered together and catching their breath, arguing over who would be the one to go and find the first aid box, whether it would be easier if it were just the punches. Whether Chan would have sought out bruised fists, or a constantly broken nose, or broken knuckles that never quite healed right if he’d never met Hyunjin. Maybe. Maybe not. The temptation that he’d been running from when he left Australia was always there, a dark whisper, an echo bouncing around in his head, reminding him of what he could have, what he was missing.

Hyunjin heard it, too, and he always managed to beat it out of him. Always offered Chan a better high.

“I fucking hate you,” Chan gasped around another laugh, running a hand across Hyunjin’s neck until his fingers could grip his jaw, hold him in place, keep him still, stop him from running. He pressed the pad of his thumb into the bruise, and a gasp shot out of Hyunjin, a puff of air that Chan consumed for himself.

“Liar,” Hyunjin giggled, high-pitched and crazed, and yanked on Chan’s hair again, fisting his fingers into the half-matted curls and licking at his teeth, smearing his own blood back into Chan’s mouth, a trade, an offering, wine at the altar. “You just hate that you need me.”

Chan just laughed again, head swimming with the sharp taste of iron and menthol cigarettes. The harsh, hot bitterness of it was sweetened on the back of his tongue, and the buzz vibrating in the base of his skull, the pain of the fresh wound in his shoulder and the blood that oozed beneath his jacket, all of it burnt up and evaporated into the air above them, wrapping around them both and keeping them warm when the world outside was so fucking cold.

He was right. Chan did need Hyunjin. And he did hate him for it.

“Need me to make you feel good,” Hyunjin muttered, rolling his hips up to grind against Chan’s leg. He could feel how hard Hyunjin was even through all the layers of clothes, knew he’d probably been aching and straining against his underwear since he’d landed the first punch, and Chan stuttered, kiss faltering and becoming uncoordinated, just a desperate mash of lips and teeth and saliva.

Chan had spent almost his entire adult life high. Under the influence of something, looking for a way to numb the sharp, jagged edges in his own head before they could slice his mind open and leave it to bleed out. Constantly searching for the means to dull everything, to turn the colour down, to mute the television and turn the subtitles on instead. He could’ve headed straight for the seedier part of town the minute he landed in Seoul all those years ago. He could’ve sought out a familiar comfort, he could’ve avoided the shaking, sweating terror of a purge, he could’ve trod the same path, the one that he’d wandered aimlessly down for years. But he didn’t. He’d spent his withdrawal in a gross motel room, with stained sheets and mattress springs that dug into his back, and a bathroom that looked like it was straight out of a horror movie. Spent his last little bit of money on it. Screamed himself hoarse, and scratched the skin away from his arms to try and open up the veins, smashed his head into the mirror and pleaded to no one as he’d sobbed through it, completely alone. Walked out as a so-called better man.

But whenever Hyunjin’s tongue curled into his mouth to lick at his teeth, whenever his hands tugged at his hair or pushed beneath his shirt, whenever Hyunjin connected his fist to Chan’s face or tore his blunt nails against his skin, or whenever he kissed him, sloppy and needy and so beautifully carelessly, it felt like a relapse.

Hyunjin was a narcotic, same as the rest, and he was the best high of Chan’s fucking life.

“Want me to make you feel good, hyung?” Hyunjin murmured, words caught in his throat, forgetting the anger and aggression and losing his focus to how their tongues wound together, wet and bloody and hot, breath catching at the rolling pressure of Chan’s thigh against his groin.

“Yeah,” Chan sighed, rocking them together again and kissing him harder. “Shit, yeah…”

The fight immediately returned, and he felt Hyunjin’s plump lips twist up into a feral grin as he grabbed the front of Chan’s jacket with one hand and used the other to knock Chan’s supporting arm from under him. Chan collapsed onto the mattress with a huff, but he was already moving, rolling onto his back as Hyunjin flipped them both and crowded above him. Chan just looked up, hands immediately falling to rest against his hips as Hyunjin shrugged out of his jacket. He only had the one layer on beneath it despite the sub-zero temperature, a plain t-shirt that’d definitely seen better days, a jagged hole in one arm and a frayed thread in the sleeve of the other, and his breath streamed out of him in a long, continuous cloud as he sat back on his heels. Chan could see the goosebumps on his skin, at odds with the thin sheen of sweat on his neck, diluting the blood that trickled down his temple, mixing with the trails from his nose and the split in his top lip. He pushed a hand against the short tufts of hair on his head, a phantom movement, still not quite used to the impulsive buzz he’d given himself a few months ago, when they’d actually managed to hook themselves up to the city’s electrical grid.

He’d had long hair when they’d met. Thick and black and glossy, the only thing that gave his ruse away. He’d been a disgusting, wild thing, dirty skin and sunken eyes and torn clothes that revealed a kaleidoscope of bruises. But his hair sold him out, and he’d shaved it off in a fit of rage when Chan had used it against him.

Hyunjin grinned down, teeth stained and dark eyes flashing with Chan’s own reflection. He was still wild. Still dirty. But never disgusting. He was beautiful, terrifyingly so, he could’ve covered billboards, starred in blockbuster movies, been an idol. Instead, he was Chan’s.

Chan sat up and threw his jacket to the side, snaking a hand around the back of Hyunjin’s neck so he could steal another kiss, mourning the taste of him, only ever wanting his blood on the tip of his tongue, his breath in his lungs, to let him press, harder and harder and harder until he breached Chan’s skin, pierced the vein, sank into his flesh, swirled through him until they couldn’t tell where Hyunjin ended and Chan began. Hyunjin hummed, mashing his face against Chan’s, both of them hissing at the pain, both of them gasping when it felt good, and the pendulum swung again. Chan couldn’t stop his breath catching in his throat when Hyunjin’s bony fingers started to scrabble with his belt buckle, frustrated at the angle but not wanting to break the kiss, hands just as uncoordinated as his lips, already losing himself in it. Chan smiled against his bloody mouth, huffing out a laugh, always so vindicated that they were so similar when they were together. They came from different worlds, but like this, it didn’t matter. They’d made their own. A life that dangled over a ravine, a delicate, fraught balance that pulled tight whenever they snapped together like magnets.

Hyunjin pressed him back into the mattress, leaving a trail of bites and lingering spit down his jaw and across his neck as his cold hands shoved past the waistband of Chan’s jeans, tugging them down his thighs. He grunted when he couldn’t move them any further, biting down as hard as he could on the fleshy ridge of muscle between the base of Chan’s throat and his collarbone before he ripped himself away and practically tore Chan’s clothes away from his body. The cold bit harder, the wind still howling outside and begging to be let in, and it sounded like it’d started to rain. Heavy splatters against the corrugated steel of the ceiling that stretched above them, a black hole of empty space that pressed in instead of spreading out. The fire in the barrel had probably died.

Chan didn’t have it in him to care.

He toed his boots off, using Hyunjin’s legs to get the leverage over his heels, and kicked his jeans onto the floor. Hyunjin had already yanked his t-shirt over his head and lobbed it into the pile, never taking his eyes off Chan, an unblinking, black stare, like he was trying to see past the broken skin and bruises, around the bones, to the organs within. Like he wanted to sink his hand between the viscera in Chan’s chest and squeeze, beating his heart for him, just to prove that he could.

Hyunjin extended a hand and Chan watched him move, watched as he brushed the tip of his finger against the already purpling bruise on Chan’s sternum, and when he stopped moving, Chan brought his eyes back up. He didn’t have to say anything. Didn’t even have to nod. Hyunjin’s face cracked, his grin tearing at his jaw and forcing it wide, wild, as he leaned forward and let his body weight sink into his fingertips.

Chan’s eyes fluttered, the pain bouncing around his ribcage and forcing every ounce of breath out of him in a choked gasp, and Hyunjin bent lower, moving his hand away from Chan’s bruised heart until he could find the small stab wound in his shoulder. He dragged his thumb over the broken skin, smearing the blood, slower, forcing Chan to feel it, digging into the injury he’d caused and rocking his hips to coax another shuddering gasp out of him.

Hyunjin liked getting Chan naked first. He liked seeing the fruits of his labour. All the cuts and bruises, the goosebumps, the veins that ran blue, the tendons that popped with the tension he caused. Like he was an artist, and Chan was the canvas. Chan didn’t mind it. The scratch from his jeans against his thighs deliciously rough, the burning drag of his naked cock against the denim forcing the blood to rush just a little faster.

“Chan…” Hyunjin rasped, rolling down on him again and laughing quietly at the whimper it earned him. “Where did y -”

“Shelves,” Chan sighed, rocking up to meet his movement and wincing when the material of Hyunjin’s jeans caught on the head of his dick. “Behind m -”

“I got it,” Hyunjin muttered, bearing down on him with more purpose, a longer stroke as he leaned over and up, as he kept Chan pinned so he could make a grab for the bottle of lube Chan had stolen from a pharmacy.

Hyunjin had laughed at him for it. Teased him, called him pathetic, thought you liked pain, hyung, thought you liked being torn open. He’d stopped laughing when Chan had fucked him so wet, so messy, that he’d ended up loose and crying mindlessly in his lap, unable to clench any tighter after a torturous hour of it.

“Mind you,” Hyunjin muttered, sitting back on his heels and tilting his head, smirking down at Chan and raking his eyes over his body all over again. “You probably don’t need it.”

Chan inhaled through his nose and blinked up at him, trying to focus. Hyunjin just grinned wider and wrapped a delicate hand around the base of his cock, barely squeezing, just angling it up so the sheen of pre-cum coating the tip shone in the low light.

“Shall I fuck you open with your own cum, hyung?” Hyunjin snickered, dragging his fist up so he could circle a thumb at the head, dig a little deeper for more, forcing it to spill over in a soft bead against his hand. “You’re so wet already.”

Chan clenched his jaw and tried to stop his eyes rolling back in his head.

Hyunjin just hummed thoughtfully and shrugged a shoulder, smiling at Chan’s whimper when he released his dick and let it slap againt the ridges of muscle on his stomach. He didn’t say anything else, just moved lower, pushing the heel of his hand against Chan’s balls and pressing the damp tip of his finger against his ass. He couldn’t stop himself from bucking, and Hyunjin laughed, low and cracked and trapped in his throat, as he threaded the tip of his finger past the muscle before Chan had a chance to adjust. It was tight, and dry even with the lingering precum, and it felt so fucking good that Chan felt the tears build behind his lashes almost immediately, squeezing his eyes shut as Hyunjin pushed in a little further.

“Relax, hyung,” Hyunjin cooed. “You can’t even take a finger now?”

“Can,” Chan gasped, blinking through the haze and twisting his hands into the stolen bedsheets beneath them. “I can take it…”

“Hmm,” Hyunjin twisted his hand, working the digit deeper and sighing heavily in mock disappointment at the resistance. “I’m not convinced.”

Chan’s knuckles turned white and he rolled his hips, bore down against Hyunjin’s hand until his finger was pressed into him up to the last knuckle. He let out a shuddering breath that turned into a crazed, breathy, triumphant giggle, and Hyunjin just smiled down at him as he crooked his finger back.

“Oh-h, shit…” Chan collapsed, like every bone in his body had unstitched itself, and Hyunjin laughed as he pulled his finger back out. “Wait, no - please…”

Hyunjin already had a fistful of lube before Chan could form a coherent sentence, and when he wrapped his hand around his dick again, wetter and colder and so much fucking slicker than before, every thought, every plea, every oily tendril of hatred and anger and disgust billowed in his head and then disappeared like a mist clearing from the surface of the ocean.

Hyunjin never really went slowly. It was like his body rejected it. He was always so eager, in everything, when they robbed stores, when they went pickpocketing once Chan had actually taught him how, when they fought. When they fucked. He wanted everything, all at once, immediate gratification, a demanding privilege that he’d grown accustomed to in his old life. Hyunjin didn’t stop to think about the how, too focused on the end product.

He squeezed and twisted his fist at the head of Chan’s dick, letting him fuck up into it as much as he was conducting the rhythm, and it was only when the tight coil of pleasure started to unfurl in his gut that Chan started to beg again.

“Hyun… Hyunjin, stop, w-wait…” Chan slammed his head back into the pillow and gasped, hot pants clawing their way out of him as Hyunjin just sped up with another laugh, crowding over him so Chan couldn’t sit up or scramble away. “F-fuck, Jinnie, I can’t, I c-can’t… Please, please stop, please, p-please…”

Hyunjin released him and caught him in a kiss before he could suck a breath in, offering his own instead, spreading his lube covered hand along Chan’s hip as he hummed gratefully.

“So pretty, Chan-ah…” Hyunjin murmured, dropping all formalities when he had Chan gasping and close to tears beneath him. “You don’t wanna cum yet?”

“N-no…” Chan said desperately, and he sucked the hot air in as Hyunjin bent lower, dragging the flat of his tongue along Chan’s bruised jaw until he could toy with the silver hoop in his ear and tug. “Not yet. Fuck me first.”

“Oh,” Hyunjin said innocently, voice deep and rumbling. “Well, sure.”

Hyunjin bit into the side of Chan’s neck as hard as he could without breaking the skin, just as he pushed another finger back into Chan, slick with lube and so much faster than before. Chan let out a garbled, choked sound and shuddered, but immediately rolled his hips with it, wordlessly begging for more as he grabbed the front of Hyunjin’s neck and yanked him back down.

Hyunjin threaded a second finger into him and immediately spread them, forcing the space, impatient as always, and Chan’s moan came out strangled and high, a pathetically reedy sound that Hyunjin licked up and replaced with his own satisfied hum.

“So tight,” he muttered. “Gonna feel so good, hyung, fuck.”

Chan keened, fingers digging into the sweat-slick skin of Hyunjin’s back, trying to keep him close but losing his grip, everything short-circuiting and faltering in sparks that blinded him. Like he was malfunctioning, like there was a crossed wire somewhere, a loose screw that Hyunjin was prodding and nudging at with the tips of the two fingers buried in his ass.

“Fuck,” Hyunjin grunted again, and Chan felt the first tear track through the blood smeared on his temple as Hyunjin slipped his fingers out. He shook his head with a whimper, pressing his forehead against Chan’s and breathing heavily. “Fuck…”

He was gone so suddenly that Chan felt like the axis of the earth had been tilted just slightly, a degree on the wrong side, where nothing had changed but everything was wrong, and he blinked furiously, chest heaving and his breath rattling in his throat as he tried to get his eyes to focus. Hyunjin kicked his boots off with another curse, shoved his jeans down his legs and used his foot to fling them into the pile of Chan’s clothing on the floor, and he practically ripped his underwear off, not caring for the sharp snap of elastic as it broke.

Chan’s processing power was always shit when he bottomed. Like he was underwater and floating, too focused on the pleasure of the inside to figure out what the fuck was going on outside. He could still feel the pressure of Hyunjin’s fingers, the way he worked him open, fast and messy, and desperate; he could still feel the demanding drag against his prostate, the way his bony knuckles felt when they pressed against his insides. So it took him a little while, maybe too long, to realise that Hyunjin was lining the head of his dick up against his hole.

He just looked up, lips pulled back against his teeth and his neck wound tight, as Hyunjin pushed into him with a long, drawn-out groan. It burned, a searing heat that split him open and set off a chain reaction that made his whole body shudder. He knew he was tight, too tight, always too tightly wound, never able to just relax, predisposed to be coiled, and ready, for anything. Just in case. A fail-safe. A self-preservation.

Hyunjin crashed through it, bottoming out with a final mean thrust. “Fuck, Chan-hyung…”

Chan’s hiss was stunted, too scared to inhale properly, terrified that there wouldn’t be enough space within him to hold a full breath, too scared that he’d already given Hyunjin too fucking much. Hyunjin’s hands dragged across his hips, fingers gripping into his skin hard enough to leave bruises. He started fucking Chan before either one of them had a chance to catch up to how good it felt.

Chan was vaguely aware of the strangled mess of ‘ha, oh, oh, fuck, fuck, Hyun, ha, hnng, shit, shit, yeah’ that was tumbling out of his mouth, but whether Hyunjin heard it he had no idea. Chan just gripped onto his wrists, fingers digging at the metal looped around them, pulling on the chain like a leash, forcing him back down so he could mumble the same incoherent babbling into his mouth instead.

“Hyung…” Hyunjin was already dripping with sweat, eyes glassy and unseeing, too busy mindlessly chasing how good it felt within Chan to focus, and Chan just licked at him, curled his tongue along his throat and up to his ear, groaning as the taste of salt and blood flooded his tongue, wrapping a hand around the back of his neck to scruff him and keep him in place. “Feel so fucking good…”

“Harder,” Chan gritted out, arching his back to force a deeper angle, and Hyunjin shuddered on top of him. “Jin, fuck, fuck me harder, please, please…”

He did as he was told. For all of his shit-talking, and his sarcasm, and his admittedly great aptitude for pissing Chan off, he became so pliant when he got his dick wet that Chan always ended up taking back the reigns of control. Another way they balanced themselves. Chan lost it easily and fought to reclaim it. Hyunjin always blindly assumed he had it, and let it slip through his fingers like sand the moment Chan clenched possessively around him.

Chan kept one hand pressed into the back of Hyunjin’s neck, rolling his hips to meet every frantic thrust, panting wetly as he whispered words of encouragement, as he told him how good he felt, told him how well he was filling Chan up, how bad he wanted him, but his other hand scrambled in the mess of the bed sheets, searching in earnest. He found what he was looking for and grinned, sucking Hyunjin’s plump bottom lip between his teeth and biting just as Hyunjin rammed himself home, their hips slapping together with a wet smack.

“Fuck, Chan-hyung, fuck, fuck, don’t ever wanna stop fucking you, you c-can’t… Can’t get rid of me, need to be here, need to be in you, need to be… to be…” Hyunjin whimpered into his neck and rutted his hips harder, harsher, as aggressively as he could without slipping out of Chan altogether.

“I know,” Chan gasped, wincing at the sting of it, relishing in the heat of it, wishing he could pull his organs out to make more space for him, wanting to have nothing else inside of his body except for Hyunjin. “I know, I need you too, I… I need you too, Hyun-oh, my god, y-yeah…”

Chan scrambled, knowing he didn’t have a lot of time. He squeezed far too much lube out, and it pooled on the bedsheets and slipped under his thigh when he threw the bottle, not that it mattered with the amount they were both sweating despite the cold, and he pulled Hyunjin closer, finally releasing his neck so he could wrap a supporting arm around his waist. His other hand moved lower, smearing lube down the small of Hyunjin’s back until he could press between the curve of his ass and sink a finger into him just as Hyunjin slammed his cock against Chan’s prostate.

They both practically sobbed, muscles melting beneath skin, bones turning to putty, and Hyunjin stopped. He buried his face against the stab wound in Chan’s shoulder, and his sweat stung, and Chan looked up at the empty black of the ceiling, seeing his own stars, like they were hovering in a galaxy where they only revolved around each other. In orbit, shackled by gravity, pushing and pulling, and clawing and biting and fucking and needing each other, just to echo it all back again.

Chan twisted his head, pressed his lips to the spot just beneath Hyunjin’s heavily pierced ear, and threaded another finger into the tight heat of his ass. But he wielded immediately, as usual, so malleable when Chan clenched around him, and he cried out properly, a deliciously loud and blissfully strangled sound, when Chan, thankful for his long fingers and Hyunjin’s lean body, finally managed to find an angle where he could ghost across his prostate. He rolled his hips, massaging his own on Hyunjin’s dick where it was still buried so fucking deep, and a fluttering sigh escaped him when he felt the first pulse of Hyunjin’s orgasm.

He could feel the way his forehead scrunched up where his face was pressed so close to his neck. Could feel the imploring arc of his eyebrows, the spit pooling at the corner of his mouth and drooling out to smear more blood across Chan’s throat. Chan closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, stretching his fingers, not wanting to waste it.

“Hyu-u-ung…” Hyunjin’s moan was as black as sin, dark and raw and completely unfiltered. Forgetting, for one beautiful moment, where they were. Who they were. What they did to each other, and why they needed to do it. It just was.

Chan breathed him in, tightening his arm around the dip of his waist and clenching harder around him, wanting everything he had to give and demanding more with his beckoning fingers.

“Fuck, Chan…” Hyunjin ground his face into the dip of Chan’s shoulder with a whimper. “I ca-an’t, ha, fuck…”

“What?” Chan asked with a smile, bullying his fingers harder into the vice of his ass. “What’s wrong? You can’t even take fingers now?”

A bubble of laughter burst out of him at the echoing taunt, popping against Chan’s throat and immediately sucked back up in a hiss when Chan crooked his fingers again. The angle was almost impossible, and his wrist was hurting, and Hyunjin’s cock was still breaking him in half. Still rock hard, still with more to give, even if Hyunjin thought he needed a break.

Chan didn’t give him a chance to catch his breath, just pulled his fingers out and hooked an ankle around Hyunjin’s leg, pushing him away so he could move with him. He sat on his cock for just a second, teeth buried into his bottom lip to stop the desperate gasp as he sank even deeper. Hyunjin had no such control, hands immediately flying up to grip Chan’s thighs, desperately trying to stop him from grinding down as a strangled sob clawed its way out of his throat. Chan watched him as his neck strained. Watched the tendons pop. The veins in his neck snaking up to his forehead and disappearing into the short thicket of dark brown hair. The swell of his chest, cords of muscle suddenly cranked razor tight, the way his eyebrows flew up from the centre and his eyes squeezed into puffy lines. Chan hummed, coiling down on top of him and arching his back enough for Hyunjin’s dick to slip out.

Chan kissed him. Hyunjin kissed him back. Just as desperate, as it always was, a mutual need sewn so deep that it didn’t have a chance to root. It spread like a rot instead.

Chan stayed put, letting the thick trails of cum leak out of him and spill over Hyunjin, a gift returned, a promise to make good on the offering. He wound his tongue against Hyunjin’s teeth, sucked on the juiciest, bloodiest part of his bottom lip, let his hands rove down his waist until he could squeeze, enough to make Hyunjin squirm at the pressure. He wanted to sink his fingers. Claw at his insides until his blood stained his nails. Cannibalise him until they were inside each other permanently.

He pulled back when they were both sticky with it, hooking Hyunjin’s legs apart with a demanding hand and using the other to press his own cum back into his body. Hyunjin’s spine curved, an elegant shape, still so pretty, still so perfect, even with the dirt, and the scars, and the blood, and the buzzed head. That was one thing Hyunjin could never escape. His throat constricted, the bob of his Adam’s apple a prominent wave beneath the skin as Chan demanded space. He still had lube on his fingers, and Hyunjin came a lot, and his dick was still wet from where Hyunjin had jerked him off, and so he took a leaf out of his book and battered the fucking door down. Demanded entry. Waltzed through the entry hall of the mansion he used to live in and took a baseball bat to everything he could reach.

Hyunjin buckled beneath him with a warbling cry, legs trying to both close and open at the same time, panting at the stretch, knowing he’d be moulded to fit Chan regardless of the pain that came first. He was achingly tight, a vice, chains around his throat, rocks shackled to Chan’s ankles and pulling him under the water until he couldn’t breathe. A low hum rumbled in his chest as he exhaled through his teeth, fingers gripping into the smooth, pale skin of Hyunjin’s thighs and holding him there, not as impatient, intent on fucking him like they had all the time in the world.

Except that wasn’t completely true, because Chan had been close to the edge ever since Hyunjin had wrapped his hand around his dick, and now he was teetering on the cliff, stones skittering into the abyss below where he dragged his feet.

But he wasn’t selfish. Not like Hyunjin was.

Chan rutted up at a punishing angle, forcing Hyunjin to wrap his legs around his waist before they could shake, and then pushed forward just a little bit further, grinding against Hyunjin’s prostate enough to see tears forming in the crevice of his eyes. They fell when Chan wrapped his hand around his dick, trickling down his black eye and into the mangled mess of his lip. Chan just grinned, matching the rhythm, giving him no time to catch his breath, working him through the overstimulation as a second orgasm scratched and clawed its way out of him.

He’d made Hyunjin come four times before. Two was easy.

“Fuck, fuck, Chan - ha - Chan, it’s… y-yeah, oh god please don’t fucking stop, please, fuck, oh fuck hyung, I’m, I’m gonna -” Hyunjin shuddered, bearing down on him with a whimper as the words died, and he shook his head, gasped wetly, cried openly, thick, glittering tears that only added to the beautiful colour palette that already decorated his skin. A masterpiece of ruddy purple, flushed pink like a sunrise, and the shining bright of the red, something so alive, so pure, that Chan wished he could trade, transfuse it between the two of them, so his own blood wasn’t quite so dark and stained with the shit he’d put into it over the years. He’d rather have Hyunjin, anyway.

“Shit,” he rasped, squeezing his fingers around the head of Hyunjin’s dick, spreading the remnants of cum over the head and digging it into the slit, an earnest request for more. “Hyunjin-ah…”

“Yeah,” Hyunjin sobbed with a furious nod, hands scrabbling at Chan’s arm, fingers slipping against the sweat to try and pull him down. The chain around his wrist wasn’t cold any more, the metal warmed to match their shared body heat, and Chan grabbed it so he could yank Hyunjin’s arm up above his head as he slammed into him with another grunt. He let go of it the moment he could thread his fingers between Hyunjin’s, though. Gripped him as tight as he could, smiling when he felt the same pressure, the same anchor, the only thing in his life that would ever be real enough to touch.

Chan pressed his forehead against Hyunjin’s, breathing in the cries and pants and pleas, inhaling them like they were shotgunning a joint, passing the high between each other, not needing the oxygen to tip them over the edge.

Chan buried his face into the crook of Hyunjin’s neck and breathed him out, using the borrowed air to sigh his name, and Hyunjin came for the second time in his waiting hand, with a choked whimper and his nails digging into the back of Chan’s bruised knuckles. Chan slammed into him as deep as he could go and filled him up in kind.

They slumped at the same time. Uncoiled, like the furl of a plant in the spring. The tightrope snapped and sent them falling, and they tumbled together, not wanting to break apart in case they lost each other on the descent. But when they reached the bottom of the pit, it was soft, and pillowy, and warm, and Chan exhaled slowly as his heart started to beat again.

He flopped onto the mattress, legs still tangled with Hyunjin’s and both of them leaking cum and blood and sweat into the fabric. They’d have to try and find a new one soon. They hadn’t fucked it up quite this bad for a while.

Chan blinked slowly, staring at the darkness of the warehouse ceiling, until he heard the crack of something light. Smoke billowed into the emptiness above him, and Hyunjin’s hand appeared, chain gripped between his two fingers so it didn’t dangle in his face, with a fresh cigarette wedged between the other two. Chan took it with a quiet huff of laughter, dragging the nicotine into his lungs and watching the delicate curls of white and grey decorate the black space above them. He listened to Hyunjin take a pull. Longer than usual, held for a second more, exhaled with a heavy breath. His smoke pushed into the delicate clouds of Chan’s and then mixed seamlessly together before disappearing completely.

When Hyunjin flopped back down, he pressed his head into Chan’s shoulder. “I hate you.”

Chan’s smile widened, and he passed his smoke to his other hand, so he could push an arm between them and tug on the chains around Hyunjin’s wrist. Their hands threaded together, and Chan squeezed.

“I know,” he said softly, blowing another plume of smoke through his nose in a quiet laugh as he ran his thumb over the back of Hyunjin’s hand. “I hate you, too.”

Notes:

wrote this in a fever dream fugue state, only half beta read [sorry gigi the voices compelled me to post] so ANY kinda quality is doubtful atp, but as usual any and allllll comments, kudos, bookmarks, screeches, keyboard smashes will be greeted with forehead kisses and feet kicking, love u all, happy national hyunchan week forever and ever amen