Chapter Text
Park Humins' larger than life personality had simmered down, drawn low and spread thin. He couldn't deny the emptiness that had taken over his body, which had come so fast yet settled so deeply within his bones. The bleakness felt inevitable, just as the end between himself and Baekjin. The signs had been there; the greed in his eyes, the harshness of his fists, and the words in his silence.
Corruption is a disease, sweet and addictive as it takes away Baekjin from Humin.
These days Humin can barely see his Baekjin beneath the meticulously pressed school uniform. Always some type of armor between them, whether it be Baekjins books, his desk or his words. Baekjin feels miles away even when he’s standing in front of him.
Humin stares as the object of his thoughts walks into the room. It's sparsely decorated, just a table in the middle of the room with two chairs facing each other. It's kept at a cool temperature, otherwise Baekjin would be smothered in his turtleneck and jacket. Humin thinks it's kept cold to mimic Baekjin’s personality. Humin thinks he’d like to see Baekjin sweat, even just the slight imperfection to his perfect facade, to show that there's even an ounce of the person he used to know.
There’s a certain air of nonchalance that Baekjin embodies, his steps slow as if he has all the time in the world. His hair is slicked back, not a single strand out of place. The turtleneck is black this time, thin but tight against his throat. It's a stark contrast against the grey of his uniform. Nonetheless, Baekjin makes it work, broad shoulders bend forward as he folds his long legs over the chair.
He doesn’t acknowledge Humin as he takes out his notebooks and pens, meticulously lining up his highlighters and erasers. He runs his fingers through the pages of his math book before setting it to the side. He pauses momentarily before he reaches underneath and takes out a thin, black leather bound book. He flips through the notebook, the pages crip and white underneath the bright fluorescent lights. His handwriting is impeccable as he starts writing.
Finally, he puts down his pen and leans back. His eyes, dark slits under bright LED, bore into Humin. The attention feels jarring, especially after five minutes of being ignored.
Humin always forgets how it feels to be on the business end of Baekjin’s eyes. The darkness within them is endlessly deep. It's hard to pinpoint his emotions underneath the blank mask that he wears. Humin had thought that his expression was of smug indifference, but after these past few weeks he sees it for what it really is; a mask. It had taken hours of study, hours of watching Baekjin do his homework, hours of sitting with blood in his hands, to see when his act fell and something real appeared on his face. But, Baekjin never seemed to forget he had an audience and promptly controlled his expression. The moments Humin gets of seeing his Baekjin underneath the perfectly crafted veneer feels almost sacred.
Nonetheless, the mask feels impenetrable when Humin is in this state. He feels unforgivable for having been caught at such a low point. Putting his father at risk, his friends in danger, is something that Humin doesn’t think he’ll forgive Baekjin for. It’ll be a long, long time before he can look Baekjin in the eye and respect the decisions he’s had to make. What happened to make his friend become so cruel is completely lost to Humin. Money never seemed so important to Baekjin but he realizes that perhaps he never knew Baekjin as well as he thought he did.
Baekjin raises one eyebrow, meticulously groomed and plucked to elongate his eyes.
Report , Humin thinks.
It's silent. Humin lets it fester between them. Not even those wannabe gangsters could have broken the tension between them. No matter how much he protests against Baekjin, regardless of whether he’ll climb the highest building and shout to the world of his hate for Baekjin, having his attention makes the blood in Humin’s veins sing. He doesn’t know if it's hate or leftover affection from the time past, but Baekjin makes him feel like no one else. Perhaps because Baekjin is the person who knows him the longest or because he’s managed to become like the people that Humin hates the most. What a waste , Humin thinks, we could have been great together.
Humin’s shoulders are stoop down as he leans back in his chair. His hoodie hangs off his frame, hands clenched beneath the large sleeves. The jeans that he wears are baggy, a step up from his sweatpants, mostly because he can’t be bothered to get his laundry done. Helplessness permeates the very breath he exhales.
Humin sighs, “School 13 has agreed to your demands, he’ll send someone over with the money on Friday.”
Baekjin blinks once, twice before taking his snake-like eyes away from Humin and writing down into his notebook.
“School 13?”
Humin shrugs, “I can’t remember all their names.”
Humin doesn't want to remember the names of the people he hurts. The satisfaction he gets from knocking down arrogant boys has withered down, only numbness as he twists their wrists and breaks their noses.
Baekjin’s eyes flicker to him, a sardonic expression on his face, “sure, Humin.”
Humin digs his thumb into his palm, the pain a reprieve from the chaos in his mind. “What's that supposed to mean?” He tilts his chin up. His eyes narrow onto Baekjin, watching as his fingers stop moving, as if without his permission.
Baekjin puts down his pen and leans back into his chair. He folds his hands and tilts his head to the side, silently appraising Humin with his dark eyes. Humin feels his gaze like a physical touch against his body, his blinking lashes like lashes against his skin. He feels his skin crawl, mutual disgust and exhilaration. It's a few minutes of silence before a slight smile graces against Baekjin’s sharp expression.
“You can’t stand to know the names of the people you hurt.”
Humin takes a deep breath.
“These people might think you’re so miserable because you hate me, but,” Baekjin smirks as he pauses, “you’re miserable because you don’t like to hurt people anymore.”
Humin felt his emotions rush through him, something real for the first time in days . He leans forward, bringing their faces closer. He wets his lips and whispers, “don’t worry Baekjin-ah, I like to hurt people just fine.” The sardonic smile on his face makes Baekjin narrow his eyes, the smirk on his face smooths down to a blank expression.
“It's interesting, the thing holding you back is the reason for your strength,” Baekjin purses his mouth. The pink of his lips the only color on his pale face.
Humin doesn’t know what to say, or rather, the sudden anger at Baekjin’s observations feels entirely surprising. He keeps his thoughts to himself, the anger towards Baekjin, towards himself overpowering whatever logical argument he has. Rather than putting his hands on Baekjin, Humin stands up, toppling his chair backwards. He’s too tired of these antics, feels too old for his age, the problems in his life too mature for a man, a boy , of his age. The anger dissipates, leaving as fast as it came, leaving behind bone-deep weariness.
“We’re done.”
The dismissiveness bothers Baekjin, the teasing expression on his face going from surprised to anger before he stands as well.
Humin is almost at the door before he feels Baekjin at his back.
Hands grasp on his shoulder and turn him, Baekjin stepping forward, a mere foot between their faces.
Humin feels his hand burn through his hoodie. The point of contact is firm, the first touch between them that isn’t fists colliding for the first time in years. God , has it only been two years since everything crumbled between them? It feels as if eons has passed since Baekjin had smiled at him, dimples flush against his cheeks. It feels as if eons has passed since Baekjin had sat at the dinner table at his apartment, doing his homework as Humin fed him dumplings from his own chopsticks. It feels as if eons has passed since they both had to huddle close under the blankets because Humin’s landlord had shut off the heat in the dead of January.
Humin doesn’t recognize the person in front of him. Baekjin has gotten taller than him, out numbering him by a few centimeters. His shoulders are broader now as well, the muscle underneath his jacket contorting as he clenches Humin’s shoulder.
“Why do you always run away when-,” Baekjin pauses, blinking rapidly as he brings his other hand to Humin’s right shoulder.
Humin takes a moment to breathe in Baekjin’s scent, his cologne deep as it permeates the small space between them. The hold on his shoulders tighten but all Humin can do is take in the breaking of Baekjin’s composure. His eyes well up with unexplained emotion as confusion colors his face. His mouth opens a few times, intent on finishing his sentence. His tongue appears between his lips, pink at the tip, the color identical to his lips. Humin loses focus on the conversation as his eyes take in the reddening of Baekjin’s cheeks, the single strand of hair rebelling against the gel, running sharply over his right eye.
Humin hasn’t gotten a decent amount of sleep in weeks. Everytime he closes his eyes he sees the disappointed face of his father, the desperate messages from Hyuntak, the revised class notes from Juntae and the empathetic eyes of Sieun. He’s exhausted. Tired of hurting people, lying to his family and friends, and being in the same presence as the Union members.
“Pretty boy Baekjin,” Humin mumbles.
The hold on his shoulders slacken as Baekjin stares at him with shock, the first actual reaction he’s gotten from him besides anger and controlled nonchalance. It's monumental.
“It always made you angry when they called you that,” Humin agonises over his next few words. His usual iron-clad control has frayed beyond recognition, tempted by the one person who knows exactly where the chinks in his armor are, “I never told you this, but I kind of agree with them.” Humin courts death as he reaches up. The blood from his split knuckles has dried by now, the slight pain not hindering him as he tucks away the stray strand of hair back into its place.
Humin pats Baekjin’s cheeks with his palm, “it's a good thing you’re a man, Baekjin-ah.” He can’t help but marvel at the smoothness of his cheek, the skin absent of razor bumps or acne spots. Baekjin is perfect. Perfect grades, perfect clothes, and perfect face. Humin wants to mess him up; bloody his face, dirty his clothes, make him cry. Baekjin looks the most alive when he’s crying; eyes bright and wet, cheeks ruddy with blush and lips raw-bitten and pink.
“Why? What would you do to me if I was a girl?” Baekjin has gotten control of his face, his expression as biting as his words. "Huh? Would you fuck me like you do those other girls?"
Humin must be out of his mind because he’s enjoying this too much. This is the most reaction he’s gotten from Baekjin in years. He’s always so buttoned-up and stiff, that the flush on his face and the wideness of his eyes makes Humin feral for more. He wants more genuineness, he wants to see how dark Baekjin’s cheeks can pinken, how more intense his eyes can get, how much closer I can step forward before-
Before? Before what? Humin freezes. His common sense finally overpowers whatever baser instincts he’s been running on.
Baekjin seems to realize that Humin is coming to his senses before he’s smothered by 180 centimeters of Baekjin in his personal space. In just a few seconds, he has bridged the gap between them, stepping closer to Humin, bringing their faces so close he can smell Baekjin’s minty breath on his face.
Humin only has a few seconds to understand what is happening, a few seconds to take in the desperate look on Baekjin’s face before Baekjin kisses him.
Hands grip his neck tightly as Baekjin kisses him, the harsh press of his lips against Humin is only aided by the softness of his lips. The harsh sting of his nails against the skin of his neck is only aided by Baekjin’s body pressing softly against his.
The kiss lasts only a few seconds before Baekjin breaks away, taking a few steps back on wobbling legs. Humin only gets a glimpse of red, red lips before Baekjin turns around and slumps in the chair Humin had vacated. His shoulders tremble as he takes deep breaths.
Humin clenches his hands, reopening the splits in his knuckles. The silence is deafening between them.
He stumbles backwards, the blood rushing haywire throughout his body. He wants to shake Baekjin until he explains himself, he wants to run away and never see Baekjin again. He wants . He wants something he’s never thought of before.
With shaking hands, he leaves.