kgyongguk

[kgyongguk]

[kgyongguk]

jun.

[ ... ]

“so instead of asking you what you want me to do, i’ll just ask you to do whatever it is you want to do, without thinking of how anything you do might affect me. i think that’s more like how it’s supposed to be.” he gives a small nod of his head then, like indicating that his decision has been made and that he’s done thinking, then just looks at yongguk with trusting eyes and that same, little smile.

the worst part is how yongguk can slowly see the fight leaving jun, like the elder is getting more and more tired and he can’t keep on telling yongguk he matters anymore, not when his fears and anxiety of everything is the one thing that keeps him hideously bound to the past, present and unable to look into the future. keeping him trapped, even when both of their cards have been laid down on the table and all he has to do is succumb.

it would be so easy, to apologise and stand on the tips of his toes (because jun is still irritatingly taller than him, even if by a mere inch or two) to dip forward until mouth meets mouth and they fit together like a puzzle. it’s so easy, it’s a small action compared to what they could do, but the shame still forces yongguk’s feet to stick flat on the ground and for his eyes to be downcasted like he knows he’s in the wrong. 

but it’s true. everything jun says is true and that’s awful. yongguk runs, that’s all he’s ever learned how to do. he ran when he got into trouble as a kid, when he injured someone, when he killed a man for the first time, it’s been the easiest to just run and never look back. whereas he had seen it as a strengthㅡ the power to banish anything from memory, to become emotionally detachedㅡ now he sees why it’s a disadvantageㅡ because all he sees is how much of a hollow shell he’s become, not a person at all.

“i’m sorry hyung,” he says, voice choked up and his stare at the ground hardens because his words are shaking and he doesn’t, can’t, won’t cry in front of the knight like the weak little boy he appears to be. not when there’s a fresh wave of tears that threaten to fall from his eyes, he doesn’t deserve to cry, not when it’s his fault. “youㅡ i’m so sorry. you’re always going to be waiting, and waiting, and waiting for me and it’s not fair because there’s people who can treat you better. jitae, junho, everyone else except me. but it’s still me you’re looking for.”

“i don’t think i’ve done anything for you to love meㅡ i ㅡ i kill. i killed people, and i wouldn’t mind doing it again.” he rambles, like he’s trying to think of every bad thing about himself to hurl onto jun so he can show he’s not someone to be loved. “i abandon people, people abandon me, andㅡ and i’m too reckless. look at my hands.” he shows them, the bruises on his knuckles, the open wounds and cuts from a fight gone astray, the way that they shake even now. “i’m a fool, hyung, if i think i deserve you.”

he inhales, breathes for the first time in a while. “yetㅡ when i look at you. my chest hurts, and i hate the idea of you leaving me. i don’t know what it is, i don’t know what to call it.” he says in a quieter voice. “i don’t want you to leave.”

self control.

[kgyongguk]

☀ by: Aris

[kgyongguk]

icarus.

ft. @kgjunho

yongguk comes back to seoul because he has to, not because he wants to.

when he says it like that, he sounds like an awful person who hasn’t treasured the relationships he’d somehow managed to make upon joining kingsman but sometimes he wonders whether the burden that forms itself like a boulder weighing on his shoulders until they feel numb and his head feels dizzy are worth it for the few people he knows he treasures — and he knows they treasure him, too.

it always brings him to the inevitable realization that they’re going to leave one day because they have to, need to, because they’ll wake up and realise kingsman isn’t shit, or they’ll realise that they don’t enjoy the way they live. and he’ll be caught in the backwash of it, wondering whether any of them were planning to tell him in the first place or whether they wanted him to figure out he wasn’t vital in the first place.

at that thought, his hand that’s shoved deep inside his pocket curls into a fist, fingernails are cutting into the palm of his hand and it’s only when he can feel the telltale droplets of blood that he stops for the sake of stopping. yongguk’s exhausted, having come back from what was supposed to be relaxing looking even more shit than he should have and wandering around the same streets that he’s been walking around for the past ten minutes, at some obscure hour of the night like he shouldn’t inform kingsman he’s not dead at least.

he exhales, jerking out of a stupor when his shoulder collides with someone and he’s fragile enough that the impact leaves him stumbling for a second.

“shit — sorry.”

[kgyongguk]

jitae.

[ ... ]

even he can’t justify that. he’s tempted, though. “here, one of your fav—…usuals.”

maybe he’s dramatic, maybe he actually has a fucking brain as opposed to people who enjoy working at kingsman (”holy shit,” a handler had said to him once, “the newbies and interns keep asking me when there’s a new mission. should i just give them a fake one and see what type of story line they cook up?” yongguk said yes.) but the moment he steps back into the unnaturally large building, he can feel his last two remaining brain cells wilting out.

the weeks of being able to breathe without feeling like somebody had poisoned the mere air around you were admittedly and understandably, better to him and his health than he had wanted to think they would be in the first place. most of all though, he can’t help and miss the comfort of having family close to him — warm hands ruffling through his hair, someone calling him their son, telling him to come visit again — and maybe blood isn’t always thicker than water but he might as well have damn believed it was.

his eyes flicker over to the coffee shop and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t twist something ugly in his chest because all he does is think of jitae and all the mistakes yongguk had made like a fool, tripping over his own feet because he’s too stupid to do anything else. 

but he doesn’t catch sight of a particular kang jitae, so he thinks that he’s managed to cross one most likely uncomfortable conversation off the list as opposed to his planned seven for today. little steps bang yongguk, he tells himself, little steps.

and then he’s rightfully mistaken when he steps to the counter, order on the tip of his tongue when his drink is in front of him already. he throws a surprised look at the barista before his heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach and he thinks, shit, guess that makes eight awkward conversations today.

jitae’s there, and jitae remembers his favourite drink. it’s stupid, but it moves him more than it should.

“oh, jitae hyung.” he says a little dumbly. “that’s a good memory you have there.”

you’re all i see.

[kgyongguk]

jun.

[ ... ]

“i can do anything, as long as it’ll make you happy, so tell me.”

it’s soon after he spits out those angry words, cold and harsh and intending to cut out at people with the lashing of his tongue like it’s nothing abnormal that he regrets it immediately, dread washing over him. it’s rare for yongguk to lose his temper like this, or lose sense of what he’s saying at all, but around jun nowadaysㅡor has it always been there ever since the beginning? how long has he kept this under wrap for?ㅡ he finds himself slipping like he’s trying to grasp water between fingers.

this is the exact moment where he needs to apologise once more, to say he’s sorry for trying to inflict pain on him just because yongguk’s the one that’s hurting but he never takes into account how jun gets hurts too. he’s a foolish person, all numb tongued when he needs to speak and all sharp when he needs to shut up. there’s no self control, no switch that keeps him from falling apart at the seams and having nobody stitching back together because they’ve all left.

( because you don’t like saying sorry, do you? you don’t like apologizing to anybody, even if they own a part of your heart. you don’t like holding your heart out onto your sleeve and admitting that you’re wrong, that you’re flawed, that there’s cracks within you that people can’t fix with just tape and determination. it’s a habit you should learn how to break. )

he sees how absolutely frustrated jun looks, like it’s straining him just to have this conversation and it’s a switch that yongguk isn’t sure he can handle. from gawain, to knight, to jun, to hyung, back to gawain againㅡ he knows jun has to switch between them, it’s practically his job to but that still doesn’t leave a good feeling at the pit of his stomach. it makes him feel sick, that he’ll never really know who jun is.

there’s too many truths being said.

he’s always scared when someone admits to things that shouldn’t be admittedㅡ that maybe there’s something in him that’s worth looking into more than just the outward appearance of bang yongguk, something more than the bruises that litter his knuckles and the cuts that are scattered across his body like they’re masterpieces or works of art as opposed to stupid mistakes that he’d made as a kid far too young and stubborn to be contained within the walls of what society had set: street rat, poor kid, good for nothing.

“you always say that hyung,” he says at last, exasperation bleeding into his voice and he can’t help how exhausted he looks either with messy hair and pink lips, fingers shaking as he pulls down his jumper. “youㅡ you always say you love me like it’s the easier thing in the world, but i don’t think you do. i’m scareㅡ ”

(he pauses, because he won’t, won’t, won’t say that word in front of jun.)

“i think you love the idea of being in love with me.” he shakes his head. “or the idea of loving someone like me, of fixing me.”

self control.

[kgyongguk]

jisoo.

[ ... ]

he steps away slowly, knows that he’s already made eye contact. yongguk has found him, has found his place of work, god knows he’s probably found his home address too. jisoo’s heart races and he struggles to breath. his hands are shaking but he tries to seem normal, walking out of the reception area and heading to a back part of the library, trying to seem as casual as possible as he puts distance between himself and yongguk. 

he’s not surprised to see jisoo standing there. yongguk supposes, the entire reason he’s there is because he knows jisoo works there so it’d defeat the purpose itself ㅡ purpose being to beat the shit out of him and then find out what his affiliation is, preferably in that same order. which is why when he sees jisoo’s gaze drop to him, the unmistakable surprise that flashes across his face and yongguk thinks he’d be deemed an asshole if he says that’s his favourite look on the other so far.

a beat passes, with sudden eye contact it’s almost comedic how unaware everyone is of the horrible tension that arises just from a small action. 

another passes, before jisoo walks out to the back like nothing ever happened and yongguk feels his irritation flare up at how he’s always running away (and stabbing, and shooting, admittedly) after being caught.

not this time though. at least, not if yongguk can help it.

protocol be damned because he even though it’s certain someone who dresses as sugar candy to hang off an old man’s arm and ransacks a house for information is as dangerous as anyone else he’s caught, there’s just something about hong jisoo that won’t let him at rest. 

he crosses the room, fiddling with the card as casually as he can and trying his hardest not to limp in case the old lady sitting a table away from him that’s been giving him an odd look starts asking questions. he’s not really in the mood for a whole game of hide and seek in the library (what are they? eight year olds?) but he thinks it might have to come to that.

though, he walks quickly enough that he catches sight of the other’s back soon thereafter, rushing almost and his mouth can’t help but curve down.

“hong jisoo-ssi!”

mad city.

[kgyongguk]

mad city.

ft. @kgxjisoo

whereas it might not look it at that moment, yongguk isn’t a stalker.

or he could be judging by how he isn’t even on any certain mission at that moment ㅡ isn’t supposed to be, at least ㅡ but he still finds himself with an id that doesn’t belong to him between his index and middle finger like it’s the most natural thing in the world, steps away from the library that has its name printed across the top of the offending item. maybe now would be a good time to stop, to just head over to kingsman and hand the identification in but there’s something about finding out himself that’s so appealing.

that, and the fact that his leg still aches like a bitch and it didn’t help that he had yoongi over the other night who won’t stop commenting on his significantly evident limping as though it’s the only source of entertainment. his injury has, upsettingly, decreased his efficiency in the field by at least twenty seven percent and yongguk can’t help the fact that he wants to ask one (1) hong jisoo exactly who they are.

the thought of that drives him inside the library, one hand in pocket, the other playing with the card as he sweeps a glance over the room. 

got you.

[kgyongguk]

wei.

[ ... ]

he nudges the shirt up far enough so it stays up on its own, then uses both hands to be able to warm up the cream. “this might hurt a little, so how about you tell me your name?” this time the smile he shows is both reassuring and amused, before he puts his hands on the younger male’s ribs, gently rubbing the cream into the bruised area. “and how long have you been doing this?” that part, he admits, is simply utter curiosity.

contrary to popular belief (popular belief being that yongguk is fucking stupid with fish for brain cells and doesn’t know jack shit about countries outside of korea according to his best friend) yongguk’s actually always liked the idea of going to china and makes a somewhat approving hum under his breath when the other nods at the fact that he had gotten it right. he thinks now should be that time where he tries, horribly but nonetheless tries, to speak that one line of mandarin he knows but it’s too friendly a thing to do with someone who’s most likely judging your mistakes.

he scowls a little at the cold air that suddenly rushes from the room straight onto his bare skin and oh, just air shouldn’t hurt his bruises as much as it does, but he supposes that’s what he gets for overworking himself to the brim between fighting and work. they’re littered all over his body, too many in certain areas and he knows too much strain on even a healthy body has never been good.

( ”bang yongguk,” he friend once told him. “you’re going to die before you reach forty.” he remembers thanking them. )

“wei,” he says the name like he’s testing it on his tongue, a curiously different name for a curiously different stranger. he glances up, index finger already reaching up to press into the caved in space between cheek and mouth, the dimple,  before he drops his hand and makes a sound suspiciously like hm. “it’s fine, just do what you need to do.”

and he had said he wouldn’t show too much of a reaction but he still can’t help but hiss at the pressure on his ribs, even if it’s tiny, even if it’s warm hands applying them. “my name’s yongguk.” he answers, hesitant. “i’ve been doing this for... four years now? five years? since i was fifteen.”

it’s never occurred to him how quickly time flies when you're knocked out cold half of it. 

angel of harlem.

[kgyongguk]

jun.

[ ... ]

his expression folds, softens ever so slightly as he allows himself a smile, but it is nothing like the one he’d worn before, and it doesn’t even reach his eyes, not fully.

yongguk eventually realises that the two of them are their own enemies.

there’s a certainty in the fact that, indeed someone walking in on them at that exact moment, jun pressed against him, mouthing at his neck whilst yongguk’s shirt finds itself riding up again, would be more scandalous than not because it’s yongguk with jun but he finds himself not caring the moment he hears a laugh, all bell like and sweet to his ears.

and then it stopsㅡ freezes, even, when he suddenly feels colder than he wanted to and the body heat of another is gone. he barely has time to say anything, mouth parted in protest before he looks at the other and he’s not even sure it’s jun anymore, looking at him with such disassociation that it’s even worse than the first time they had met.

in kingsman, people would talk about them, find it hilarious really that the two most unlikely people had each other wrapped around their fingers. but there wouldn’t really be anyone that wanted to get in the middle of them, except other infiltrating enemies of them bothㅡ and those came with the job, a dime a dozenㅡ or people who were far too nosy. the people, he realises a little belatedly, who always mess it up for the two of them are themselves.

it leaves him feeling sick, regretful to the core when he notices how jun isn’t smiling at him properly like he means itㅡ it’s like he has to smile and yongguk’s never wanted to bury himself six feet deep in guilt, not like this. he messed it up himself, of course he did. he pulls his shirt down and shuffles away from the door, the stupid door, mouth dry.

this should be when he apologies for leaving that night, for leaving yet again after running away for more than two weeks, for coming back out of nowhere after over a month. but he can’t bring himself to, not when he feels something ugly inside of him grow.

“nothing.” he spits out, and it sounds undeniably unlike yongguk. “youㅡ it’s not like you’d care anymore, right? have you had your fun and revenge, now?”

self control.

[kgyongguk]

anyone: how’re you doing?

me: and how would I know that

[kgyongguk]

wei.

[ ... ]

“i’d try staying down a little bit longer if i were you, there’s a mean bruise forming right atop your ribs.” his tongue flicks out between his lips shortly as he dabs ointment on the particularly mean-looking split lip, before he closes the tube again and picks up another one. “i’ve got something for that here, but i just need to know if you’re allergic to anything?”

judging by the chuckle and the evidently amused look that the stranger gives him, yongguk thinks rightfully that he’s probably failed and has said something stupid that he can’t quite put his finger on. happens all the time, really, more than he’d like to, but he’s young and bold and too reckless, to the point where there’s been countless people telling him that maybe he should dial it down. plus, he’s bang fucking yongguk and the worse that can happen is a few broken bones.

or so he thinks. 

even though he knows he’s being laughed at more than with, yongguk still can’t help but throw a particularly pleased look at the elder (he looks and acts older, at least) that he’s managed to incite some sort of laughter. he supposes that even if his cuts are stinging and the bruises are going to leave him feeling like hell tomorrow, it’s nice to have someone pretty taking care of you like your designated nurse.

until a particularly loud yell from the ring leaves him scowling at the interruption, only to turn into a wince once he hears a large thud after that means someone probably didn’t have too great a night, even worse than his. he decides to not think about the broken body of another ugly fighter and glances back up, watching the way the person enunciates his words more strongly than other people do around him. now that yongguk’s a bit more woken up, he can tell clearly that this person’s a foreigner.

figures, he says to himself, you don’t get angels in korea.

he hisses at the impact of the ointment’s sting above his eye and he knows the stranger means well but it can’t help but hurt, like there’s being salt poured in. it only lasts for a second or so before it’s replaced with a more cooling sensation that he welcomes and he lets out a sigh of relief, shifting from his position so he’s a little more comfortable. or as comfortable as someone can get after being knocked out.

this time it’s his turn to be amused, letting out a surprised peal of laughter at the other’s concentration of the exact words he had used. “yeahㅡ if you’re still learning korean, probably not a good phrase to know. at least not now.” the corners of his lips curve into a dipped smile. “foreigner, huh? i’m guessing china.”

he blinks, ointment being dabbed onto his split lip as he furrows his eyebrows. “i don’t think i’m allergic to anything,” he offers as helpfully as he can, but it’s kind of difficult when medical care is such a rarity where he’s from. “i’m fine, i’ve been through worse.”

(aren’t you a bit too young? people ask him when he says stuff like that. he tells them to fuck off.)

“what’s your name?”

angel of harlem.

[kgyongguk]

jun.

[ ... ]

“do you have to leave again now?”

he’s pliant.

he being yongguk, but of course he is. there’s a feeling very much akin to apologetic in the way that his mouth molds against the elder’s and even in heated scenarios like this he can’t help the way that his mind runs off onto other problems, like an ever ending train track of regret that won’t stop until it’s satisfied ruining him.

if the way jun looks at him has him feeling something hot at the bottom of his stomach, the growl afterwards has him positively dry mouthed, his chest flipping over into itself because it’s rare that he sees the detached almost feral side of him compared to the one that’s usually sewn together with beautifully tied together ideologies and kindness. yongguk realises that this side makes him feel something that he can’t describe.

shut up, jun says to him and he hears, it’s fine. maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let his emotions overrun his logic this time.

so he doesn’t stop kissing back, the atmosphere in the air thick and heavy with tension that neither of them can deny (he supposes this is what weeks of separation does. idly, he can remember the phrase absence makes the heart grow fonder somewhere near the back of his mind). but even so, he can’t help but be terrified that someone could walk in on them any second.

and oh, what a scandal that would make. kingsman’s very own knight, their precious gawain, locking lips with a thug like bang yongguk who barely belonged there as people used to (or do they still?) say. they’d demand his head on a spiked stick and the thought is enough to make him tense up for a second.

(if they want his head, they can take it.)

he doesn’t know when their position shifts entirely so that his back is pressed tight against the door, grazing his skin slightly in a way that feels better than it should when his shirt rides up so that it’s halfway up his chest. there’s immediately the assault of cold air on his bare skin, goosebumps riding up and yongguk can’t bring himself to care. fingers dig into his back, enough to leave marks if they haven’t already and if jun just presses a little, little harder.

the idea of jun leaving marks on him appeals very much so.

he flushes light pink at the abrupt fondness that’s a change from the intensity before and it’s so doting that he squirms under it, suddenly nervous as he releases his tight grasp from the back of jun’s suit. pity, he thinks, that he’s probably crumpled the jacket by now.

“i’ve missed you too.” he says, nothing less of a lie but unsure of what else he can say that won’t expose himself too much. he shifts, pretends that jun’s knee isn’t between his legs.

yongguk thinks about it, knows that he should leave and tell the higher ups that he’s not, well, dead. but that takes too long.

he swallows. “i ㅡ not right now, i don’t.”

self control.

[kgyongguk]

wei.

[ ... ]

he hopes he’s right about that, or else he might just be rubbing salt in a wound along with antiseptic.

yongguk’s living off adrenaline. 

see, it makes sense ㅡ in the ring, when he sees the aura of ‘maim or get maimed’ surround everyone he can’t help but just think that he wants to be the formerㅡ because he knows  he deserves to feel as though he’s alive. call it self pity or such, there’s something admirable (or so he tells himself because the idea of anything different is unfathomable) in digging himself out from the trash he had to call home for eighteen years.

maybe not entirely so. he remembers being at the young age of fifteen. not quite an adult yet, but his circumstances made him feel as though there wasn’t much difference between being one and not being one. he remembers approaching the club, lying through his teeth that there was someone in there that he knew, stepping in and having the stench of blood and rusting metal overwhelm him.

(he remembers finding home for the first time in his life, he remembers it all.)

so even if it brings him to now, barely nineteen with blood on his knuckles and face and the iron smell dizzying him, he knows he can’t quit until he wins. and he punches but it’s not quite enough. there’s a split second where he thinks he might win before it goes starts getting dim, cheek grazed against the gravel of the floor, the roar of the crowd deafening like vibrations in his ears.

he gives in.

when he wakes up, his head is rested on the lap of someone he can’t make the face out of and he squints against the bright lights of the arena. he can tell he’s still in the club (if the shouts are any help with that) though it’s muffled, like he’s in a different room entirely and he’s listening through walls that are thin. it doesn’t hurt at the beginning, and then there’s something rubbed into his wounds and he winces, eyes suddenly focusing on the stranger.

it’s probably the alcohol that’s thrumming in his system too ㅡ one of the hyungs had offered it, said it would make him feel less like he’s looking through a hazy glass ㅡ but he can’t help but stare, barely aware of the fact that he had been asked a question.

“of course i did. you should see the other guy.” he blurts out, much like the stupid nineteen year old kid that he is trying to sound stronger in the presence of delicate beauty, specifically one that’s fixing his wounds up for him like some sort of angel. he bites his tongue to stop himself from asking dumb questions and winces again, shifting.

a pause. “i don’t mean to sound stupidㅡ fuck, this hurts like a son of a biㅡ but, uh, i’m not in heaven or something, right?”

angel of harlem.

[kgyongguk]

jun.

[ ... ]

there are very few times lee jun loses his cool, but somehow bang yongguk seems to make it happen every time their eyes meet.

it’s terrifying, to say the least, waiting for jun to reply instead of standing there with that calm facade of his that’s always pulled over his face like a mask, like a knight, like gawain instead of the lee jun that he knows and he hates it because it’s his fault everything is suddenly so constrained. he wonders whether he knows how much yongguk wants to apologise, even if his tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth and every word feels like bile rising in his throat, stomach churning in a way so unpleasant.

he holds his breath, hopes that his attempt to drag them somewhere more private wasn’t noticed too much by the other employees and that they aren’t eyeing him with a mixture of suspicion and irritation because ‘how come bang yongguk gets to come back after a month and act like nothing ever happened?’

so when his offer is accepted, he can’t help but look mildly pleased with himself and nod, hand buried deep in his pocket, like the world won’t be crashing around him any second now if he just so happens to slip up and say something stupid like usual. “i can’t promise i won’t try enforce my paperwork on you,” he replies, tone just short of something humorous because he will be throwing his workload on someone else ㅡ just not jun. maybe one of the new trainees or kids below him.

(because that’s what they’re there for, apparently.)

yet the anxiousness brews in his chest when he follows jun into one of the open rooms, gnawing on his bottom lip in something that isn’t fear but more like uncertainty. there’s an air that separates the two, there’s never something that’s a hundred percent certain between them.

they enter the room and he immediately sees the frown that sits on the elder’s mouth and it’s not a look that yongguk likes at all ㅡ too overriden by the guilt and the knowledge that it’s there because of him. he opens his mouth, about to make out some sort of half assed apology that he can’t help but say when he suddenly can’t breathe.

he kisses back with the fervour and passion of someone who’s trying to apologise and forget his regret, and his bag clatters to the ground as he reaches up to grip hair between his fingers. he tilts his head, mouth slotting against mouth before he pulls back, voice exhausted.

“i ㅡ i left that night, i’m sorry but i have tㅡ  had to.”

self control.

[kgyongguk]

TITLE . DON’T YOU EVER SHUT UP ?

and then – then – this fucking asshole just has to put the final nail in the coffin for jinhwan and his already crumbling nerves. those words, that teasing in his phrasing, and then the look yongguk gives him – eyes trailing down with the corners of his lips quirking. oh, well, today is just the day to be fucked over, isn’t it?

BANG YONGGUK + JUNG JINHWAN ( @kgjinhwan )