strings & bullets┃hajeongwoo (under revision)

〚 ch: thirty 〛

“don't worry, we're already on our way jeongwoo. nothing bad will happen to jio, we will save him.”

jeongwoo whimpers, wiping away a single tear that streamed down his cheeks as he nodded to his uncle's words before mumbling his pleas and hanging up the phone.

sighing, he turns his head outside to calm the turbulence inside him. his feet tapping anxiously on the car's floor, his hands tightly clutching his phone.

he then felt a hand on his shoulder, “i'm sorry woo, i shouldn't have invited you out to a cafe that is an hour away from your pla– ”

he shakes his head, turning around to face jaehyuk, who is sitting in the driver's seat with an ashamed expression on his face. he does appear to be remorseful, but it is not his fault.

“hyung, it's not your fault.”

it was probably jeongwoo's fault for saying yes... wasn't it?

meanwhile junkyu, who is sitting in the back, leans forward to pat jaehyuk and jeongwoo on the back. he smiles at them, the one that assures them both that everything will be fine.

“this is not the time to point the finger at yourself, jaehyuk. we need to save jio, drive faster.” junkyu gives a firm command, to which jaehyuk silently agreed before stepping on the gas.

and jeongwoo can only hope that it is not too late. he cannot afford to lose another important person in his life, not now, not again. he won't do the same mistake again, he will save his son.

his grip on the seat tightens, and his brow furrows as he focuses on the road ahead.

papa's coming, jio.

• • •
tw // mention of dead bodies
and blood.

“jio!” an anxious yell escapes his mouth as he hurriedly got off the car. he comes to a halt, a single tear streaming down his cheeks as he sees his house, riddled with bullet holes.

is it too late for him?

he dashes towards the house, ignoring the calls of his friends and some of the officers stationed outside. his gaze wandered aimlessly around the house. broken glass littered the place; it was in shambles, as if a storm had turned the place upside down. dead bodies of men were strewn about the living room, along with fresh blood that smelled like hot metal coils in the air emitting an unpleasant seem. and it doesn't seem like it's been long since everything happened.

did his uncle and the officers engaged in combat with all of these men?

“jio! uncle!” he exclaims, but neither of them is present, nor have their shadows appeared to calm his fears.

he takes a step, desperate enough to search the entire house, when he comes across something he didn't notice that is blocking his path and he stops.

a faint gasp escapes his throat as his gaze is drawn to a man whose body is bathed in a rich, deep red puddle of his own blood. given the number of times jeongwoo has fought on the battlefield, he should not be surprised or disgusted by the sight. but seeing it in his own home, his humble abode where he shared precious moments with his son, knocks him for a loop. jio, without a doubt, must have witnessed all of this. dead bodies, guns, and bullets flying around. his son must have been terrified, and he was not here to shelter him.

his gaze was drawn to something else, a picture frame protruding from the man's back.

he kneels, pushing the man aside with his shaking hand as he pulls the frame. his thumb brushes over the blood-stained glass pieces from the broken frame, causing cuts on his hands that he didn't seem to mind. hot tears well up in the corners of his eyes, and his fingers trace over the outline as he absorbs the memory evoked by the picture inside the frame. a one-year-old baby. his son was beaming, his little hands reaching out, and the sparkle in his eyes couldn't be missed.