The Scent of Muddy rain and Cigarettes

Where have you been?

There. That was all the gangs he had to take care of that day. He lit a cigarette, bringing the stick to his mouth and slowly inhaled the warm fumes through his nose, the smoke filling his lungs as he puffed on the small roll that brought him so much bliss after having a good fight or in this case, vexation. Something annoyed him. The troublesome thing starting like an itch and spreading everywhere throughout his body ever since he saw Daniel Park being mushy with the third son of the Hong Family also known as the fashion department Prince, Jay Hong. His mood going more foul by the second and it was convenient timing that some wannabe teenage gangsters started bugging him. So he simply beat them up to remind them of their place and also to release his pent up anger onto them. Turns out those little shits weren't alone and soon he was surrounded by many gangs who wanted to beat him up to take revenge for their fallen ones. This came to that and now it's back in the present where he had just finished smoking and threw the butt away. Irritated, he just kicked some random nearby body of a boy who was barely breathing and walked away.

It suddenly started raining but he could hardly care as he continued walking. He started remembering that on a rainy day like this he had disqualified one of his successor candidates. The one who always had two dogs by his side and was hellbent on becoming his successor in order to meet the chairman to convince him to get his blind mother on the waiting list so that she could have surgery performed on her. His goals were rather admirable but in the end he failed. He suddenly stopped when he felt that he stepped on something, presumably an arm. He glanced down to see the person from his thoughts lying unconscious on the ground covered in fresh as well as old bruises. His hair getting dampened in the puddle that formed around him. The fact that he was unconscious in the middle of nowhere was a bit worrying. How long had he been like that? And when the hell did he become so weak? A minute of staring at the passed out boy on the ground went by then he extended his arms out each one wrapping around the back of his neck and his legs carrying him in a roughly soft way. He couldn't have left him out here in the pouring rain. The authorities might find the former candidate and he might spill everything and get the corporation in danger. He started walking as if the bundle in his arms didn't weigh at all. The clothes he wore, getting wet by the merciless droplets of water falling from the sky. He also noticed the bruises were darker when seen on a closer, a couple of injuries here and and there, a busted lip and a broken leg. He needed to get a doctor to patch up those wounds if he didn't want to bleed out in his home and have that broken leg looked after.

Now, Johan was sleeping on his bed, unaware of his surroundings and who was around him. The private doctor of the HNH group had come by earlier and had treated the boy the best he can after seeing how young the boy was. Applying some ointments on his injuries and a whole lot of medical stuff that Gun wasn't in the mood to pay attention to. The doctor had given him a set of instructions on how to take care of him and prescribed some medicines for the cold the boy had gotten due to staying in the rain for too long. Johan was passed out on his bed now, shivering and furrowing his eyebrows and muttering the words '𝘮𝘰𝘮'..... '𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵' ....𝘨𝘰'....'𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦' every now and then. Gun got up, now fully changed out of his wet clothes. His attire being a white shirt lazily buttoned and black trousers. He reached his closet, pulling the door open and walking in and looking around for a shirt that might be able to fit Johan. Something caught his eye, in the corner there was his black and white Louis Vuitton shirt. The one he wore when he met Hostel. He plucked it off the hanger and got out. His feet leading him to his bed where Johan slept. He got to him and started to take the wet clothes off of Johan's body to make him wear his shirt. His eyes somehow couldn't help linger down to the frame of his. He was small and had a lithe figure. Fat in all the right places. Thin, supple legs and the absence of body hair. He slowly took his time wrapping the shirt around him and even after he had buttoned him, the shirt could barely stay on his shoulders slipping down to expose his bare shoulder. For his lower body, he just made him wear his pair of old boxers. Now, everything was done. He sat back down on the chair near the bed, observing every little thing about him, how his chest rose and fell with every breath he took, the parting of his lips from time to time, the curling of his fingers and every single detail of him.