quisling | j.wy + c.s

0.1 ; the black of night lulls me to sleep

❝ it is engraved in stone
will it cost us our lives? ❞

𐬿𐬼𐬿

➪ scanning...
target locked ✔︎

: jung wooyoung

wooyoung threw the envelope on the table, almost angrily so, as he stood at the foot of it with his arms crossed across his wide chest. a singular tattoo peeked from under his forearm, snaking down to his hand like a glove. it seemed to pulsate with his heartbeat.

the man across from him sat at the other end of the table, looking up at wooyoung through his heavy eyelids; the weight of sleepless nights and troubled responsibilities danced on his tan skin. overgrown black strands fell on his forehead and down the back of his neck, laying rather gracefully at the cuff, moving slightly with every word spoken from the man's mouth. he had his calloused hands drawn up on the table, clasped together gently. comically large rings adorned each finger of his, an accumulation of vastly different designs, glinting sharply under the overhead light. getting punched by that shit must hurt like hell. a singular painted nail could be seen on his pinkie, matching his hair color.

"this is what you wanted, right, hongjoong?" wooyoung broke the silence. he looked slightly down at the older individual, from the spot he stood several feet away. they were not alone.

"indeed," hongjoong spoke gruffly, albeit gently.

"well, what is it?" wooyoung prodded impatiently. he was curious as to what he collected at the price of death just hours prior. the night already seemed to forget of the destruction that occurred under its gaze; wooyoung was certain it would never fully erase the memory of it, just as he would. he remained curious, however.

"hard to say," hongjoong leaned back in his chair with the envelope in hand, inspecting it, "secrets not to be shared. everyone has their life on the line to get their hands on it. it's been tossed around like a hot rock." the man could sense the fire in wooyoung's eyes. "they weren't the only ones to die with this in their possession."

wooyoung did not like what that entailed.

"so what, why is it so valued?" the first person to speak that wasn't wooyoung or hongjoong; he seemed to have been waiting for an opportunity to speak, shuffling from foot to foot beside wooyoung, pressed against the table curiously. the boy was not much older than wooyoung, a little over a year, with a face just as young, if not arguably younger, than the latter. his eyes bore less light, however, hands stained just a bit more red than wooyoung's. mark lee was brash. wooyoung found him amusing.

hongjoong took a second to reply, biting his tongue as if to refrain from revealing too much. to his own people?classic. "you know what we are. corruption means blackmail, blackmail means money. you are well-equipped with this knowledge and understand fully what we do. that is why you are up here," hongjoong paused to take a breath, to think. "we need all the advantages we can take, with this," he gestured, waving the flimsy envelope in the air (wooyoung could not fathom its importance), "we can make it big."

wooyoung scoffed, not understanding, reluctantly choosing to not do so — he never understood, just did as he was told. it was in his blood to obey. they paid him good either way.

mark, beside him, with his thick blond locks of hair, curling beneath his chin, waves of it lapping at his neck incessantly, as if on fire, chuckled at wooyoung's reaction, a silent agreement in its exchange. wooyoung figured that as long as he could get high, he could care less, really. he liked that part of mark.