Burnout ⊗ Jeongchan

④③ Liminal

Forewarning: Drug use and language that can be seen as foul in the first half, (minor) descriptions of violence in the second.

That night, the Hub was alive.

Of translucent eyes and thundering feet, stomping to the beats of breaks shouting to stop, it was alive. More alive than he had ever seen it. As if he had been seeing it through a different lense; one much clearer than the last but somehow just as warped. He felt his heart bleeding with every moment he spent wandering farther and farther away from the exit, yet he didn't have a care to stop. At one point his phone might have rang loud in his pocket but he was too swept up in navigating unfamiliar faces to ever respond. Navigating to find a place without anyone to tell him where to go.

And miraculously, ten minutes later Jeongin sat against the tires of a car, spilling his heart out to two strangers in a group of many he didn't recognize. He never asked their names, never being brave enough to look up from his flexed hands, yet he raved about every inch of pain he felt crawling in his chest.

"The King? Yeah, he's pretty heartless. Don't beat yourself up," One of them responded, the person to his left, he thinks they had dyed pink hair but it was nearly impossible to see. The one in front of him nodded along and reached into his pocket.

"Want this?" The brown haired guy held a small tablet on the end of his finger, proudly presenting it toward the younger without a second thought, "It will make you feel better."

Jeongin stared at it for a little before asking, "What is it?"

"You don't know?" The man turned to his friend, a light snicker on both of their lips as they taunted. There was no more details to tell of their tones or voices, actions or otherwise, because Jeongin never looked. He didn't care enough to. He just shut it out, everything that told him to stop, the inhibitions that locked him up so well. He simply shut it out, until they made the comment, "He doesn't know. How can you be the King's bitch but not know?"

He pursed his lips, but they continued.

"Does he pay you? Whatever he pays you, I will give you double if you get high and keep me company tonight."

"If you don't know shit, do you know what that means?"

Jeongin simply pressed the tips of his fingers together and curled in on himself, "No."

The two just turned to each other again and laughed. An uncomfortable feeling crawled in his gut. The sirens he had left on mute so many weeks ago came blaring back louder than ever, only this time belting, you need to get back to Chan. With a quiet huff, Jeongin stood from his spot on the ground, "I need to be leaving."

"Back to your owner?"

"He's not... He's-" Yeah, what is he exactly? Jeongin froze in his spot. Rooted by the seeds of doubt that planted in his mind, the only conclusions he could draw led to places he didn't want to go. Things he didn't want to believe. None of it was true, Chan wasn't like that, and yet a bitterness overtook his senses to pull the curtain over his eyes. He kicked a heel at the ground, tongue pressing to the roof of his mouth as he hissed, "He doesn't give a fuck about me."

"And you're surprised? Come on, what else were you expecting? A loving relationship? That man doesn't care about anything besides his car and money," One of them commented again, he didn't know which, but he could hear the nod of agreement from the other. "Now, come on. Do you want this? It's fine if you don't but at least let me know man."

The answer was no, yet... Why am I hesitating?

If it really would make him feel better then he wouldn't have to worry about the way his heart dropped in his chest, or the way his lungs constricted with any notion of another coming argument. There was so much. Too much, it was too much, but here he was having to make a decision among all of it with only the faint idea that he needed to get back to the shop, back to the crew, and back to Chan, even if he had to roll on the ground to earn his forgiveness no matter how minor his offense may have been. But he hesitated. What was waiting for him when he did go back? Loving arms? A pat on the back? Or would they, like his mother, wish for him to be dead? To disappear?