our trail of gold ; jeongcheol

Chapter 10

Seungkwan...

Seungkwan...

"Oi! Are you fucking stupid?" Dylan – no, Seungkwan– scoffed. "I despise when people ignore me. New guy, you're itching for my fist to be shoved down your throat." Dylan pushed away his coffee and suddenly walked, startling what was left of Junhui's sanity and human functioning. He trembled as Dylan stepped, torturing him and the prickling in his eyes as his face came closer.

The kitchen was cold, the only heat brimming from the bitterness of caffeine, the scent of coffee only familiar with the eyes of the ex-footballer and formerly dead Boo. Junhui peered down to the tiled floor. The splinters of the broken ware were scattered around his path, and Dylan stopped only short of mashing a sharp shard.

Junhui licked his lips and tasted cream. His saliva was morbid and drudged with acid. Dylan's forehead was tan and slightly pressed with anger lines. The thin dyed red sprinkled across smooth skin and dark eyes, and Junhui licked his lips again, shoes crunching against the broken ceramic.

The singer twitched and pulled him by his straight pressed collar. The edge picked at his neck, and Dylan's fingers rubbed against his collar bones, shattering the pale white contrast of his cheeks.

"I don't like you," he whispered, suddenly chuckling, lips cracked and rubbing against his skin. "You look like a fag. Do you fuck boys, or do you prefer a cock in you?" Dylan pushed him away in a near punch, and Junhui couldn't stabilize his body in time before he fell, back dropping on the floor. Dylan snickered at him, lips curled. The singer grabbed his coffee, one finger pressing in the inside of the handle, and tipped the cup to trickle the hot liquid onto his chest and the depth of his midsection. He stared at the composer once more, eyes unreadable and holding no emotion, bland as the sallow colour of his face and tanned forehead.

Junhui forced himself to close his eyes and hold in the sob, uncontrollable as the rancid taste of hurt and tears filled his throat. The door slammed and the burning in his chest had nothing to do with the heat from the caffeine. The whimpers became too much to hold in as he draped his fingers across his eyes and felt the wetness.

He just felt his soul shatter. And there was no way that it could ever be repaired. Seungkwan was no longer Seungkwan. This wasn't his Seungkwan. It was a completely different person.

A person who hated him.

—

"For how much longer are you going to keep ignoring me?"

Jeonghan pressed a key on his laptop and stared over at the man sitting across his table, legs crossed in crisp leather pants and buckles littering the expanse of the fit. His new client was quiet as he handled the receiver, fiddling with his communications system with his finger hovering over the rectangular shaped button.

"Forever. I have a client Kim. If you would actually make yourself present and get here maybe I would answer your calls. Goodbye."

"You–"

Jeonghan tapped the knob and Kim's voice was eradicated. The man just across him stared hard as he replaced the receiver, fixating his gaze to the soft skin of Jeonghan's face.

"Taeyong-sshi, is it?" said Jeonghan, pulling up a new form on his laptop and scrolling through the empty boxes. The slim legs, a mirror of his own, slipped to press side by side, and the pretty man quirked his lips, sight enhanced by perfectly drawn black rimming.