Hostage {ℍ𝕐𝕌ℕ𝕊𝕌ℕ𝔾} -- DISCONTINUED

Chapter Eighteen

Jisung awoke, eyes slowly blinking open. The pressure in his chest vanished as he exhaled, soft streams of light coming in through the window across the room. He must have been truly exhausted to have slept this late, with nothing but the whispers of a nightmare at the back of his mind. He couldn't remember the last time it had happened.

Eyebrows furrowing, his gaze darted around his surroundings; where the hell was he?

He sat up, rubbing his eyes as he glanced around what was obviously a living room, a soft, wool blanket draped over him. He didn't even remember returning last night; after he'd dropped Minho off, he'd been so exhausted he must have just collapsed on the first comfortable surface he came across.

He ran a hand through his hair, looking down at his now-wrinkled clothes, debating whether or not he should get changed. He shrugged and shook his head; he was too tired for that. What he needed, however, was food; he realized right at that moment that he hadn't eaten in nearly an entire day, too focused on chasing down leads.

Groaning he forced himself to his feet, stretching. The kitchen was a little way away from the living room, given how large this manor was, but it was much homier than his own home, he would admit that much. Hyunjin didn't seem to be the type of person who enjoyed being doted on or served – part of him could respect that.

He'd never admit it, but it was refreshing to be in this sort of environment, one so different from the formal meals his father forced him and Jeongin to endure throughout their youth. He rubbed his eyes as he trudged along the halls, settling on making himself... a toast.

While Jisung may have been a genius in the art of fighting, torturing, and escaping – all those mob things – he was helpless in the kitchen. He wouldn't even try to cook something; it would be the perfect opportunity for Hyunjin to get his revenge on him for making fun of his code.

Chuckling under his breath, he shook his head; he still couldn't believe the code was Count Chocula. Who even ate that cereal? Children? It was a good code, though, he would give it that much credit. Nobody would ever be able to guess it, especially not the type of rugged men that would try to break into his home.

When he stepped into the kitchen, he realized he wasn't the only one in there; Hyunjin sat on one of the stools, still adorned in baggy pyjamas, his hair tied above his head like a child's doll, a bowl of something in his hands.

Upon further inspection, Jisung noticed the box of Count Chocula cereal perched on the counter. Hyunjin met his eyes with a startled blink. Jisung's eyes darted between both the cereal and the gang leader as he slowly chewed on his mouthful of food, the impending urge to laugh marking his doom.

After a few moments of silence passed between them Hyunjin finally swallowed. "Say anything and I'll kill you." He took another bite.

That was all Jisung could take as he doubled over in laughter, body trembling as he leaned against the counter for support. Hyunjin watched him with narrowed eyes as he grimaced at him, taking another aggressive bite of his cereal.

He pressed a hand to his mouth in an effort to muffle the cackles that emerged from his throat, but to no avail; nothing could stifle the growing humour he found in the situation. With a resigned sigh Hyunjin pouted at his cereal. "It's good," he mumbled, and that was all it took to send Jisung into another fit of laughter.

With a scowl and a huff Hyunjin slammed the box in front of his face. "Try it." A smile toyed at the ends of Jisung's lips as he quirked a brow at the box, but nonetheless reached for a bowl. At least this prevented him from having to attempt to cook anything.

They ate in silence, and Jisung had to admit it – this cereal was good. He wouldn't be caught dead eating it anywhere else, though; his father would have a field day.

Just then, Hyunjin's phone rang and he placed his bowl down as he reached for it. "Hello?" he said, his voice once again back to the stone-cold, steely gang leader. His eyes widened as his jaw clenched. "What?" Closing his eyes, he sighed as he leaned against the counter, massaging the bridge of his nose. "Alright. Pull them out."

Jisung's eyebrows furrowed at the one-sided exchange he'd heard, and Hyunjin met his eyes, gaze grim and angry. "The bodies are gone."

~#~#~#~#~#~

Jisung leaned against the wall, staring at Hyunjin who sat behind his desk, eyes closed as he rested his chin against his interlaced hands. They'd been silent for a while now, ever since they'd received the pictures of the two dead guards and the empty cellar that had been full of the corpses of the people they were meant to find.

"They're onto us," he said, at last. Hyunjin exhaled heavily through his nose and nodded, jaw clenched. The underlying question, however, was the same as always; how did they know they were onto them? Unless they had eyes and ears everywhere.

Hyunjin gnawed on his bottom lip as he pushed himself away from his desk, pacing the length of the room; it was the first time Jisung had seen him lose his cool like this. "It must be a rat," he hissed, shaking his head as he paused, pinching the bridge of his nose. "That scientist – Minho – you're sure he's safe?"

With a roll of his eyes Jisung kicked off the wall and crossed the room until he stood next to Hyunjin, feeling better at the proximity. "One hundred percent safe. He's trying to stay as far away from gang life as possible – he wouldn't go back, not for anything." Or anyone.

"It's probably one of mine, then." Hyunjin seemed rueful as he said it, as though he didn't want to accept that it was a possible course of action. He sighed, shoulders slumping, and Jisung caught a glimpse of what was under that mask of anger.

It was sadness.

He was familiar enough with it that he'd be able to recognize it anywhere, on anyone. He wasn't too sure why it was such a prevalent emotion in Hyunjin's face right at that moment, nor did he think he'd ever be able to understand it.

His father had once killed a handful of their men under the mere suspicion that they were rats, feeding info to the Hwangs, the Bangs, or both. He probably should've known better than to assume all gangs were like his own.

Still, though, it seemed almost... strange, the way the thought of a rat dampened Hyunjin's spirits so much. He didn't seem particularly close to his members; he was more like the silent hand that guided them from the shadows. Before this exchange Jisung would have been able to recount the amount of times he'd seen Hyunjin in person on one hand.

He bit his tongue, knowing that it wasn't his place to ask about it; this was Hyunjin's problem, he'd deal with it on his own. Besides, he probably wouldn't take too kindly to Jisung interfering with the internal affairs of his gang.

So, he said the one thing he thought of, the one thing that always made him feel better whenever he was down. He said it before he could even fully process his own words, his mouth moving quicker than his mind.

"Wanna hit the gym?"

A/N: I did it again, guys :,) when I first started working on Hostage in July/August I was like "yeah this is gonna be a short-ish 40k fic" and now, here we are at almost 30k, not even halfway done yet. I hate it here 

Lots of love,

~Emilie