Ship/Member: Seungkwan/Wonwoo Major Tags: Assassins/hitmen Additional Tags: Lots of talk of blood and bullet wounds and murder; ambiguous character death Permission to remix: Yes
this kind of got away from me and veered off-prompt, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless ♥
Well, first things first:
“You couldn’t have shot me in the shoulder? The foot?” When there’s no reply Seungkwan scoffs and continues tearing the bedsheet into thin strips. It’s a cheap motel and the sheets are - were - too, but he’s pretty sure they’ll be enough to keep him from bleeding out in the next hour. And even if they aren’t, it’s not like he’ll be around to regret it.
“Here, hold this.” He starts wrapping the makeshift bandage around his forearm. “It’s pretty rude not to make it a headshot, you know,” he lectures, only wincing a little as the bedsheet is immediately soaked through with blood. “Now it’ll take me hours to bleed out, and it’ll hurt. That’s inconsiderate, okay?”
“You shouldn’t make your own tourniquet. It could give you severe nerve damage,” Wonwoo says - the first words he offered Seungkwan in five years. He probably thinks the gunshot said enough.
“I took a first aid class, jerk. And, hey!” He stops wrapping long enough to slap Wonwoo’s knee with his uninjured arm. “The shooter isn’t allowed to give the shoot-ee advice! You lose all of your credibility when you, you know! Shoot!”
Wonwoo doesn’t have a response to that one, which, typical. He gets Seungkwan a glass of water, though, and makes him drink the whole thing. After that he does a pretty good job of holding bedsheets steady, though, and even secures it himself once the bleeding has slowed enough. Up close he smells like sweat and metal and nothing. His hands are steady even when slippery with blood; he’s probably uncomfortable any other way.
After, Seungkwan makes Wonwoo sit on the other bed on the side furthest from Seungkwan, as if a few centimeters will save him. The gun is still where he dropped it, right after. It would be useless to go after it - knowing Wonwoo, there are at least two others somewhere on his person, and he could very easily kill Seungkwan with the pillowcase, that lamp, the hotel-supplied shampoo…
Probably a good idea to stop thinking along those lines.
“So,” he says instead, “you’re still trying to kill me?” Keep it light, conversational.
Wonwoo’s face does that thing it always does when he’s in (emotional) pain, which is get even more handsome. He’s so good at brooding, it’s infuriating; no assassin should be able to make moral conflict that pretty. (Seungkwan yelled that at him the first or second time Wonwoo tried to kill him, back in… Granada? Seville? Somewhere Andalusian; Wonwoo just looked confused, which was, predictably, gorgeous as well.)
“You changed your code name.” Wonwoo spreads his hands as if offering penance, but, unfortunately for him, they remain empty. “When I got the contract, it said- So I didn’t know.”
Seungkwan rolls his eyes. There are black spots near the edges of his vision, but that doesn’t mean anything, probably. “I’ve been Ghost since 2020. A good hitman would keep abreast of his industry peers.”
At the noise Wonwoo lets out, Seungkwan double-checks to make sure he himself wasn’t shot. “I’m not. Anymore.”
“Good?”
“A- that, I’m not that anymore.”
Seungkwan doesn’t have enough energy to give that the response it deserves, so he simply gestures - arm, gun, blood on the carpet, soaking through the weave. Wonwoo lets out another groan.
“It wasn’t like that. I’m out of the game. I’ve been out since…” He pauses, lets Seungkwan fill in the blank with the words neither of them would ever, ever say out loud to the other: since Riga. “I was back in Seoul, keeping my head down. I had a job, Seungkwan-ah, part-time and the pay was bad, but I never had to hurt anyone. I was… happy. I think.”
Seungkwan’s throat is dry. He can feel all of the blood in his body, and all of the blood that’s coming out of it. He has to swallow twice before he can find his voice. “But you shot me.”
Wonwoo’s running his hands through his hair, which has grown out to brush the nape of his neck, and would probably feel soft beneath Seungkwan’s fingers, like baby bird feathers. “By the time they found me, there were things I didn’t want to lose. Things they could use as…”
“Leverage.” Seungkwan is almost sympathetic, except that any sympathy he’d ever had for Jeon Wonwoo died on a cold Latvian beach. “What’s her name, Wonwoo-sshi? I hope you hide her better this time. If she’s still alive.”
Wonwoo doesn’t rise to the bait. He never did. “One file. One name. After that I would be done. All of my debts would be paid. But. Seungkwan. You have to listen.” His Professor Jeon voice, self-serious to a fault, they all always used to make fun of him when he got like this except Seungkwan didn’t hate it as much as he pretended to (and, unfortunately, Wonwoo knew that.) “I didn’t know it was you. I never wanted to hurt you again.”
His tongue feels thick and heavy. His body feels thick and heavy. His blood feels… “You… Bullshit…” he chokes out.
Wonwoo has crossed the distance between the beds in one fluid motion, has gotten on his knees in the gap in between, is looking up at Seungkwan imploringly, big serious eyes, beautiful sad mouth. His hand on Seungkwan’s ankle, grasping or caressing, to hurt or to soothe, Seungkwan has never been able to tell.
Go away, Seungkwan wants to say, you’re not allowed to touch me anymore; but his mouth isn’t working. His throat isn’t working. He licks his lips, and finally he tastes the sleeping powder.
“I’m sorry, Seungkwan-ah,” Wonwoo says softly, "I swear I am." And the worst part is, he really must be. He looks so handsome saying it.
- No, actually, this is the worst part: the last thing Seungkwan says before he loses consciousness, maybe the last thing he’ll ever say in this lifetime - not a yell of triumph, not a scream of revenge. When it comes to this, Seungkwan’s never been so lucky. When it comes to Wonwoo, he’s always been a fool.
“Wonwoo,” Seungkwan whispers, and then it all floats away.
Re: a soul that could easily kill
Major Tags: Assassins/hitmen
Additional Tags: Lots of talk of blood and bullet wounds and murder; ambiguous character death
Permission to remix: Yes
this kind of got away from me and veered off-prompt, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless ♥
Well, first things first:
“You couldn’t have shot me in the shoulder? The foot?” When there’s no reply Seungkwan scoffs and continues tearing the bedsheet into thin strips. It’s a cheap motel and the sheets are - were - too, but he’s pretty sure they’ll be enough to keep him from bleeding out in the next hour. And even if they aren’t, it’s not like he’ll be around to regret it.
“Here, hold this.” He starts wrapping the makeshift bandage around his forearm. “It’s pretty rude not to make it a headshot, you know,” he lectures, only wincing a little as the bedsheet is immediately soaked through with blood. “Now it’ll take me hours to bleed out, and it’ll hurt. That’s inconsiderate, okay?”
“You shouldn’t make your own tourniquet. It could give you severe nerve damage,” Wonwoo says - the first words he offered Seungkwan in five years. He probably thinks the gunshot said enough.
“I took a first aid class, jerk. And, hey!” He stops wrapping long enough to slap Wonwoo’s knee with his uninjured arm. “The shooter isn’t allowed to give the shoot-ee advice! You lose all of your credibility when you, you know! Shoot!”
Wonwoo doesn’t have a response to that one, which, typical. He gets Seungkwan a glass of water, though, and makes him drink the whole thing. After that he does a pretty good job of holding bedsheets steady, though, and even secures it himself once the bleeding has slowed enough. Up close he smells like sweat and metal and nothing. His hands are steady even when slippery with blood; he’s probably uncomfortable any other way.
After, Seungkwan makes Wonwoo sit on the other bed on the side furthest from Seungkwan, as if a few centimeters will save him. The gun is still where he dropped it, right after. It would be useless to go after it - knowing Wonwoo, there are at least two others somewhere on his person, and he could very easily kill Seungkwan with the pillowcase, that lamp, the hotel-supplied shampoo…
Probably a good idea to stop thinking along those lines.
“So,” he says instead, “you’re still trying to kill me?” Keep it light, conversational.
Wonwoo’s face does that thing it always does when he’s in (emotional) pain, which is get even more handsome. He’s so good at brooding, it’s infuriating; no assassin should be able to make moral conflict that pretty. (Seungkwan yelled that at him the first or second time Wonwoo tried to kill him, back in… Granada? Seville? Somewhere Andalusian; Wonwoo just looked confused, which was, predictably, gorgeous as well.)
“You changed your code name.” Wonwoo spreads his hands as if offering penance, but, unfortunately for him, they remain empty. “When I got the contract, it said- So I didn’t know.”
Seungkwan rolls his eyes. There are black spots near the edges of his vision, but that doesn’t mean anything, probably. “I’ve been Ghost since 2020. A good hitman would keep abreast of his industry peers.”
At the noise Wonwoo lets out, Seungkwan double-checks to make sure he himself wasn’t shot. “I’m not. Anymore.”
“Good?”
“A- that, I’m not that anymore.”
Seungkwan doesn’t have enough energy to give that the response it deserves, so he simply gestures - arm, gun, blood on the carpet, soaking through the weave. Wonwoo lets out another groan.
“It wasn’t like that. I’m out of the game. I’ve been out since…” He pauses, lets Seungkwan fill in the blank with the words neither of them would ever, ever say out loud to the other: since Riga. “I was back in Seoul, keeping my head down. I had a job, Seungkwan-ah, part-time and the pay was bad, but I never had to hurt anyone. I was… happy. I think.”
Seungkwan’s throat is dry. He can feel all of the blood in his body, and all of the blood that’s coming out of it. He has to swallow twice before he can find his voice. “But you shot me.”
Wonwoo’s running his hands through his hair, which has grown out to brush the nape of his neck, and would probably feel soft beneath Seungkwan’s fingers, like baby bird feathers. “By the time they found me, there were things I didn’t want to lose. Things they could use as…”
“Leverage.” Seungkwan is almost sympathetic, except that any sympathy he’d ever had for Jeon Wonwoo died on a cold Latvian beach. “What’s her name, Wonwoo-sshi? I hope you hide her better this time. If she’s still alive.”
Wonwoo doesn’t rise to the bait. He never did. “One file. One name. After that I would be done. All of my debts would be paid. But. Seungkwan. You have to listen.” His Professor Jeon voice, self-serious to a fault, they all always used to make fun of him when he got like this except Seungkwan didn’t hate it as much as he pretended to (and, unfortunately, Wonwoo knew that.) “I didn’t know it was you. I never wanted to hurt you again.”
His tongue feels thick and heavy. His body feels thick and heavy. His blood feels… “You… Bullshit…” he chokes out.
Wonwoo has crossed the distance between the beds in one fluid motion, has gotten on his knees in the gap in between, is looking up at Seungkwan imploringly, big serious eyes, beautiful sad mouth. His hand on Seungkwan’s ankle, grasping or caressing, to hurt or to soothe, Seungkwan has never been able to tell.
Go away, Seungkwan wants to say, you’re not allowed to touch me anymore; but his mouth isn’t working. His throat isn’t working. He licks his lips, and finally he tastes the sleeping powder.
“I’m sorry, Seungkwan-ah,” Wonwoo says softly, "I swear I am." And the worst part is, he really must be. He looks so handsome saying it.
- No, actually, this is the worst part: the last thing Seungkwan says before he loses consciousness, maybe the last thing he’ll ever say in this lifetime - not a yell of triumph, not a scream of revenge. When it comes to this, Seungkwan’s never been so lucky. When it comes to Wonwoo, he’s always been a fool.
“Wonwoo,” Seungkwan whispers, and then it all floats away.