Ship/Member: Seungcheol/Jeonghan Major Tags: N/A Additional Tags: violence, vague Arcane AU Permission to remix: Yes
***
“Anyone else want a go?” The ringleader lifts Seungcheol’s wrist. Blood drips onto the dirt between their boots. “Or should we call it a fuckin’ night?”
The crowd roars. Seungcheol fights for breath, winded after two consecutive matches. His knuckles are split. His hip aches. Let it be over, he thinks. Let him limp away and lick his wounds in private.
There’s a scuffle in the corner. A short, high noise of surprise is cut off as the chain link gate slams open. Down here, the haze of the undercity is thick enough to touch, and Seungcheol squints through the kaleidoscope of white spotlights and gray-green smoke to see a man fall into the ring like a bird shot out of the sky.
“We have,” the ringleader’s voice goes thick with glee, “a challenger!”
The man stumbles to his feet and pushes back his hood. He’s young and pretty, delicate, unscarred, with long dark hair. Seungcheol can tell immediately that he’s not supposed to be here. A face like that has never seen an undercity fight.
Coercion. It must be.
“Wait,” Seungcheol says, but his voice gets swept away. A fresh face has fanaticized the audience. Someone takes up a rallying cry that catches like wildfire. The air sharpens with the smell of spilt wine.
Jeonghan, the ringleader announces above the clamor. The name, too, feels wrong.
Seungcheol gets pushed forward anyway. They meet in the heart of the spotlight. Jeonghan looks at Seungcheol with wide, dark eyes, his lashes quivering, his mouth slightly crooked. He must be a topsider, Seungcheol thinks, to have skin that clear.
“Do what you have to,” Jeonghan says, squaring his narrow shoulders.
“I—are you sure?” Seungcheol whispers.
DING… The bell sounds, a familiar vibration. DING…
Jeonghan doesn’t blink. “Yes.”
DING!
Seungcheol has been hitting things long enough to know when to pull his punches. He swings deliberately wide. Jeonghan dodges, lithe but slow. His back hits the concrete wall. He flattens his palms there, tracking his fingers over an old bloodstain.
Again Seungcheol swings, light, reluctant, giving Jeonghan enough space to skitter away.
A hiss of discontent sweeps over the crowd. Jeonghan freezes, staring at Seungcheol, his eyes bright with fear. Like a rabbit in a trap. Fuck. Seungcheol doesn’t want to hit him.
Instead Seungcheol gets up in Jeonghan’s space, nearly nose-to-nose, close enough to smell cigarette smoke and soap off his nice cloak. He presses his fists into the wall on either side of Jeonghan’s neck and watches his pupils dilate.
“You need to fight back,” Seungcheol says.
Jeonghan’s breath tickles his throat. “No.”
“At least try.”
A screech echoes from the crowd. There’s nothing fissure folk hate more than stalling. Any longer without a real hit and they’ll storm the fence, take the violence they’re owed. Seungcheol has seen it happen before. None of the fighters survived.
Too late, Seungcheol spots a decanter nosing through the fence. It tips forward, pouring bloodred wine down the back of Jeonghan’s jacket.
Jeonghan jerks forward. A surprised noise jumps out of his throat. Almost reflexively, Seungcheol kicks out and sweeps his feet from underneath him. Jeonghan hits the ground like he’s never getting up again. Flat on his back, hair spread out like a firework. The crowd explodes.
Desperately Seungcheol steps back and scans for the ringleader, for one of the other boxers, even Jihoon if he’s still around. Anyone to call off this fight. Clearly this isn’t fair. But the air is a thick gray stew churning with silhouettes. No one is coming to save them.
Jeonghan sits up on his knees. His chest heaves. “Please,” he says, quiet and unsteady. “Make it quick.”
That, at least, Seungcheol can do. He takes Jeonghan by the chin and tilts his smooth, beautiful face toward the light. Apologetically, selfishly, he thumbs across Jeonghan’s bottom lip. This is not the worst thing he’s ever done, but he has a feeling it will haunt him longest.
“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol says, wrecked, and hits Jeonghan across the face.
Later, in a dank cubbyhole beside the arena, Seungcheol dabs the last of the antiseptic against Jeonghan’s split lip.
“The boss will be coming with my cut,” he says gently. “You should get outta here before then.”
“Mm,” Jeonghan says listlessly.
Pink neon light shifts across the bruises on his face. Through the window, the alley pulses like a carnival, bright and wide awake despite the late hour. A laugh floats up from below. Seungcheol gets up to draw the blinds. He leans against the wall and folds his arms.
“How’d you end up in the Lanes?” he asks.
Jeonghan’s eyes flick toward him. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Who?”
“You don’t know him.”
Seungcheol scoffs. “Try me.”
“Eh.” Jeonghan smiles, a stunning flash. “Maybe later.”
Seungcheol flounders. Was that flirting? Is this topsider hitting on him? He opens his mouth, his face hot, and says nothing. Jeonghan’s blasé attitude makes no sense. His fear in the ring was real. He was scared before. Now he looks… relaxed. At ease.
“I’m due back in Piltover tonight,” Jeonghan continues, casually inspecting the bloody rag. “You should come with me.”
“Up topside? To do what?”
“You have a good heart. You could fight for something… more. You could help the people here.”
Seungcheol hesitates. That’s the kind of talk he overhears in seedy bars. Fruitless plans to fight back against the Enforcers, to lift the undercity out of its own muck and debris. Tempting, but risky. Seungcheol has no plans to return to a jail cell anytime soon.
“I don’t know about that. The ringleader wouldn’t let me leave anyway.” Seungcheol admits. “Thinks I owe him.”
Jeonghan sets the antiseptic down and levels Seungcheol with a look. Those pretty, dark eyes. It’s sick to think so, but the bruising suits him.
“If your debt were settled,” he says. “Would you leave with me tonight?”
Yes, Seungcheol thinks, immediate and nonsensical. I would follow you. He has nothing real here. Not since Soonyoung—
Before he can actually answer, there’s a banging at the door.
The ringleader is a Vastaya, a tall humanoid with the face of a rat and a mechanical leg that sputters and coughs when he walks. He goes nowhere without a goon, three knives, and an oxygen mask spray painted with the tusks of a rhinoceros. Two years ago he broke Seungcheol out of jail. He’s laid claim to his body ever since.
Jeonghan yanks open the door and says, very sweetly, “Seungcheol quits. He's leaving with me.”
The ringleader rocks back on his heels, nostrils flaring. When he laughs, yellow slime dribbles from his front fangs. The light behind him shifts pink to green with a passing cloud of vapor.
He leans in and leers. “Is that so?”
There is one moment of suspended silence. Seungcheol’s stomach flips.
“Don’t—” Seungcheol lunges to throw himself in front of Jeonghan, to shield him, but he miscalculates. With remarkable speed, Jeonghan side-steps him and pulls a gleaming metal handgun from the abyss of his cloak. The barrel glows an otherworldly, electric blue when he fires it once, twice. Energy crackles through the air.
The ringleader’s hand goes limp around his dagger. He and his goon drop like twin sacks of coal. Jeonghan blows steam off the barrel of the gun. With a twirl, he slips it back into his belt. It’s all over in a matter of seconds.
“How did you—” Seungcheol’s mouth hangs open. His breath stutters in his throat. “Who the fuck are you?”
Jeonghan tucks a loose lock of hair behind his ear. That fearful, wary figure from the boxing ring has completely disappeared. He smiles at Seungcheol, warm and mischievous, eyes twinkling.
“Let me tell you a secret.” Jeonghan steps close, nose-to-nose with Seungcheol again, a mirror of their earlier stance. His cheek is still an angry violet. His voice drops, low and silky. “I've been watching you for weeks, Choi Seungcheol. I saw you, and I wanted you. So I tested you." He leans in. "And now I'm taking you.”
Seungcheol’s breath shivers through his whole body like an electrocution. Jeonghan clicks Seungcheol’s mouth closed and presses his thumb into the dimple of his chin.
[FILL] take what you want, take what you can
Major Tags: N/A
Additional Tags: violence, vague Arcane AU
Permission to remix: Yes
***
“Anyone else want a go?” The ringleader lifts Seungcheol’s wrist. Blood drips onto the dirt between their boots. “Or should we call it a fuckin’ night?”
The crowd roars. Seungcheol fights for breath, winded after two consecutive matches. His knuckles are split. His hip aches. Let it be over, he thinks. Let him limp away and lick his wounds in private.
There’s a scuffle in the corner. A short, high noise of surprise is cut off as the chain link gate slams open. Down here, the haze of the undercity is thick enough to touch, and Seungcheol squints through the kaleidoscope of white spotlights and gray-green smoke to see a man fall into the ring like a bird shot out of the sky.
“We have,” the ringleader’s voice goes thick with glee, “a challenger!”
The man stumbles to his feet and pushes back his hood. He’s young and pretty, delicate, unscarred, with long dark hair. Seungcheol can tell immediately that he’s not supposed to be here. A face like that has never seen an undercity fight.
Coercion. It must be.
“Wait,” Seungcheol says, but his voice gets swept away. A fresh face has fanaticized the audience. Someone takes up a rallying cry that catches like wildfire. The air sharpens with the smell of spilt wine.
Jeonghan, the ringleader announces above the clamor. The name, too, feels wrong.
Seungcheol gets pushed forward anyway. They meet in the heart of the spotlight. Jeonghan looks at Seungcheol with wide, dark eyes, his lashes quivering, his mouth slightly crooked. He must be a topsider, Seungcheol thinks, to have skin that clear.
“Do what you have to,” Jeonghan says, squaring his narrow shoulders.
“I—are you sure?” Seungcheol whispers.
DING… The bell sounds, a familiar vibration. DING…
Jeonghan doesn’t blink. “Yes.”
DING!
Seungcheol has been hitting things long enough to know when to pull his punches. He swings deliberately wide. Jeonghan dodges, lithe but slow. His back hits the concrete wall. He flattens his palms there, tracking his fingers over an old bloodstain.
Again Seungcheol swings, light, reluctant, giving Jeonghan enough space to skitter away.
A hiss of discontent sweeps over the crowd. Jeonghan freezes, staring at Seungcheol, his eyes bright with fear. Like a rabbit in a trap. Fuck. Seungcheol doesn’t want to hit him.
Instead Seungcheol gets up in Jeonghan’s space, nearly nose-to-nose, close enough to smell cigarette smoke and soap off his nice cloak. He presses his fists into the wall on either side of Jeonghan’s neck and watches his pupils dilate.
“You need to fight back,” Seungcheol says.
Jeonghan’s breath tickles his throat. “No.”
“At least try.”
A screech echoes from the crowd. There’s nothing fissure folk hate more than stalling. Any longer without a real hit and they’ll storm the fence, take the violence they’re owed. Seungcheol has seen it happen before. None of the fighters survived.
Too late, Seungcheol spots a decanter nosing through the fence. It tips forward, pouring bloodred wine down the back of Jeonghan’s jacket.
Jeonghan jerks forward. A surprised noise jumps out of his throat. Almost reflexively, Seungcheol kicks out and sweeps his feet from underneath him. Jeonghan hits the ground like he’s never getting up again. Flat on his back, hair spread out like a firework. The crowd explodes.
Desperately Seungcheol steps back and scans for the ringleader, for one of the other boxers, even Jihoon if he’s still around. Anyone to call off this fight. Clearly this isn’t fair. But the air is a thick gray stew churning with silhouettes. No one is coming to save them.
Jeonghan sits up on his knees. His chest heaves. “Please,” he says, quiet and unsteady. “Make it quick.”
That, at least, Seungcheol can do. He takes Jeonghan by the chin and tilts his smooth, beautiful face toward the light. Apologetically, selfishly, he thumbs across Jeonghan’s bottom lip. This is not the worst thing he’s ever done, but he has a feeling it will haunt him longest.
“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol says, wrecked, and hits Jeonghan across the face.
Later, in a dank cubbyhole beside the arena, Seungcheol dabs the last of the antiseptic against Jeonghan’s split lip.
“The boss will be coming with my cut,” he says gently. “You should get outta here before then.”
“Mm,” Jeonghan says listlessly.
Pink neon light shifts across the bruises on his face. Through the window, the alley pulses like a carnival, bright and wide awake despite the late hour. A laugh floats up from below. Seungcheol gets up to draw the blinds. He leans against the wall and folds his arms.
“How’d you end up in the Lanes?” he asks.
Jeonghan’s eyes flick toward him. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Who?”
“You don’t know him.”
Seungcheol scoffs. “Try me.”
“Eh.” Jeonghan smiles, a stunning flash. “Maybe later.”
Seungcheol flounders. Was that flirting? Is this topsider hitting on him? He opens his mouth, his face hot, and says nothing. Jeonghan’s blasé attitude makes no sense. His fear in the ring was real. He was scared before. Now he looks… relaxed. At ease.
“I’m due back in Piltover tonight,” Jeonghan continues, casually inspecting the bloody rag. “You should come with me.”
“Up topside? To do what?”
“You have a good heart. You could fight for something… more. You could help the people here.”
Seungcheol hesitates. That’s the kind of talk he overhears in seedy bars. Fruitless plans to fight back against the Enforcers, to lift the undercity out of its own muck and debris. Tempting, but risky. Seungcheol has no plans to return to a jail cell anytime soon.
“I don’t know about that. The ringleader wouldn’t let me leave anyway.” Seungcheol admits. “Thinks I owe him.”
Jeonghan sets the antiseptic down and levels Seungcheol with a look. Those pretty, dark eyes. It’s sick to think so, but the bruising suits him.
“If your debt were settled,” he says. “Would you leave with me tonight?”
Yes, Seungcheol thinks, immediate and nonsensical. I would follow you. He has nothing real here. Not since Soonyoung—
Before he can actually answer, there’s a banging at the door.
The ringleader is a Vastaya, a tall humanoid with the face of a rat and a mechanical leg that sputters and coughs when he walks. He goes nowhere without a goon, three knives, and an oxygen mask spray painted with the tusks of a rhinoceros. Two years ago he broke Seungcheol out of jail. He’s laid claim to his body ever since.
Jeonghan yanks open the door and says, very sweetly, “Seungcheol quits. He's leaving with me.”
The ringleader rocks back on his heels, nostrils flaring. When he laughs, yellow slime dribbles from his front fangs. The light behind him shifts pink to green with a passing cloud of vapor.
He leans in and leers. “Is that so?”
There is one moment of suspended silence. Seungcheol’s stomach flips.
“Don’t—” Seungcheol lunges to throw himself in front of Jeonghan, to shield him, but he miscalculates. With remarkable speed, Jeonghan side-steps him and pulls a gleaming metal handgun from the abyss of his cloak. The barrel glows an otherworldly, electric blue when he fires it once, twice. Energy crackles through the air.
The ringleader’s hand goes limp around his dagger. He and his goon drop like twin sacks of coal. Jeonghan blows steam off the barrel of the gun. With a twirl, he slips it back into his belt. It’s all over in a matter of seconds.
“How did you—” Seungcheol’s mouth hangs open. His breath stutters in his throat. “Who the fuck are you?”
Jeonghan tucks a loose lock of hair behind his ear. That fearful, wary figure from the boxing ring has completely disappeared. He smiles at Seungcheol, warm and mischievous, eyes twinkling.
“Let me tell you a secret.” Jeonghan steps close, nose-to-nose with Seungcheol again, a mirror of their earlier stance. His cheek is still an angry violet. His voice drops, low and silky. “I've been watching you for weeks, Choi Seungcheol. I saw you, and I wanted you. So I tested you." He leans in. "And now I'm taking you.”
Seungcheol’s breath shivers through his whole body like an electrocution. Jeonghan clicks Seungcheol’s mouth closed and presses his thumb into the dimple of his chin.
"So," he says. "Aren't you coming?"