Chapter Text
One.
Two.
And that’s three.
Wait, or has it been four?
Namgyu tried to count the speed bumps he felt the car drive over. They were widely spaced, and his mind was racing too much in between to remember what measly number he was on. He tried to count with his fingers, but he couldn’t raise them. Even if he could, he wouldn’t be able to see them. The blindfold around his eyes was secured so tight that it caught his hair at the back and was constantly pulling on his roots.
He tried to flex his fingers. When he could just about feel all ten and assure himself none have been lost, he twists his hands once more. The rope dug into his skin, right on the bone of his wrist. It was thick and heavy duty, looped harshly around both his arms and ankles. The men who beat him down and kidnapped him sure knew what they were doing, that’s for sure.
The car came to an abrupt halt. Namgyu lurched forward in his seat, nose hitting the door of the trunk he was curled up in. There was a few seconds between the muffled slam of the car doors and the sound of fingertips digging under the handle of the trunk and yanking it open. Namgyu could feel the cold air engulf him; thankful he got fresh air after being crammed in a stuffy claustrophobic hole for much over twenty minutes.
The knotted rope around his ankles was roughly undone and thrown back into the trunk. It hit namgyu in the elbow as he was hoisted up by the shoulders. Two — no, three men were escorting him, now. He was forced up on dead legs and hobbled like a newborn fawn as they walked with hasty strides.
His wrists got a moment of freedom to breathe as they were momentarily released of the rope. Even quicker, they were then pressed down against the arms of a chair and tied against the varnished wood. His ankles were the same against the legs of the chair. The blindfold remained fastened.
He felt two new points of pressure on him. One, against the back of his head. And two, pressed right up on the top of his throat — almost under his tongue. Here sat Namgyu; a money-ower perched exhaustedly between a butchers knife and a barrel of a gun, surrounded now by at least five men to whom he had the pleasure of calling his ‘money loaners’.
A kick to his gut. Another to his shin. He accidentally bit his tongue when he jolted forward in any attempt to save his softs from being beaten. He waited until one of the men spoke up. Only then could he catch a breather.
“Where’s our money? Lying son of a bitch,” one man would say. Namgyu heard another one spit. If it landed on him, he couldn’t have known. He was so numb from the beating, the only thing he could feel was the drumming of his pulse in his eardrums. Namgyu managed to gasp out a few words — mumbling apologies and asking for another chance.
His eyelids were heavy. When his head rolled forward, he felt blood land in his lap, angrily staining the fabric of his pants and wetting his thigh. His blindfold made Namgyu completely unaware of the raised wooden bat behind his head. A quick movement followed by a hollow ‘thwack’ noise and Namgyu slumped forward; far, far away from consciousness.
And just as quick as he had been knocked out, Namgyu awoke. He lifted his head, the side of his face wet from being out cold in half of a puddle. His neck hurt. God, all of his joints did. He let out an audible gasp before wincing and sucking it up, placing a hand down for balance as he attempted to rise.
Namgyu only remembered the short moment of him in the chair before getting knocked out and presumably beaten furthermore senseless. He glanced down, blinking to get his eyes to work like they used to again.
His sleeve was crumpled up his arm. Rather, it was mostly torn. Namgyu’s blurry vision cleared and his eyes widened. He could feel his pulse under the angry, bloody letters carved into his skin:
‘D E B T’
He rubbed his new brand with his thumb, coagulated blood reluctantly wiping away as new beads of blood quickly replaced where he had just swabbed. Namgyu had to use the wall beside him to steady himself as he navigated out of the dark alleyway that only he and the rats occupied for God knows how long.
He could complain about a million things right now. His nose felt broken (and probably was), his fingers were swollen and purple, his ass hurt, for some reason, and most importantly he had his biggest fuck-up cut into his arm by a group of psychopathic loan sharks.
‘I’ll just go home,’ Namgyu repeated to himself.
Only when he stood under a street-sign to be greeted with unfamiliar place names, his heart sank a little.
‘This isn’t my city.’