Chapter Text
The world is ugly.
No matter from what angle you look at it, it’s always a little distorted, a little colourless, a little fucked up.
Most of the time what makes the big picture ugly is obvious. Written right across someone’s face. A scar, a habit, an expression, a single word. Things that stab brutally, oversaturated, and make you want to claw out your eyes. Elicit the wish in your chest that you were never capable of seeing anything at all.
Sometimes it’s subtle – something almost uncanny that you can’t quite explain to yourself. A nauseous feeling in the pit of your stomach, a soft itch at the back of your throat you can’t get rid of. While it looks nice, it doesn’t feel nice. All that you can say for certain is that it’s wrong. That it’s not meant to be this way. Even the most beautiful things turn ugly under a lens like that.
The lights of the devil’s den’s VIP section are ugly. The people down on the dance floor, below, are all ugly. The shimmering, skimpy dresses on the exotic dancers are all ugly. These maroon leather couches. These expensive white tables.
And most of all this goddamn city.
This goddamn city is so fucking ugly.
Taeyong swallows on a dry throat, his head spins. He blinks a few times to focus back on what’s happening around him. Focuses back on his husband kneeling on the floor and bobbing his head around his dick. He should feel something, but he can barely tell if his fingers are still attached to his hands.
Mark doesn’t stop, even as Taeyong is barely hard. He is desperate, only a little less high than Taeyong himself and his shame has left the establishment about an hour ago. Taeyong watches him with his heart thumping against the diamond collar on his throat. His eyes flicker to the guards at the VIP-entrance, too. There is no doubt they have realised what’s going on, no doubt they’re sneaking glances. But Mark is too unafraid – too confident in the fear Taeyong instills in all of them on a daily basis.
He lives under Taeyong’s wing and Taeyong lets him, because it’s nice that somebody is there, in the crook of his arm, when all he wants is to slit his own throat and bury himself alive.
Mark whines unhappily and Taeyong looks down at him. His husband wears a pout that he still thinks would do anything to Taeyong at all. He snorts and the expression is replaced by irritation.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m too fucking high for this shit, baby.” Taeyong reminds him gently.
Clicking his tongue, Mark suckles at the head for a last time, before he gives up. His motions are uncoordinated when he tucks Taeyong back into his pants and buttons him up again. Then, like he has done so many times, he climbs into Taeyong’s lap instead. Taeyong runs his palms over his thighs, the soft ripples of his velvet pants feeling oddly nice beneath his touch. His eyelids flutter. What a good feeling.
Velvet. Yeah.
“How many lines did you do?” Mark mumbles between the wet kisses he places beneath Taeyong’s jaw.
“Who knows.” Taeyong whispers back and tugs Mark a little closer.
Velvet is nice.
But Mark is nicer. His skin, so soft and warm, covered in thin hairs. The knobs of his spine… one, two, three… and these cute little dips his ass creates when he sits, because it’s so perfectly round. Ah…
He hums and Mark gives him an inquisitive look, “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Tell me.”
“I like how your ass jiggles when I fuck you from behind.” Taeyong giggles and even as his cheeks redden, his husband chimes in.
Rough fingers dig into his jaw and his breath hitches, though he follows Mark’s push to tilt his chin up happily.
“You’re an asshole.”
“Mhm and you’re my angel.” Taeyong murmurs.
There is something that always breaks a little behind Mark’s eyes, whenever he says something like this. Maybe, because nowadays, Taeyong can say it with sincerity. Mark came around and saved him. Slowly, subtly, unconventionally and with way too many obstacles in his way, but there is no denying it. Mark has his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to contain a smile and his eyes flicker over all of Taeyong’s features as if he has never seen them before.
Baekhyun used to look at him like that, too.
Taeyong’s throat closes, He tries not to let himself think like this anymore, but there are times where these ugly habits become inevitable.
The worst part is that these moments hit so quickly. The world is slow and comfortable with the help of a little buzz one moment and the next the reins are yanked from Taeyong’s hands. The floor moves without him. The world turns while he stays in the same place. Content and in love one moment.
Hollow the next.
“Mark.” He whimpers.
Despite his state, Mark realises. Has seen it happen so many times, he knows what’s coming. There were times when he panicked, but nowadays he just settles. Turns into this bigger version of himself. This version, that allows Taeyong to be the one to hide under someone’s wing for once.
As soon as he senses the change, Mark climbs out of his lap and gets to his feet. His hands pull at Taeyong’s limbs, tug him back into a standing position and steady him when he sways a little too hard.
“Don’t cry yet.” He mutters and Taeyong swallows the tears.
Mark is right, of course.
Not here. Not under all those watchful eyes, those camera lenses. Not among so many minds who can store the memory of his tears away and rip him apart with them by dawn. He focuses all of his energy on keeping his facade on, while Mark guides him towards the door that leads to their apartment. In passing he mumbles something to the guards about cancelling a meeting they were supposed to have later. They don’t question him and Taeyong doesn’t try to give an explanation.
It’s good to shut the noise out. The door falls shut behind them and they climb the small set of stairs with slightly wobbly legs. Mark giggles, despite the heaviness he must feel, when Taeyong apologises for stepping on his foot. The sound is misplaced, but Taeyong claws his fingers into it with all his might.
They make it through the apartment, too, until Taeyong finally falls into their bed. He watches through blurry eyes as Mark tugs his pants off his legs. Gentle. Every single move is gentle.
Taeyong likes when Mark is rough with him – when he fucks him to make him cry and scream and ache – because Taeyong knows his reactions to being hurt are accepted. They are expected. Who wouldn’t cry under physical pain? Who wouldn’t bury their face in the sheets under humiliating words?
But these moments… they scare him. Not because he doesn’t understand them, but because he reacts in a way no one else would understand. When Taeyong feels hands gently stroke over his hips he is reminded of him. When Mark looks at him like he never wants to be anywhere Taeyong isn’t, he is reminded of him. Everything good reminds Taeyong of him. Maybe, that’s why he seeks out the bad… the ugly.
Because then he can forget.
It might be the drugs but he isn’t strong enough to hide it tonight. A single stroke of Mark’s fingertips over his thigh is enough and he is sniffling. When Mark shushes him and presses him against his chest, he begins to sob.
“You’re safe.” Mark whispers, over and over again and, even when there was a time where Taeyong wouldn’t have believed him, he knows it’s the truth now. He is safe with Mark. With no one else. But definitely with Mark.
His fingers claw at the back of Mark’s shirt, tearing him closer. He tries to hold himself together, tries to get a grasp. But it’s like trying to tame a tsunami. Taeyong slackens and allows the wave to drown him.
“Here. Focus.” Mark’s finger hooks into the diamond collar and he gives it a gentle tug. It digs into Taeyong’s pulse like a nudge in the side. Nothing painful, nothing that would actually make him feel light-headed. Just a reminder. A reminder that he is real, that he is here, that he survived, that Mark is here. A reminder of so many things they have worked out this year.
“I love you.” Taeyong sobs.
Mark’s hand threads into his hair, “And I love you… And I always will. No matter what.”
Taeyong fears that he means it.
Maybe hopes that he means it.
—*—
Taeyong squints against the bright sun light flooding the city. His head thumps and his body feels twice as heavy around his bones, the feeling of his tongue has long grown foreign. There is a ringing in his ear he can’t quite get rid of and a deafening thumping hammering against the front of his skull – the small space right between his eyes.
Drugs are a thing of their own. The higher the trip, the tougher the comedown. He feels how the ecstasy left its residue inside of him. The undeniable heaviness of his heart and the usual urge to lie down and die somewhere doubled in its intensity. Mark doesn’t know. He also probably doesn’t feel the same, if Taeyong has to guess. Always so fucking chipper.
It would be irritating if Taeyong didn’t love him so much, but like this it’s at least endearing.
It’s like Mark heard his thoughts circle around his name, because in the next second a door opens behind him. He turns to face ‘History Lines’. Behind Mark’s appearing figure, Taeyong meets Ralph’s sunken eyes. He gives a curt nod, before focusing his eyes on his husband instead. As soon as Mark is in the vicinity, Taeyong reaches out for him.
The other smiles gently, his arm going around Taeyong’s waist. When Taeyong reaches out for the bag in his hand to carry it for him, he lets go willingly.
“You got everything?”
“Yeah. The watch I wanted’s gonna take a little longer, but Ralph finished cleaning the gun, so I took it with me.”
Taeyong hums, “And our other business?”
“Running smoothly.” Mark says, “He had a bit of trouble with the sudden increase in demand, but I told him if he feels like he isn’t up to the task I’ll have no problem replacing him.”
A proud smile tugs at Taeyong’s lips and he cards his fingers through Mark’s hair, “Atta boy… I love when you become threatening like this. It suits you.”
“Yeah?” The younger grins.
“Yeah. Sometimes I forget you used to be a little scaredy cat.”
The comment – as Taeyong hoped it would – strokes Mark exactly the wrong way. His husband shrugs him off with a click of his tongue, annoyance weighing his shoulders. Taeyong licks his lips, seeing the furrow of the younger’s brows. He’s so fucking hot when he’s angry.
“Go die.”
“Wow, wow, baby…” With a shit-eating grin, he presses right up into Mark’s space and buries his face in his neck, “You’re gonna talk to your husband like that?”
Despite his earlier reaction, Taeyong spots a little grin on Mark’s face, “If he’s behaving like a dick.”
“You just bring that side out of me, I suppose–“
His words get knocked out of his chest when Mark comes to a sudden stop. Taeyong feels the harsh grip of his husband’s hand, even before he processes the shift in tension that tilts the air. His heart thuds, but he knows better than to lose his head after so much time in the business he has been in.
“Shit.” Mark whispers.
Taeyong’s eyes lift to follow Mark’s line of sight and he balls his fists when his gaze settles on a familiar face. Chenle stands in the middle of the street, hands in his pockets and his lips curled into a small smirk. An expensive suit adorns his shoulders and the tops of his leather shoes are clean enough to mirror the entirety of Gotham City in them.
Usually, seeing the man out and about wouldn’t be a problem. They have no dispute with the wolf club after all – one of the few organisations they can still say that about. No, it’s the looming figure behind him that bares Taeyong’s nerve-ends to the sudden drop of temperature in the air.
Straightening, he pushes Mark behind himself and says: “What a strange sight. Did you guys finally bond over knitting patterns and tea-cup designs?”
He knows it’s impossible to get a reaction out of someone like Chenle, but just like Taeyong expected, Doyoung cracks immediately – always so predictable: “We’re here to finally bring an end to this, Tae.”
“An end? To the devil’s den?”
“To you.” Comes the simple reply from Chenle.
Taeyong’s eyes scan the narrow street. It’s oddly quiet and there seems to be no one around except for them. He squints at the cracked windows above them, at the shadowy nooks of the different facades. If he knows one thing for sure it’s that Doyoung would never come here without backup. Chenle? Sure. But Doyoung has lost against him too many times to still believe he could shoulder this fight on his own.
Now, where are the little shits?
“You’re getting ballsy.” He throws back, “Coming at me and my husband under broad daylight… not very polite, you know?”
“As if you ever gave a shit about etiquette.” Chenle laughs.
Behind him, Mark fights Taeyong’s shelter to spit: “You’re siding with the enemy now, is that it? Loyalty means nothing to you?”
The younger man lifts a brow, before he scoffs: “Loyalty? Oh Mark… Please, after marrying a cold-blooded psychopath, I thought you’d know better. I am siding with those that are winning. Coincidentally and rather unfortunately, they’re not you.”
“You’ll pay for this.”
Taeyong wraps a hand around Mark’s waist and gives a warning squeeze. His husband falls silent, although Taeyong still feels the irritation shaking his body.
“We can settle this like civilised gentlemen.” He mumbles, pushing Mark further back, “What do you say Doyoung? Just you and me, like the good old times?”
“Old? Yes. Good? Less.” Doyoung says.
“Ouch.” Taeyong bites, keeping a tight hold on the grin on his face. Never taking his eyes off the two men, he tilts his head back towards Mark, “Get out of here.”
“What? Taeyong, don’t be stupid, I–“
“Shut the fuck up and go.”
A hand grips around his upper arm. Taeyong still doesn’t look at him. A few more heartbeats pass and with every one of them Taeyong feels a thump against the steadying weight of his diamond collar. This situation could get far too ugly, far too fast. Please, for the love of god, run.
“I’ll meet you at the den.”
The hand around his arm vanishes and with it the suffocating weight that has been pressing down on Taeyong’s chest. Behind him, he hears the faint ‘clack, clack, clack’ of Mark’s heels fade out into the distance. Without him around to look out for Taeyong feels a little more like himself.
A little more reckless.
A little more dangerous.
Now they can hit him with anything. He has nothing to lose but the one thing that just left the scene.
“So, what will it be? Are you gonna inject me with a chip like you did with your little slave boy?” He smirks when Chenle’s nose twitches with irritation. Even the man who knows it all, the man with the darkest secrets, has his weak points to prod at. Taeyong is simply the only one who bothers to look for them. “Or are you gonna arrest me again? That was fun the last time. I made a bunch of friends during that time… you’ve got a lot of enemies in there, Doie.”
He can tell Doyoung is about to spit something back, but Chenle beats him to it:“You’ve had your chances at a peaceful exchange.”
There is something wrong. The street rat in Taeyong picks it up even before his common sense does. Chenle’s voice is calm and controlled, so completely unbothered in the face of a possible demise. Now that he counts as an enemy and doesn’t serve anymore purposes, Taeyong could have him killed by dawn and Chenle must know that. But he doesn’t care. He isn’t scared of the possibilities.
Because he is certain he is winning.
With that certainty comes an ace. Something Taeyong isn’t prepared for. And when there is something even the devil isn’t prepared for, the evil might as well come straight from purgatory.
“You’ve infested this city for years. Played your game without consequences. You robbed and abused these streets for what they’re worth. Every single nook has blood on it – blood that came from your hands.” Chenle spits, “Did you really think that could go on forever? Did you really think you could live like this until you die an old man?” He spits out a chuckle, “No.
“You might have thought you’re a god, but I’m here to remind you that you are just a man. A weak, sad man with a weak, sad heart and heavy, fatal secrets.”
He tilts his head and on command a figure rounds the corner of the building and steps into the street. White hair, broad build, clad in black from head-to-toe. There is a long knife in the man’s hand, glinting deviously and mocking Taeyong into picking up the fight.
What the fuck? Is Chenle sending one of his freak experiments after him now? Taeyong has broken even Donghyuck at this point and he still thinks some random mutant would be enough to kill him?
“Oh Chenle, you really think–…”
His face falls, only once he sees the eyes.
“No.”
’It wasn't too hard to play the role of a lovestruck boy, when my husband was this cute.’
’Told you I recognise grime when I see it.’
’You got this, my little magpie.’
“No…”
‘It's okay. We're going to be alright. You said it yourself: As long as it's the two of us nothing can happen.’
‘Get away from each other! Right now!’
‘I love you.’
“What have you done?” The scream cracks out of his lungs before he can even think to stop it.
In the back of his mind Taeyong knows that he shouldn’t show how much this affects him, but how is he supposed to react in the face of a monster he never thought would come haunt him outside of his nightmares? There is a ghost standing in front of him. Different hair, different complexion, different clothes… but the same eyes. The same eyes he loved and dreamed of for the last seven years. The same eyes he saw whenever he stood at the edge of a rooftop, ready to jump. The same eyes he used to seek in Mark’s. The same eyes.
Eyes he thought he would never get to see again.
This can’t be real. He is asleep, somewhere in the devil’s den. Knocked out by a bottle or two. Mark’s body still pressed against him to catch him when he returns to reality.
Wake up. Wake the fuck up.
“Baekhyun…”
The man with Baekhyun’s face doesn’t react. His gaze is steel, more than the blade in his hand. He is frozen, eyes locked onto his target and his body seems to vibrate, as he comes to a halt next to Chenle. Like a dog, waiting for his command.
“Why…” Taeyong breathes out. He looks at Chenle, finds the man’s eyes even colder than his soldier’s. Doyoung’s face is more fragile – guilt lacing his features even now. A true hero. Except this one thing was enough to turn him into the same kind of monster as Taeyong. As Chenle. Maybe even worse than both of them.
“Did you not miss your boyfriend, Taeyong?” Chenle asks.
“It’s not… It’s not him.” Taeyong shakes his head.
“Silly, who else should he be?” The man chuckles.
He turns to Baekhyun and nudges a fingertip against his chin. Like a leaf in the wind, Baekhyun bends and turns his head to one side, then the other. Taeyong’s breath catches in his throat, when he spots the bullet hole at the side of his head – a scar by now, but still prominent. It flashes the moment back past Taeyong’s mind. The second that bullet hit Baekhyun’s skull. How it jerked with the force. How afterwards, he was nothing but a lump of meat.
Now, he is more, but not much more. Not as much as he used to be; Empty.
As soon as Chenle retreats his eyes lock back onto Taeyong again. What he would have given for those eyes to look at him one last time just yesterday, now – like this – it feels like the worst kind of fate. Like Satan had offered him a deal and turned it all around in the darkest way possible.
“Took us a while to dig him up, you know?” Chenle continues, “Commander Hodgins did his absolute best to bury his fuck-up as deep under these streets as possible. His corpse wasn’t even registered under his real name. But you know, where there is a will there is a way.”
Taeyong’s head spins with a sudden crash of rage, “You fucking monster. You’ve–… You’ve sullied a dead man. Do you not… Do you have any qualms at all?” He gasps, “You… You couldn’t even…” The words begin to choke him, “He suffered so much and died for nothing… yet you couldn’t even– why did you have to drag him into this?!”
“You have never had qualms about breaking people, have you?” Suddenly, Doyoung steps forward, “I almost lost Donghyuck. I will not risk you ever getting near the people I love again.”
“Donghyuck knew what he signed up for.” At those words, Doyoung’s jaw twitches in irritation, “He wanted to make me his enemy, so I was. I fought him and he lost.” It’s like walking on a knife’s edge, trying to keep his voice steady past the shaking of his body, “Baekhyun never had anything to do with you. With us. With any of this. He was a good man. The only good man in this fucking hellhole, but you still insisted on ripping him apart.”
“Well, the world just isn’t fair, Taeyong. I thought you knew that best.” Chenle rasps.
He raises his hand, fingers twitching.
And that’s all it takes.
Baekhyun charges like a wildcat, so fast Taeyong barely realises. He follows his instinct and ducks away, as soon as the knife slides through the air. He hears it sing, watches as it cuts a few strands of his hair, but he doesn’t get to stay in the moment for long. The next move is already planned ahead and Taeyong only has a heartbeat to predict it.
He stumbles backwards, narrowly escaping the knife a second time, before he charges to run. Against his expectations neither Doyoung nor Chenle make any move to follow him. They must be confident in Baekhyun’s obedience, confident in the knowledge that the love of Taeyong’s life would keep pushing until it killed him.
How ironic. Perhaps this is the fate only someone like him is deserving of.
He races through Gotham’s streets, takes every turn, crawls through every nook he can think of, but the steady triple of Baekhyun’s steps remains behind him no matter how hard he tries. His lungs begin to ache with the strain and his legs might give in at any second, but he can’t stop running. Can’t stop running from the very thing he has always been running from since he remembers.
Meanwhile, Baekhyun doesn’t even seem to be exhausted. He runs and runs, just like Taeyong, but his stamina is different. They must have done more work on him than Taeyong thought.
They destroyed him. They made a weapon out of a kind man. They made a devil out of an angel.
They took his love. They took Baekhyun away from him. Even just the loving memory he still had left is now defiled by these lunatics. Replaced by the empty eyes of someone he used to know. Replaced by the anger, the glint of a knife, the certainty that one touch would mean death.
They took everything from him.
It’s that thought that breaks him. That thought that has him collapse on the street, his knees shaking and his heart breaking apart once again. A hand closes around his shoulder and throws him on his back and Taeyong can’t even gather the strength to reach out and fight it.
Something cold meets his forehead and Taeyong feels peace settle in his chest. Baekhyun’s finger is on the trigger of a gun, ready to end a life, ready to end Taeyong’s suffering. Maybe, he will finally get to return to a reality where he is truly happy. Maybe, he will find Baekhyun there, just the way he used to be.
Maybe, he should just let go.
Baekhyun hesitates.
He doesn’t move the gun away from Taeyong’s forehead, doesn’t remove his finger from the trigger either, but his brows furrow in confusion. They twitch over and over again and his expression morphs from confusion, to pain, to blank and then starts the cycle all over again.
That’s when Taeyong is certain: He knows.
Who Taeyong is. Who they were.
Something else is controlling him. And he can’t fight it.
Taeyong’s tears fall all by themselves, the pain so overwhelming it might as well be a hand on his neck, choking the life out of him. He has watched Baekhyun die. Has seen his lifeless body collapse on the ground, has seen how his blood painted the ground and stained Taeyong’s own hands. Now, Baekhyun doesn’t just have to watch him die, he has to kill him. It’s not his choice, it’s not his will, but he has to.
The thought of his love being in so much pain has Taeyong desperate.
“Baek… Baby, it’s okay.” he whispers. His hand reaches out, careful not to jostle Baekhyun too much, and settles on his cheek. It’s warm, as opposed to his cold appearance. Alive. His love is alive. “You’re okay.” He whispers, “It’s gonna be alright. I forgive you.” His throat tightens when Baekhyun’s trigger finger twitches, “You’re just as beautiful as I remember, my love.”
Baekhyun’s eyes change. It’s hard to explain the difference – they look the same. But the feeling Taeyong gets when he looks at them shifts. From fear to relief, from sorrow to comfort. Baekhyun’s mouth falls open in a gasp and suddenly, Taeyong knows he is awake.
His breaths speed up and he lifts his finger off the trigger. The gun is tossed to the side, meeting the asphalt with a loud clank. Baekhyun twitches backwards, scrambles away, as if Taeyong was just as scary to him as Baekhyun had been to him only a second ago. He looks around himself, confused and scared, like a deer in the headlights.
“Wh–What–…” He whimpers and looks at Taeyong, “Taeyong… Tae, I swear I– I didn’t–“
“I know.” Taeyong gasps and scrambles forward. As he had hoped he is greeted with open arms.
It’s a feeling like no other. Baekhyun’s arms wrap around him tightly, almost afraid to let go. His hands dig into Taeyong’s back, clawing at him, so very desperate, just like Taeyong feels. It feels just the same as it did back then – a sensation he was certain he would never get to experience again in this life. Baekhyun’s chin is hooked over his shoulder and Taeyong gets to bury his face in his neck. Gets to hide from the world.
He is home.
“I can’t–“ He gasps, his own hands clawing into Baekhyun’s shoulder blades, “I can’t believe you’re here I–… I saw you die, I–“
“Hey.” Baekhyun’s hands are cupping his face, tugging him out of his hiding spot to connect their gazes, “Hey… Baby, look at me. I’m here. It’s okay. We’re okay.”
Taeyong’s chest squeezes so hard he can barely breathe, “I… I missed you so much.”
“Oh, my love.”
He has been waiting to do it for years, so Taeyong doesn’t waste anymore time to lean in for a kiss. Except it never quite lands. A noise catches Baekhyun’s attention and Taeyong’s lips find his cheek instead. Someone shouts nearby and at once, Baekhyun is on his feet. He grabs Taeyong by the hand and yanks him upright, too.
“We need to get out of here.”
Taeyong sniffles, “Agreed.”
“Where to? The hotel?”
At that, Taeyong almost laughs, “I think I have a better place to go, love. You’ve missed a lot while you were gone.”
--*To be continued*--