AN: 

disclaimer: this is a work of fiction based on the beat generation and the dark sides of urban in the 1950s. there will be mentions of darker subjects which are not meant to be imitated nor are they meant to reflect realistic characteristics.

in case it was not noticed previously, all characters have been aged up. the youngest character is 21. the rest of the s remain the same.

“I really don’t understand what he wants us to do about it,” Changbin asks Felix later that night. They’re settled down on a couple of barstools, keeping a close eye on Jeongin who seems to be trying to drink away his sins. They startle as he crashes atop a chair, but settle back into their seats once they see that he’s still sober enough to right himself without assistance.

“And you say that as if I’ll know anything better?” Felix sighs. He’s really not sure how he ended up in this mess, but when he had run away to another country with hopes of being a poet, this hadn’t been what he’d expected.

Changbin shrugs moodily, head hunched into his shoulders. “Where’s the body, then?”

“Why don’t you ask Jeongin yourself,” Felix snaps, before sighing once more and pulling Changbin into his arms. “You’re such a baby. Hopefully, it’s floating down the Han river and being washed out to sea. More likely, though, somebody has found it and the police are already investigating.”

Changbin grimaces at the image. He would admit that, out of all of their group, Chan hadn’t been the closest to them but he had still been a reliable editor and advisor when it came to their writing and work. There’s nothing they can do about it now, though. “If anybody asks, we don’t know anything. And if they ask twice, Jeongin was acting in self defense.”

“It’s not me you have to convince. It’s Jeongin,” Felix says, nodding over to the boy. Changbin doesn’t bother turning around because he knows what he’ll see. Sly eyes hiding behind a charming grin, the slightest accent that fools everybody into bending over backwards at the whims and mercy of a demon disguised as a child. He knows that not a single one of Jeongin’s drinks have been paid out of the kid’s own wallet, and he knows that Jeongin is on his way to well past drunk.

He knows this because he’s fallen prey to Jeongin and so has Felix and so has Minho who burns himself out in a rehabilitation facility, suffering from love and not depression, and so has Woojin who writes the most beautiful poetry that sits unpublished because the tears staining the manuscripts make them impossible to read, and so has Hyunjin who stands at the same street corner every night, waiting in hopes that Jeongin might be one of his visitors, and so has Jisung who sits like a shell of nothing until Jeongin comes to visit, bringing “gifts” that are really pills of poison, poison that Jisung only takes because it means a visit from the devil who looks like the angel, and so has Seungmin who is ensnared in a world that doesn’t suit his once innocent face, now scarred from unnecessary battles, because he had thought he was protecting when in reality he was the one who had needed protection.

The only crime that Chan committed that was worse than falling in love with Jeongin, was somehow convincing Jeongin to fall back in love with him, too. Changbin can imagine the scene as Felix recounts Jeongin’s interpretation of last night.

“Do you love me?” Jeongin whispers as he steps one foot forward.

“Yes,” Chan answer back, loud and proud, the widest smile on his face because no moment could be better than this, right here, right now, regardless of the stench from the dumpster beside them and the way Jeongin is cast half in glowing yellow light from the lamp posts and half in shadow from the dark, brick, factory buildings that stretch above them on either side.

“I love you, Chan. Do you love me?” Jeongin asks again, another step forward.

“Yes.”

“Do you love me?” Another step.

“Yes.”

“You promise you love me?” With each step, Jeongin is cast more in shadow, his figure growing darker until Chan strains to see his outline in the darkness.

“I promise.”

“I love you.” Another step.

“I know.”

“Say you love me.” They’re so close now that their noses are touching, breath mingling with one another’s.

“I love you.” Jeongin is fully cast in shadow now, and the only glint of light Chan notices is the stars reflected in his irises.

Chan feels it first before he sees it, blunt and cold against his stomach. “Do you love me enough to die for me?”

Chan looks down and sees steel, glinting silver. He’s reminded of the eyes that he had been looking at just one moment before looking back up to find those stars one last time. “Yes.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Jeongin says. “Bang,” Jeongin says.

As if on cue, there’s another crash as Jeongin falls into somebody’s lap this time, giggling like mad. It’s an awful sight, and in this moment Changbin isn’t sure if he hates Jeongin or Chan more for causing this entire mess when he could easily be cuddling away with Felix in their apartment, a glass of cheap wine in their hands, moonlight falling in through the window and lighting up the amber glow of Felix’s hair. Changbin reaches over the side of the bar to grab a napkin and digs a hand into Felix’s pocket to pull out a pen and begins a sketch of Felix asleep, hair cascading around his face, lit by the moonlight.

When he’s done, he crumples it up and walks out of the bar, tired of babysitting Jeongin and ready to move on with their lives. He doesn’t look back so he misses Felix stooping over to pick up the napkin, smoothing out the wrinkles before he tucks it into his shirt pocket.