Love has never saved anyone.

It's a madness, a disease. It crawls up your spine when you least expect it, only to fester under your skin for days, months, years, as you slowly turn sicker and sicker under it's awful influence. It drives the most pure of people into depression, and the lowest, most haggard individuals into crime and debasement. It's the sweetest sickness, forming under ruse of butterflies and blushes and whispered touches, before it's warped and twisted into obsession and lust.

And, as stated above, it's never saved a soul.

Love is professed as some higher power, some ethereal force. Human love is the greatest thing on Earth, or so they say, but that's nothing but poetic bull. Has love ever stopped a war? A genocide?

A speeding car?

Wonwoo sticks firmly by the promise he made at a mere ten years old; he would rather rip out his own throat than fall in love, and that's a fact. That's precisely the reason why there's a scrawled note in his back pocket, a knife tucked into his waistband, and a wad of cash in his jacket.

He's fallen in love, somehow. And so he needs to die.

Wonwoo knows he's sick; he can feel it in the beating of his heart and the isolated whispers at the back of his mind. He doesn't even know how it happened, why it happened, but he knows he'll do anything possible to get rid of the feeling.

The object of his torment is one Kim Mingyu. The backstreets of Seoul have never been the most welcoming of places, and Mingyu's gang have strived to make sure it stays that way. Rough, merciless and violent, they'll make sure anyone who crosses them knows that they're not to be messed with. They're big fans of terrorising innocents and hospitalising non-innocents, and, for some awful reason, Wonwoo is in love with their leader.

He became infected two weeks previously, when he happened to encounter upon the gang for himself. He'd been hiding out in an alleyway, figuring out his next plan of action, when around ten guys rounded the corner. He'd stood up, immediately yanking his hood further down over his face, and buried his hands in his pockets. He didn't want to cross a group like this. He'd kept his head down and attempted to make his way past them.

But he was weak, that day. He hadn't managed to acquire a place to eat, and so, as he passed the men, a wave of dizziness struck him suddenly. Wonwoo had stumbled, accidentally barging his shoulder into that of a tall, dark boy, and instantly knew he was dead.

He was shoved against a wall. Before he could even think there was a hand around his throat, pinning him to the rough brick, and a furious face squaring up to his.

"The d'you think you're doing?" The boy growled, and Wonwoo quickly regained his thought processes. He set his jaw squarely, refusing to answer. Riling up a gang of ten guys was never a clever move.

The boy moved intimidatingly closer, stepping into the yellowed pool of light from the safety lamp above Wonwoo's head, and the Wonwoo studied him. It's always wise to know your enemy. This particular boy, he was surprised to discover, was a lot prettier than the regular thugs around these parts. All angular jaw, thin features, dark, piercing eyes under a wide brow.

"Answer me." He hissed, hand tightening around Wonwoo's throat. Wonwoo could feel the fingertips digging harshly into his skin, pressing at his trachea and nearly cutting off his air supply. He was forced to swallow in an attempt to relieve the pressure.

"Just passing by." He ground out, the words somewhat choked from the hold the kid had on his neck. He met the boy's gaze solidly; he wasn't afraid, and he wasn't about to let this kid think he was. The boy arched an eyebrow at the defiance, moving even further into Wonwoo's space until he was near pressed against him.

That action had sparked the change inside Wonwoo. He felt an awful constriction on his lungs, and what felt like a sick sort of excitement start in his gut. The kid was close, and Wonwoo was beginning to panic because he couldn't seem to take his mind off how ing pretty the boy looked.

Worried and skittish at this new feeling, he'd lashed out in the only way he knew how. His fist connected hard with the boy's jaw.

The kid had immediately shoved off, slinging curses as he spat onto the ground. Blood. Wonwoo had split the inside of the boy's cheek against his teeth. The group had instantly crowded forward, but the boy threw out his arm to stop them.

There was something in the kid's eyes that was terrifying Wonwoo more than anything else. It looked like curiosity, amusement, and a little like awe. 

"Mingyu, he hit you. Let us knock him around a bit until he gets the message." One of the men complained. The boy, Mingyu, had shaken his head.

"Not worth it; he's two seconds from passing out, anyway. Don't want a dead body on my hands."

Wonwoo had gritted his teeth. It felt like he was being let off for nothing, like Mingyu was being lenient. He felt sick. Part of him wanted to jump forward, fists flying, to show just how 'worth it' he was, but taking on ten guys with no food would just land him in hospital. Or, y'know, dead.

Mingyu once again turned to regard Wonwoo, who hadn't moved from his place against the wall. "You'd do well never to cross me again, or I'll make sure you get the beating you deserve."

And with that, the kid and his gang moved off. Mingyu spat again as he left, and Wonwoo couldn't take his eyes off the blood on the floor.

His heart was beating too fast for it to be merely adrenaline, hammering in his chest. His knuckles still smarted from the punch, and, yanking them up to his face, he noticed the deep bruises already starting to form. He felt like screaming. Part of him was fine, tranquil, part of him wanted to leave the alleyway and go find food of some sort, but another part had him rooted to the spot. It was the same part that couldn't remove the memory of Mingyu's dark eyes from his brain, the same part that wished the blood in Mingyu's mouth had been his.

And so the initial feeling crawled under his skin, and for the next few weeks, it wouldn't let him go. He never encountered the boy again, not directly, at least, but the image of his face dominated the background of Wonwoo's mind like a beast in repose. It flared up when he slept; dominating the space of the dingy hostels and torturing him with atrocious dreams of dark hair and dark eyes, rough, calloused hands around his throat. He had the awful, sinking feeling that he was descending into madness. This wasn't fair. It really wasn't fair. Wonwoo had met the guy once, and that encounter had been less than agreeable, and so why did the blood pound in his ears at the mere thought of the kid's name?

It took him exactly a week and a half to realise, with a sickening lurch, that he was in love, and another three days to ascertain what he had to do. He couldn't live like this; it was driving him insane. Love only ever brought about ruin, and Wonwoo was damned before he'd ever die in shame. And so, knife at his belt, he yanks the hood of his jacket up and saunters out into the last clear night that he'd ever see.

He'd thought about this, about the worst way to die. He deserved it, for allowing himself to fall for a boy he'd scarce met once. Wonwoo's mind had raced through every single option available- overdose on pills, blow his own brains out, throw himself off a bridge- but none of them seemed apt for the crime. Thus, he'd decided that there really was only one way his life could end in this situation.

By Mingyu's own hand.

"You'd do well never to cross me again, or I'll make sure you get the beating you deserve."

Wonwoo's heart is thrumming in his chest, and no matter how hard he tries to suppress the feeling a strange sort of fear stirs his gut and makes him nauseous. He'll finally be free of the dreaded affliction, the same horrid clutches that took his parents, and would no more have to worry about great evils such as love. But he's nervous, naturally. He's going to die here, in the dingy backstreets and alleyways.

Mingyu's gang is not hard to find. They fuss with everyone who crosses their path, and so Wonwoo only has to follow the raised voices and taunts until he's lead to an alleyway near a warehouse, a single streetlight casting its pallid yellow rays against the stained concrete. He pauses in the shadows, a good two-metres away, because he's suddenly caught sight of Mingyu and he's trying to fight down the sensation in brings. The foul excitement is back in his stomach, his veins, the forefront of his mind. The boy looks good, he notices, before scolding himself internally for the thought.

This is it. He knows about fights; how to win them, and how to lose them. Wonwoo's life on the streets has made damn sure that he knows when to rile people up to get his own way. Biting his lip hard enough to break the flesh, he steps out into the pool of light.

The group have their backs turned to him, jeering at something, passing a glass bottle of what was probably cheap liquour around their midst. Wonwoo his head to the side, hand on the handle of his knife, and, unlike their first encounter, makes damn sure to barge straight into the first guy he reaches.

Already half-drunk, the thug stumbles forward, curses spilling from his mouth. The gang wheel around to face Wonwoo, who's eyes are firmly set on that of their leader. Mingyu smirks, detecting the challenge in Wonwoo's eyes.

"Oh, haven't we met before?"

The words are innocent enough, but the tone is mocking and snide. Wonwoo indignantly ignores the way his heart leaps into his mouth at the sound of the kid's voice.

"How's your face- still bleeding?" He bites back, because the one thing these thug-types hate is weakness. Wonwoo needs to grind him down, dance on his sore spots until the kid snaps enough to kill him. By the way Mingyu's eyes flare at the retaliation, he guesses that it won't take very long.

The boy takes a step forward, shoulders rising defensively. Wonwoo stands his ground.

"Thought I said I'd you up if you ever crossed me again. You really that eager for a beating?"

"I just want to put a little kid in his place." Wonwoo shrugs, and Mingyu's gaze finally flits down to where Wonwoo's hand hovers over his belt. He can see the precise moment the gang leader realises what he's in for, and watches as he makes some sort of signal with his eyes to another member of the group. Glancing quickly behind him, Wonwoo realises with a smirk that he's being surrounded.

"That so?" Mingyu hums, pacing forward another few steps. "You have a quick mouth. Maybe I should shut it for you."

"Just you ing try, ."

"Watch me."

Wonwoo doesn't even hesitate before throwing himself forward. He raises his arm to strike the boy's face a second time, but the gang dart in and restrain him before he can land the hit. Rough, strong hands grip his arms, his shoulders, his waist, pressing and bruising into the flesh. Wonwoo struggles with the force of a thousand dogs. He wants to go down fighting.

Mingyu lashes out and lands a punch right at Wonwoo's temple, and his vision bursts into momentary spirals of colour as his head spins and smarts. He manages to wrench an arm freein his blindness, and, ignoring the way nails rake at his skin, he lunges right for the boy. He catches onto his shirt and tugs at it with a snarl, before Mingyu's fist collides again with his face. Wonwoo grunts, head thrown to the side with the impact. The group, tired of suspending him upright, throw him to the floor. Big mistake. As soon as their grip leaves him Wonwoo bursts back onto his feet and starts attacking in earnest. 

He doesn't have to worry about stamina, about positioning. The faster his stamina wears out, the faster he can end this. Wonwoo summons all of the torture of the past two weeks to the forefront of his mind, and suddenly attacking Mingyu is easy, because its all his fault, anyway. It's his fault Wonwoo even has to do this. He throws a punch at the kid's gut, not even pausing for breath before growling like a wild hound and clawing for Mingyu's neck. He gets a grip on the kid's jaw just as a kick thuds heavily into his side, and he's thrown, gasping, against the alley wall.

He takes a second to get his breath back. Wonwoo feels as if his lungs are about to burst, burning with the cold night air and the exertion. A fist, he can't quite tell whose, connects with his cheekbone, and he gasps as the back of his head lashes against the brick.

"Hardy little , aren't you?" Mingyu drawls, before he's kicked full-force in the stomach. Pain blooms in his gut, spreading in coiling tendrils throughout his body, and he gasps for air as all his breath is suddenly taken out of his body.

"This is ing nothing." He pants once he's regained sense, because this is good, it hurts, but it's not enough. Wonwoo needs to die here.

Mingyu appears to take this as a challenge. 

Two men seize his arms, opening his body out against the brick, and before Wonwoo can blink there are fists raining down on his torso and stomach. He groans with the pain, nerve endings sending shooting sparks that cloud out any other feeling. Everything hurts. But still, it's not enough.

Through his pain-fogged mind he notices, with some sort of relief, that Mingyu has finally confiscated his knife. Breath heaving in his lungs, he opens his eyes to find the tall boy weighing up the weapon in his palm. This is his chance.

"You... you're gonna send me to hospital, right?" He grits out, baring his teeth against the pain, "Not worth the trouble. Just ing kill me."

"Desperate, are we?" The kid growls.

"You ing son of a , just kill me!"

Wonwoo knows his voice is broken and rough, a little wild and angry. He can't help it. Everything hurts, and even now he can feel the grasping clutches of love as he regards the boy before him. He needs to die.

Mingyu darts forward, bracing the edge of the blade against Wonwoo's throat, and there's something awfully bittersweet about the moment. The boy presses his body close, pinning him, and Wonwoo can't move. The proximity is heady and brilliant and abhorrent all at the same time, and Wonwoo finds he can feel the boy's breathing against his cheek. The blade bites into his skin, the smallest scratch, and the same force inside Wonwoo that's driving him to die also makes him want to lunge forward and kiss the torturous boy to within an inch of his life.

" you." He spits again, forcing away the feeling with venom. " you, just kill me, you !"

The gang have crowded around them, sneering and taunting and yelling like fools. Mingyu's gaze is steely, eyes narrowed, and the knife is pressed even further into Wonwoo's neck. It barely breaks the skin. Wonwoo doesn't know what the Mingyu's waiting for, but he needs to hurry up. His entire body aches, he feels about ten seconds away from blacking out, and, to be honest, he can't think of a more perfect way to die than while looking into the eyes of the object of his love.

He's getting desperate, adrenaline gradually leaving his body the longer they stand there. Mingyu needs to use that knife now, or Wonwoo fears he may change his mind.

"Kill me."

Wonwoo's voice breaks at the words, and, abandoning all pretences, he adds a small "Please," that sounds far too broken from his dry throat. This turns out to be his undoing. Whether there's something in his gaze, or his tone, or his words, Wonwoo will never know. But Mingyu falters.

The knife is pulled away, just slightly, and Wonwoo can finally chance swallowing without fear of his adam's apple grazing the blade. The group's leers fade into background noise, and Wonwoo finds he can't tear his eyes away as Mingyu frowns.

His breath is still heaving in his lungs, his muscles are still burning with exertion and pain, and there's some sort of awful realisation in the boy's dark gaze that causes Wonwoo's stomach to turn.

The pause drags on for an almost unbearable length of time, before it's broken by a single word.

"No."

The tension snaps, Wonwoo collapses against the wall from exhaustion, and Mingyu steps back to pocket the knife.

The only things Wonwoo can focus on are the frown curving at the boy's mouth and the blood dripping down the back of his head. He's somewhat furious, because he's a little too delirious to tell right now, but he's pretty sure he's not dead. And he's pretty sure he should be.

"You... idiot." He groans, feeling himself waver on his feet as his aching legs threaten to give out. Mingyu grabs his shoulder to steady him, and Wonwoo can feel the burning touch right to his core. 

"Leave. C'mon, piss off for now."

The words invade Wonwoo's failing consciousness, and his head hurts, and suddenly the glare of the streetlight pierces through his closing eyelids until he can't see. It's all too much, and the last thing he feels before blacking out is his body lurching forward and Mingyu catching him in his arms.

-*-*-

His muscles are a fuzzy mess of white-hot pain.

That's the first thing he notices as he regains consciousness. The second thing is that he's lying horizontal on some sort of soft surface, definitely not the hard concrete he was expecting, and that the air around him smells of smoke and alcohol.

It feels like there's sandpaper behind his eyelids, but he manages to prise them open to be met with the interior of some sort of warehouse. There's faded graffiti on the walls, and the floor is smooth, industrial concrete. The space is littered with old metal frames, moulded, charred boxes, and there's some sort of writing desk pushed against the left wall. A flickering lamp adorns the top of the desk, proving the only light source in the otherwise pitch-black room.

Ignoring his body's protests, Wonwoo eases himself into a sitting position. His head swims almost immediately, and he instantly regrets the decision.

"Wouldn't do that, if I were you."

His head snaps in the direction of the voice just as a figure steps out of the shadows. It's Mingyu, of course it is. Wonwoo doesn't know whether to be angry or relieved. He watches as the boy crosses the room, hips swaying in a way that definitely shouldn't be as enticing as it is. Mingyu holds out a bottle.

"I don't have painkillers or anything, but this should take the edge off."

For a second, Wonwoo contemplates refusing. He could defy the boy, refuse any sort of help from his hands, remain cold and elusive and stoic. But his head and stomach really damn hurt, and he knows he's lost, anyway. There's no way he'll get his way, not now, not when Mingyu, for some strange reason, is acting charitable, or at least amiable, towards him. He swipes the bottle from the kid's outstretched hand and gulps down a few mouthfuls. It burns his throat like acid. Grimacing, he holds it up to his eyes to read the label. It's some sort of vodka, with an unnecessarily high alcohol content.

It does the trick, however, and Wonwoo finds that he can move a bit easier as the pain dulls a little.

"How're you feeling?"

The words are somewhat tentative, and pretty much unneeded because Wonwoo's about 95% sure he looks exactly how he feels: .

"Why d'you care?" He grunts out, having to clear his throat a few times before any sound struggles out. Mingyu shrugs.

"Don't know."

There's a pause of silence, Mingyu takes a seat beside him on what turns out to be an old sofa with broken springs, and Wonwoo's just done. He'd spent all that effort on making sure he died and yet all of it was in vain, because he's here, in Mingyu's lair, with the other boy so warm and so horribly close, and the love he feels is stronger than ever. He groans.

"Why didn't you kill me?" He asks, partly as a lamentation and partly because he's genuinely curious to hear the answer. Mingyu turns to him, and Wonwoo finds he can't look the other man in the eye. Not now, not yet.

Mingyu hums, "You were too desperate to die. I don't know. I'm not a murderer."

There are three answers all in one, but only the first sounds genuine. Mingyu speaks again before Wonwoo can figure out a reply, "Why did you want to die?"

There's a moment of hesitation where Wonwoo realises what he's about to say, but he's tired, fed up, infurated, and Mingyu's reaction doesn't really matter any more. 

"Because I was in love. Because I am in love. And love's such a limiting, hideous thing. It's never helped anyone. And so I wanted to die."

"Why get me to kill you?" Mingyu sounds genuinely confused, eyebrows furrowed, "Why not just commit suicide or something?"

Wonwoo stares down at the floor. Mingyu's gaze is far too open and honest for him to cope with right now.

"I thought it would be fitting to die by the hand of the one who was killing me already."

Mingyu sets the bottle down on the floor, leaning back and crossing his hands behind his head. Wonwoo chances a glance to find Mingyu staring pensively at the ceiling. He chews his lip between his teeth, and Wonwoo can't take his eyes off the action.

"So you turn up," The boy begins, appearing to be recreating the scene, "All headstrong and impetuous to tempt me into a fight. You leave your knife unguarded, knowing that I'll take it and use it on it's owner. You were ready to die in that alley... but why?" Mingyu shakes his head, "I don't understand. How was I killing you already?"

"I'm in love with you." The words are out of Wonwoo's mouth before he can even think. "I don't know when, and I don't know how, and I certainly don't know why. But I am. And I hated it."

Mingyu's head shoots up. Wonwoo finally gathers up the courage and turns to look the boy in the eye. He's somewhat shellshocked, and Wonwoo finds that he really, really likes that look on the kid's face.

"You are?"

Wonwoo nods slowly, because there's no use denying it now. Mingyu suddenly lets out a laugh, dry and devoid of humour, and shakes his head.

"That's so in' weird." He muses, lips tugging into a smile, and no amount of expectation changes how the words sting in Wonwoo's mind. "So weird."

A hand reaches out to take his arm, avoiding the bruises at his elbows and wrists, and Wonwoo is once again forced to meet Mingyu's gaze.

"Y'know." Mingyu continues, still smiling strangely and affectionately, "When you were against that wall, wanting desperately to die, I couldn't help but think of how it would feel to kiss you."

The words hang in the air for a few seconds before Wonwoo can fully process them. Once he does, his jaw drops open. Mingyu laughs again, just as dry and ironic as before.

"I'm still sort of wondering, you know." He hums, "There's something about you. You're unyielding, I like that."

Wonwoo is stunned. The butterflies in his stomach stop raking at his insides and morph into balls of cotton instead, and, for the first time ever, a warm sort of glow begins radiating from his chest. Is this what love is meant to feel like? It's scary, and goes against everything he's ever believed in, but its also sort of... nice.

"For god's sakes." Mingyu rolls his eyes, tugging Wonwoo closer by the arm, "Stop sitting there like an idiot and take the hint."

And with those words, the boy lunges forward and presses their mouths together.

The kiss is powerful and heady, and Wonwoo feels like he's flying and drowning simultaneously. It's the first kiss of his life, and he's scared. He's so damn scared. This was not meant to happen, ever, but now he's here Wonwoo finds that he's really can't get enough. His hand moves of its own accord and curls around Mingyu's shoulder as they kiss again.

This is love. Wonwoo thinks as he melts into the boy's body. Not the torture, not the uncertainty. This, right here, with Mingyu so soft and beautiful and close. Love still might be his undoing. It may kill him yet, but he finds that, right now, he really doesn't mind.

"Don't die." Mingyu murmurs against his lips as they break apart ever so slightly, "Not now, not because of love."

His hands are warm as they trail down Wonwoo's sides, and Wonwoo arches forward to steal just one more kiss before the boy speaks again.

"I'll teach you," He sighs, "I'll teach you that love is good, that it's worth something. I'll make you happy. I'll try."

Mingyu dips down to press his lips somewhat desperately against Wonwoo's cheek, his jaw, his neck, and Wonwoo curls his fingers into soft, dark hair, and nods even though he knows the boy can't see him.

"Okay."

Because he's willing to try. He's willing to fall in love, to abandon all previous notions. All because of mercy, all because of Mingyu's selfless intuition, all because he knew not to kill him. The plague in his heart is twisted into medicine, and he's willing to change. He twines Mingyu's hair between his fingers as the boy kisses down his throat, and mumbles the word again into the atmosphere. 

"Okay."
 

FIN

A/N: I apologise for this. I don't know what happened, but one day I suddenly had two lines of poetry stuck in my head (that I think are by Richard Siken):

"I'm sorry about the blood in your mouth. I wish it was mine,
I couldn't get the boy to kill me, but I wore his jacket for the longest time"

And I just wanted to write something sort of based on that. I know I really should be finishing my Jisoo/Junghan Neptune's Child, and the Ancient Greece-based oneshot for you, Lusika, but... yeah, this was born instead :')
I'm also sorry that it got a little rushed and weird at the end... I have no excuse for that, but I'm sorry for it anyway.