TRANE

A JinYoon Fanfiction by Kwuintessence

DEFINITION: change in form, nature, or substance

ROUND 3 - Incorporate the two images below in your story. Images were chosen by SANDIUN.

Disclaimer: Images are NOT mine or ours.

Every bit of him was broken and worn down. From his head, all the way down to the tips of his toes. His soul viciously wrung out and left in tatters, his heart ruthlessly emptied out. There was no escape, no refuge, for the likes of him - those who have sold themselves to the devil. He was filthy all the way down to his core and no matter how hard he scrubbed his skin until raw, he can still feel their hands on him as each one of them mercilessly tore him apart.

Desperation led him to it. The first time he had done it replays back in his mind. There was no pleasure, only harrowing pain and it still eats him up from inside. He recalls the tormenting feel of his skin tearing, his back arching on the spring mattress, harsh sloppy s, the thick scent of musk, tear-stained and miserable, voice raw and broken, his blood on the sheets, and 10,000,000 KR won falling before his eyes.

He would run if he could, but there was no place for him to run to. Disappearing altogether would be better, if not for his younger brother’s teary embittered face flashing on his mind each time. His left wrist throbs, his fresh cut had come undone. A temporary pain to relieve a temporary pain. It was addiction at its finest.

Not too deep. He’d hummed to himself, stopping the blade with his breath abated. Just enough for him to feel the pain, and enough for him to feel alive. But he’d had days when he wanted to keep going, days when he didn’t want to stop at all…just a bit more to end it all.

The Han looked magnificent tonight. The city of soul reflected in it looked like sparkling glimmering hope in his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to burn as much of it in his mind. Alcohol is such a wonderful thing; it dulls away the pain – although fleeting. And at that moment, in his ridiculously drunken haze, he felt invincible. His name is Kim Jinwoo and when he lies down to sleep tonight and closes his weary eyes, he hopes that it would be the last.
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There are things that come to mind when it’s dark out and one is alone. For him, it’s a certain memory from a not so distant past. And just like tonight, his mind slowly wanders back to that particular moment in time.

“Don't.” he mumbled to himself and smiled. A mere word from someone that became and still remains his form of salvation even now. With his car parked by the riverside, the Han flowing in the foreground seemed to disappear and become one with the night sky. Like a mirror, it reflected the condescending lights of Seoul City. Tired and weary, he leaned back on his seat and let out a soft sigh, his calloused hands tugging his necktie loose.

A figure slowly came waltzing out from the shadows over at his right. He halts his movements, eyes widening as he peered into the darkness. The figure staggering ahead is dead drunk, he soon concluded. Though he couldn’t see the face of the other person now standing 20 feet away from his parked car, he knew by his stance.

He watched the figure in front of him stumble in the dark for a while longer, arms outstretched as if he’s carrying the weight of the world in them. Eventually tripping over his own feet, the figure fell on his knees, crossing his arms over his chest he fell on his side and laid on the ground.

Maybe, you and I are the same. He thought, the faintest ghost of a smile on his lips. Maybe, you need saving too.
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Harsh sunlight streaming in from the window between a drape gap, bathed his form. Jinwoo cracked one eye open then quickly shut them tight. Too damn bright. Groaning, he rolled over and felt up the space beside him for the familiar ball of round fur – but today there was none. Braving the merciless sun, he slowly opened his eyes.

Where the hell am I?

Jinwoo stared groggily at the unfamiliar chandelier hanging down from the contemporary beveled ceiling that greeted him. Disoriented and with his head pounding, he gingerly sat up, one hand rubbing sleep from his eyes.

To begin with, the opulence of the room he was in was enough to convince him that he had landed himself in trouble the previous night. He was neither bound nor gagged but judging by the sheer size of the bed he was on and the ritzy furnishing of the room, there was no way that it could be anything good. Good things don’t happen to people like him, only bad things do.

Scattered images of his recollections from the night before flashed like a blur in his mind. There had been drinks, there had been singing, the fiery glow of a blinking stoplight, the sound of a train speeding by, the glistening Seoul skyline reflected on the Han, and finally, the feel of being tightly held in someone's arms.

His confusion chased away lingering sleep and after slipping out of smooth luxurious sheets, he paused. Jinwoo stared down at himself, or rather at the sumptuous white button down shirt that wasn’t his. This is a first. He thought to himself, slowly running his fingers on its buttons. His plethora of clients took his clothes off not put them back on. Then again, he couldn’t very well recall what had happened the night before. But there was one thing that he was certain of, he had remained untouched, still clad in his own boxer briefs.

He swung his legs off the bed, his head still lightly throbbing and his right knee stinging – catching sight of a big flesh-toned band-aid patch on it. He peeled it back a bit in curiosity, now seeing an inch and a half long scrape. The surrounding area was red and tender, the wound itself was raw. How he'd gotten it, he had no clue. Along with it he notices another band-aid on his left inner wrist. Someone had written something on the side, and it made Jinwoo raise a brow.

‘Hajimayo.’ (Don’t)

“How meddlesome…” he muttered under his breath, peeling it off. The scars on his left wrist resembled lines on a map, with the first cut being the deepest and not a clean one. He had meant to finish himself off but couldn’t in the end. He recalled how the blade he held sliced through his skin, how he’d pushed it in deep and how it tore through his flesh. Now the skin there has healed and despite all the terrible things he had gone through, he had remained alive.

He gingerly rose off the bed; one hand remained on it as he tried to find his center. Hugging the wall for support, he slowly made his way out of the room and into a spatial living room with a bar that lead to a dining area. The ceiling to floor windows boasted a magnificent view of Seoul’s urban landscape; it tempted Jinwoo to look on for a while.

On top of the divan, propped on the armrest was a guitar bag that Jinwoo didn't pay much heed to. He headed towards the sofa and on the coffee table lay the clothes he was wearing the night before – washed, pressed, and neatly folded. The brownish blood stain on the left cuff of his favorite worn-out gray hoodie now gone. Beside it was his wallet and under it a folded note. Jinwoo took his wallet first and checked its contents. Nothing was taken from it. He wasn’t surprised; there wasn’t anything in it worth taking in the first place. Taking the note, he unfolded it. On a five-star hotel stationery was a handwritten message.

Hungry? Eat some yummy soup! Check the kitchen, it’s on the stove. If your head still hurts, take some medicine but make sure to EAT FIRST!!! I left the medicine on top of the bedside table along with some band-aids for your knee.

Don't move around too much and just rest. I’ll be back later this afternoon. Don’t go anywhere and wait for me.

After re-reading the note a few times, Jinwoo crumpled it and left it on the coffee table. He walked over to the dining table; it had been set for one. His next stop was the kitchen, on the stove was a pot and on the counter was another note weighed down by a bottle of Condition Power.

Reheating instructions for seollongtang was written down on it along with a ridiculous looking drawn stick figure riding on a ladle. Under it was a postscript.

You should drink it. It’s good for you.☺

Jinwoo eyed the green bottle for a bit then his gaze went back to the note again, then back at the bottle. A minute later he sighed and turned away, limping towards the aforementioned pot from the first note sitting on the stove. Lifting the lid, he was greeted by the sight of milky white broth. Beside the pot was a plate with sliced meat and rice noodles covered with plastic wrap.

Finally, he walked back to the bedroom. His head was still throbbing but it wasn’t as bad as it was earlier, his knee bothered him more, it stung with every movement he made. Glancing around, he noticed a basin half-filled with water on the bedside table along with a towel. Next to it was a box with English characters written on it, the medicine mentioned on the note he assumes. Underneath were some large sized band-aids and another note. Jinwoo hobbled towards it and after putting the medicine on top of it aside, he took a couple of the band-aids out - his eyes lingering on the note the whole time.

Back in the living room, he changed into his own clothes. He folded the white shirt he had on when he awoke and placed it on the coffee table. Noticing the note he crumpled earlier, he took it in his hand and slipped it in his pocket. The whole room was now bathed in shimmering sunlight; Jinwoo took a final glance before turning on his heel and leaving it all behind.

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A couple months later.

It’s another Saturday night and just before the sun went down, Kim Jinwoo slipped into the backdoor of an adult bar in Itaewon called, PAPILLON. Chaos was already starting to unfurl with two girls fighting over the same dress. Jinwoo walks past them, uninterested. And as the argument between the two heats up, their voices rising, he takes a seat at one of the vanity tables lined up on one side of the room and starts to get ready.

Two hours later, Kim Jinwoo’s existence is gone. The person staring back at him in the mirror looked like someone that came out of a dream. Big doe eyes were lined and rimmed, multihued – to match with flamboyant sprayed in multicolor hair. Glossy light pink lips shimmered under the bright lights of the vanity table. Leaning forward, he examined the face in front of him from every angle before adding the final touch to its tranation…a little black heart under the right eye, drawn with an eyeliner pen.

He adjusts his black leather wrist cuff on his left hand, making sure that it covers all his scars before stepping out of the back room and into the bar, clad in his outfit for the night – black thigh highs, white hot shorts just shy of obscene held up by black suspenders, and a cropped sleeveless mock-neck top. His white heeled boots clicked with each step, the room plunging in momentary silence as everyone’s eyes fell on him.

PAPILLON (in French - BUTTERFLY) is now in full-swing. The lower level floor is an open drinking area lined with plush seats and glass tables for entertaining guests. Glitzy chandeliers, mood lighting, plastic roses, marble flooring, the smell of tobacco, well-practiced giggling, mirrors, preserved butterflies in acrylic cases.

As per the bars name, the owner has an obsession with them - butterflies. At night, they are all reborn, rising under a guise that the owner had created for each of them. All after one of the lovely creatures displayed behind the cases. He was no exception.

On one side was the bar, various spirits were on display along with platters of cut fruit ready to be served. Beside it was an elaborate marble staircase guarded by a well-built man in a suit. Dubbed 'The Stairway to Heaven', the upper level is where the bar really makes its money - a place where people like him open up their bodies for a price.

It’s only been five minutes and he’s already being requested. Following behind the bar manager, he walks towards his assigned table, three men in expensive suits stared up at him.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” One of them asks. The bar manager looked pleased, already knowing where this is leading.

“Gentlemen, this is Citha. The elusive butterfly of Itaewon.”

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“So, how good are you Citha?” One of the men asks half an hour later, one hand on his drink while the other crawls up his bare thigh, barely grazing his crotch. The other two aren’t any better, one was staring up at him, having had one drink too many while the other had already started pressing his lips along his jaw.

He downs his drink in one go, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, “Why don’t you take me upstairs and find out...”

Upstairs, behind closed doors, the men quickly strip themselves. Pushed down on the bed, they crawled over him. "Impatient, aren't we?" He giggled, tilting his head back and his lips in a teasing manner, just as he had learned from those before him.

And just like the other men that had taken him prior, they aren't interested in talking, only in taking every bit of him that they can. On his fours, the grip on his waist tightens, and the ing gets faster and sloppier. A string of breathless curses reverberate in the room. The one beneath him pulls him down, their lips crashing together. Across them another is waiting, watching him with hungry eyes as he himself to match with their delirious pace. He grins at him, dark and seductive, sending him over the edge.

About an hour later, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, counting money.  His body barely covered by the sheets. One of the men was already in the shower while another busied himself by peppering his with open-mouthed kisses and smelling his hair. The third is resting on the bed, one arm languidly wrapped around his waist.

Eventually, the sound of running water stops. With a towel wrapped around his waist, the man grabs his pants off the floor, water dripping, and takes his wallet out of his pocket, walking over to him. Taking out some more bills, he forced it on his hand.

He frowned at him, not pleased that he was being given so much more than necessary. The man only chuckled, “It’s a tip. Take it...” before tilting his chin up and kissing him fully, “...I’ll be back to have a taste of you again soon, Citha.”

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It was just a job, none of it mattered, none of it meant anything. He laid down on the bed for a bit longer after the men left, staring up at the ceiling and trying his best to even his breath out, chest throbbing with each intake of air. His vision grows blurry as his eyes fill with tears. It's only your body they're taking. He tells himself. They can't take anything else.

The night is still early, and after a quick shower (body only), he heads to the backroom via a concealed stairway and carefully re-applies his make-up, adding a bit more color to his hair. The men he was just with were nice enough to not tear his clothes; he decides to wear the same outfit instead of changing into a new one. After taking a turn in front of a full-body mirror and making sure that his clothes, make-up and hair are perfectly in place - he saunters back out to the bar.

The bar manager hurriedly approached him, flustered.  Wondering what it's about, he paused in place and raised a brow.

“Table #4, he’s been waiting for you for almost two hours now!” The bar manager hissed, tugging his arm.

His gaze wanders to said table and he finds a well-dressed dignified looking older gentleman sitting there wearing a fedora, staring back at him. The old man looked extremely out of place.

“You should have just sent one of the others. One of the girls, perhaps. As per usual.”

“Of course, we did!” The bar manager argued, “He doesn’t want anyone else but you!”

“Look, I’m not the only one here who can a ...”

“He paid.” The bar manager tells him, the grip on his arm tightening, “Three times your fee. The whole night!”

“What?!” He stares back at the bar manager in disbelief. Who’d be crazy enough to do that? He didn’t know the old man and even if he did seem harmless now, who knows what he’d have him do or do to him once they’re alone in one of the rooms upstairs. His job was to mesmerize, to tempt, and to sleep with both men and women. It didn't mean he liked nor enjoyed any of it. to Jinwoo by now was simply a way to make ends meet, his body physically reacted but his heart and his mind were never stirred.

As if reading his thoughts, the bar manager spoke up. “He doesn’t want to do it upstairs. Elsewhere.”

He meets the steady gaze directed at him. No way in hell. Not everyone who came back from such adult excursions came back sane and sound. Also, it would be his first.

“Decline it. I’m not going with him anywhere.” He pries the hand on his arm and hurriedly walks back to the back room.

“Jinwoo-ya, listen to me...”

“I’m not Jinwoo!” The other people in the back room stared at them, he lowered his voice, swallowing thickly, “...not this…” he pointed to himself, “...not right now.”

“It’s thrice as much...” the bar manager insists, tugging him back, “...you need it, don’t you? For your younger brother. For your dad.” He stops resisting after hearing those words, the bar manager loosens his grip. “Jinwoo…I mean, Citha...think about them. How you can help them. What you can do for them. Don’t think about anything else.”

He worries his bottom lip, enough for it to tear and bleed. The bar manager grabs some facial tissues from one of the vanity tables and starts dabbing his torn lip with it.

"It's just one night. Same as usual. Get ed, get paid, get out. Easy money."

He needed the money, badly. The bar worked on a 50/40/20 ratio. 50% to the bar, 40% the workers, 10% the underground gang whose turf the bar is on. Being paid for, thrice as much, for one night was ludicrous, yet at the same time is risky and highly suspicious.

“You don’t have a phone, take mine.” The bar manager slips his mobile phone in Jinwoo's pocket. “If anything out of the usual happens. Call. I’ll come and get you myself.”

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Lip gloss re-applied, he shimmies out again to the bar, following behind the bar manager. The old man stood up from his seat as they neared his table.

"We apologize for keeping you waiting. This is..."

The old man waves his hand, cutting his introduction off and two men clad in black suits approached them. The bar goes quiet for a few seconds before whispering broke out. Jinwoo's well-practiced smile doesn't falter even when the men started to steer him towards the backdoor.

"Wait! Please..." The bar manager tries and the hired bar security closes in on them. He sees the old man start talking but he wasn't close enough to neither hear nor understand what was being said. He watches the bar manager's face, his insides knotting themselves as he slowly looked his way and nodded.

Outside the narrow and dark alley, a sleek black rolls royce is parked. It might be fancy to some but in his head it reminded him of a hearse car. Seconds later the old man exits the backdoor and the two of them end up staring at each other for a while.

"Please get in." The old man tells him, breaking eye contact first. One of the men clad in a black suit held the car door open. Folding his arms over his chest, he got inside and scooted to the far end. The old man got in after he put his seatbelt on, sitting on the other side. Silence settled inside the luxurious vehicle, as city lights whizzed by its windows. The old man had not said a word to him nor even looked at him, his gaze steadily fixed on the road ahead. Jinwoo crossed his legs, fingers drumming on his thigh he decided to break it.

"So, what are your kinks old man? Tonight, I can be anything you want me to be."

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The vehicle went up a hill and stopped in front of a two-story modish structure just outside the city. Jinwoo isn't really sure where they are, being awful with directions since birth. The old man had not responded to any of his queries, making his apprehension double. He follows the old man inside house while the two men clad in black suits remained by the front door.

On one side was the living room - a black leather couch paired with an artistically modified coffee table made out of guitars with clear glass on top, a textured rug, red accent pillows, and a modern chandelier hung above. On the other was the open kitchen and dining area. The kitchen was in black and white, with granite countertops and a kitchen island. Across is a black dining table with contemporary chairs, above was another modern chandelier. It was all spotless and flawless.

Walking past it he was led towards a lit up all glass staircase. On the center of the second floor was another seating area, rooms extended left and right from there. Jinwoo followed the old man moving towards the left and at the door at the farthest end, the old man stopped and stepped aside - motioning for him to step forward and open the door himself. Heart beating erratically in his chest, Jinwoo placed his hand on the door handle and pushed.

The room was minimally furnished. An impressive 'super king' bed lay on the center along with side tables, a stylish lamp sat atop each one. With that they'd definitely have a lot of space to 'roll' around later on, Jinwoo thought to himself. On the right side were two doors and on the left was a huge cushioned bay window with decorative pillows, a guitar was standing on the side on its stand. Jinwoo turned back to look at the old man.

"Please wait here and make yourself comfortable. Would you care for something to drink?"

"You're going to make me wait, old man?" He asks, leaning against the door frame, his top rising higher than it should, revealing more of his stomach.

The old man watched him for a bit, a small grin forming on his lips. He seemed amused, if anything. "Sir, I must have you know that I'm not your client for the night."

Jinwoo straightened up, "But who's to say you won't be in the future..." He smirked, one hand reaching out for the old man's ascot tie and lightly tugging it.

"I won't be, let's leave it at that, sir..."

"Citha. Just call me Citha. Not sir."

"Then, Citha it is." The old man gently took his fingers off his ascot tie and placed his hand back on his side. "Now, for something to drink...how does apple cider sound? I can heat some up for you."

Jinwoo smilled, relaxing a bit. "Thank you. I'd really like that."

The old man smiled back, bowed to him and left. Jinwoo stepped inside the room and started to look around, across the bed was a tall media rack and a huge flatscreen tv. He slowly walked over to the bay window and took a seat, eyeing the guitar on the side. It was all black, its body covered in a mixture of written words in white and an assortment of stickers. Jinwoo crouched down in front of it, 'GO UP' the sticker on the center read, he lightly traced it with his fingers. He'd seen a guitar a few times before but never up close, or maybe he did, once. He wasn't really sure. His fingers slowly travelled up its strings, they felt foreign under his fingertips yet immensely fascinating.

A few light raps disrupted his thoughts; Jinwoo stood up and walked towards the door, hesitating a few seconds later. It could be his client, maybe he should climb on the bed.

"Citha, may I come in? I've brought some..." Jinwoo breathed a sigh of relief and quickly opened the door. The old man stood there holding a tray. A clear glass cup was on top of it filled with amber colored apple cider garnished with a twisted orange slice, dipped in it was a cinnamon stick.

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The door opened with ease and as if on air, he silently made his way to the figure slumped on the bay window whose head was pressed against the glass. He leaned down and smiled, admiring his sleeping form up-close. Eyes wandering lower he was surprised yet mesmerized by the alluring yet chimerical-seeming sight before him. With a wistful sigh, he drew back. Cautiously moving towards the bed, he lifted the duvet and fluffed a couple pillows. Slipping out of his tailored suit jacket, he then removed his necktie, watch, and belt, leaving them all on the other end of the bay window cushion. He then rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt underneath and undid a couple buttons.

So, this is the other you. He thought to himself. "Nice to meet you, Citha." He whispered to the slumbering beauty, gingerly brushing away a stray strand of colored hair on his forehead, fingers lightly tracing the little drawn black heart under his right eye.

He carefully lifted the sleeping boy and taking him in his arms, he carried him to the bed. Once he's got him settled down, he started to painstakingly remove his tall heeled boots - pleased that he did not stir even once. He leaned over him, fingers on the hem of his thigh high's before warily pushing them past his knee where a faint scar was revealed. He pulled the material back up, delighted with how well it healed - now he eyes the leather wrist cuff on the sleeping boy's left hand.

He anxiously removed it along with the gauze wrapped around it, placing both on the side table prior to examining the pale wrist before him. His brows furrowed, noticing new cuts there that were spaced apart. Tears sprung from his eyes and before they can fall, he brushed them away with the back of his hand, finding it difficult to ignore the bubbling feeling of wanting nothing more than to hold him in his arms and protect him from harm. It hurts, looking at him like this, what he had become - an angel fallen from grace.

After cleaning his cuts, re-bandaging his wrist, and putting the wrist cuff back in place, he carefully laid down. Adjusting the duvet so that it covered the sleeping beautiful boy beside him fully, and while doing so the boy stirred. He thought his heart would leap out of his ribcage as a pair of pretty eyes sleepily blinked up at him, only to slide shut seconds later with its owner pressing close and burrowing into his chest like a kitten, before drifting back to sleep.

Awed and humbled, his heart swelled. He runs his hand up the other boy's arm then back down again, repeating it - watching him, breath catching. He exuded an air of fragility, his expression soft and delicate, he almost seemed childlike. He missed his smile and the way he laughed, mirth depicted clearly in his eyes. He had always hoped to see him again, often conjuring images in his head of just what the boy pressed against him was doing. Meeting him again under such circumstances was unexpected. Harsh truths were revealed, his salvation had been damned. Still, he couldn't help himself - he loved this boy and he would do everything to keep him in his arms. Even if it meant venturing down to hell and snatching his beloved's soul right out of the devil's hand.

The boy beside him shifts and sighs, their foreheads touching. His tears came again and he lets them fall this time, glistening under the pale moonlight.

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Jinwoo woke up to a loud unfamiliar ringing noise. He burrows himself deeper in the warm duvet, determined to ignore it. The ringing eventually stops and he sinks into his soft pillow to sleep some more. But the silence didn't last long, the ringing starts again and it grates on his nerves. He sit