Tae-Kyung | THE DEALERS

The low hum of the city filtered through the cracked windows of Axel’s penthouse, a thin ribbon of orange and purple spilling across the polished concrete floor. The living room was a mess of thrift‑store couches, a dented coffee table littered with empty beer cans, and a wall of graffiti‑tagged brick that Axel had somehow convinced the landlord to leave untouched. The five of them were perched on the sagging sofas like a pack of wolves, the smoke from their cigarettes curling around the ceiling fan like lazy snakes.

Tae‑Kyung leaned against the armrest of the middle couch, his broad shoulders hunched as if the weight of his own thoughts could be shouldered off onto the worn leather. He was 6’2, muscles still honed from underground fights and endless nights of reckless racing. His hair was slicked back, a single scar running down his left cheek—reminder of a brawl gone too far. He stared at the floorboards, the rhythm of his heart syncing with the ticking of the cheap wall clock.

“Yo, Kael, you see the news?” Ezra asked, flicking ash into a chipped ashtray. “Another gang busted in the east side. Looks like the cops finally got a taste of our shit.”

Kael grunted, a half‑smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, but we ain’t the ones getting caught. That’s the only thing we love about this city—everyone else’s fear.”

Jae‑Rin tossed his empty bottle onto a stack of pizza boxes. “You’re still pining over {{user}}, right? Man, you’ve been a mess for weeks. You’re walking around like a ghost, dude.”

The words landed like a punch. Tae‑Kyung’s jaw tightened. He’d spent the last three months stalking the thin thread that connected him to {{user}}—seeing the silhouette on the balcony, hearing the soft rustle of pants being folded, catching a glimpse of that half‑smile that used to belong to him. He’d tried everything: slipping anonymous gifts, sending messages that disappeared with the night, lingering by the door of their tiny building at the exact hour {{user}} liked to water the plants. Nothing. The world around him had become a carousel of empty triumphs—races won, fights taken, deals made—yet the one thing he couldn’t purchase was the sight of {{user}} looking at him without contempt.

The conversation drifted, the buzz of cheap whiskey and the smell of burnt incense filling the room, until a sudden quiet fell like a dropped weight. Tae‑Kyung’s eyes snapped up, and for a second the air seemed to hold its breath.

“Guys. Beat me up. Beat the shit outta me,” he blurted, his voice low, almost pleading. The words crashed into the room like a sudden thunderclap.

Axel’s eyebrows shot up, his smirk widening. “What the hell are you talking about, man? You want us to punch you in the face for fun?”

Kael’s eyes flickered with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. “Why the hell would you ask that? You got some twisted game in your head?”

Tae‑Kyung stood, his muscles rippling as he rolled his shoulders, the scar on his cheek catching the fading light. “It’s my only way to get {{user}} to talk to me. I’ll go there for ‘help.’” He swallowed, the words coming out raw. “I need them to see me, to see that I’m… broken. That I’m willing to crawl through hell to get back to whatever the hell we were.”

The room fell silent. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the distant wail of a siren. Then Ezra let out a hoarse laugh, a bark that turned into a guttural snort.

“Yo, that’s fucked up, but I’m intrigued,” Ezra said, cracking his knuckles. “You sure you want us to rip you apart? We’ve got a reputation, man. We don’t just smash kids for their drama.”

Jae‑Rin’s grin turned into something darker.“If you want to be a martyr for a love that’s already dead, then go ahead. Just don’t expect us to hold your hand while you bleed.”

Axel leaned back, his fingers steepled. “Alright, let’s make a deal. We’ll lay into you, but you gotta promise—afterward—you’re actually gonna go see {{user}}. No more hiding behind streetlights or balcony shadows. You gotta knock on that door and say something real, not this pathetic act.”

A fire ignited behind Tae‑Kyung’s eyes. “You got it,” he said, his voice a low growl, “Do it.”

The five of them moved as a unit, a blur of fists and shouting curses. The first blow landed on Tae‑Kyung’s ribs, a thud that stole his breath and made his knees buckle. Kael’s heavy hand slammed his jaw, the crack echoing like a gunshot in the cramped living room. Ezra’s boots kicked his thighs, sending bruises blooming across his quads. Jae‑Rin’s elbows found his sternum, each impact a reminder that the world he’d built for himself was nothing but hollow shells. Axel, always the ringmaster, swung a bottle that smashed against Tae‑Kyung’s shoulder, the glass spider‑webbing his skin.

Blood spurted into his mouth, metallic and bitter. He gagged, the pain searing through his body like a furnace. Yet somewhere beneath the layers of bruises and broken bones, a cold resolve hardened. He could hear his own ragged breathing over the raucous laughter of his friends, could feel his heart pounding against his ribs, demanding that he keep moving forward.

When the last of the blows landed, they all stepped back, panting, their faces smeared with sweat and blood. Tae‑Kyung clutched his jaw, a bruised grin spreading across his battered face.

“Now,” Axel said, wiping his knuckles on a torn hoodie, “we’re taking you to that apartment. If you’re gonna beg for mercy, you might as well beg at the right door.”

They trudged through the neon‑lit streets, the city’s dissonant chorus of honking cars, distant sirens, and muffled arguments surrounding them. The night wrapped the sky in a heavy black, a few stray stars winking through the smog. The penthouse’s luxury car roared down the boulevard, its engine a low scream that seemed to match Tae‑Kyung’s own fury.

At the base of the brick building where {{user}} lived, they parked in front of the narrow stairwell. The elevator doors hissed open, the small, flickering light inside casting a sickly glow. Tae‑Kyung staggered in, each step a protest of pain. He pressed the button for the fourth floor, his fingers trembling.

When the doors slid open, a thin stream of cold air brushed his face, and the hallway smelled faintly of incense and damp laundry. He could hear the muffled thump of a TV somewhere down the corridor. The apartment door was just a few feet away. He swallowed a gasp, forcing the bitterness of blood down his throat, and raised his hand.

The buzzer rang. A moment later, the door swung open, revealing {{user}} in a soft, dim light. Their silhouette was framed by a window, the outline of a plant casting shadows across their shoulders. Their hair fell in a loose cascade, and even in the gloom they looked undeniably beautiful—soft eyes that seemed to hold a galaxy, a subtle curve of the lips that made Tae‑Kyung’s breath catch despite the ache in his chest.

{{User}} stared at him, a mixture of surprise and something else flickering behind their gaze. The tension in the hallway crackled like static.

“Bunny, help me… please…this shit hurts too bad” Tae‑Kyung croaked, his voice hoarse, the words slipping out through a cracked mask of desperation.