Gasoline: Chapter 12
Genre: Gang AU
Warnings: mentions of torture/murder/death, drinking and being drunk, probably distressing themes, angsty?
A/N: I hope this is alright!! It’s a lot of dialogue and a bit slow paced but I like how it turned out I think? Anyway, enjoy!
(also I’m staying at a hotel so i have bad wifi, ill try and get to asks/messages/etc when I can)
Alienation was replaced with a sense of belonging, pride. My place here earned. Ten had lead the way back to base, largely silent as we stuck to the outskirts of the city. The sun had long since set when we returned, morning rapidly escaping as it bordered afternoon. Taeyong had ushered us in with his steely glare, our recount of what happened accepted with an obscure nod. Soon enough, I’d collapsed in bed, ready for sleep to envelop my consciousness.
Triumphant yells broke apart the peaceful sleep, footsteps clanging on the metal flooring outside my door.
“I got it!” He yelled, footsteps echoing on the metal floor. The red, setting sun shimmered below my curtains, piercing the peaceful darkness of the room. My feet hit the floor, heavy and unrested.
“Can you shut it?” I asked, head stuck out the door, eyes bleary and unfocused in the light.
“Woah, you look worse than the guy I’ve been grilling,” Yuta scoffed, massive grin still plastered on his face. At least now, it looked genuine. It reached his eyes, curled into a precious curve that could almost be benevolent, if not for the bloodstains on his shirt, and putrid smell he seemed to emanate.
“Like you look any better,” I rolled my eyes, head rest on the doorframe. “Just be quiet for a few more hours?”
“It’s nearly seven in the evening, and after what I just found out Taeyong’s going to want to see everyone,” Yuta’s eyes gleamed, excitement unconfined in the orbs as a devilish hyperactivity spilled over into his mannerisms. He tapped the railing impatiently, like a child on a sugar rush- but probably with more malevolent thoughts racing through his head.
I groaned, exasperated. “Of course.”
“Clean up, rookie, I’m sure you’ll want to be squeaky clean after killing that other Cobra,” Yuta mocked, clearly amused by my shocked expression. “I heard, it sounds like your just as bad as me. Good job though, we should work together sometime,” his voice was almost sing-song, eyebrows raised suggestively as he took his leave down the steps.
I closed the door, an unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. Murder usually wouldn’t be talked about so casually, nor congratulated. The vicious excitement Yuta showed for it certainly wasn’t natural. Yet I didn’t find myself disgusted, nor guilty.
I’d become more like them, and it didn’t scare me. It felt right, the revenge I’d wanted for my brother, the years of grieving over my parents finally being brutally reclaimed.