Chapter Text
It was the sort of night you usually loved, though you doubted you’d ever find it comforting again. The rain was coming down harder than it had in months, the proper type of storm that was perfect for laying in bed inside your home, safe. No one wanted to be out in this, least of all you. You were sitting in the passenger seat of your car, in the parking lot of your apartments, having watched your life crumble before you not an hour before. It felt longer than that, it felt like you’d been sitting there and waiting for several.
The bruise on your cheek had just begun to swell, and that familiar pain of mistreatment you knew too well throbbed on neck from where he’d wrapped his hands. But he didn’t get to do much this time, though you’re not certain if saying you’d been saved was accurate. The stress alone of what you knew was going on in your apartment had driven you back to smoking, and with the window cracked down, despite the rain dripping into the car, you indulged in a habit only slightly less dangerous than the one you’d shared with a man that might be dead now.
Bi-han had interrupted things, the two of you had gotten close due to your status as neighbors and similarly bleak and cynical dispositions. He had been the source of the fight, as he had inspired so much jealousy in your boyfriend. The man of ice had told you to leave, to go to the car and wait for him, which is why you were sitting out on such a dismal night trying your best to stay calm. The wait time came to a quick end though when you saw Bi-han leaving the apartment complex and cross the parking lot. He was soaking wet by the time he sat in the driver’s seat of your car. There was a pause that only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity of silence of staring at each other before you finally spoke.
“Is he dead?” You asked it while exhaling some smoke. He held out his hand, and it took you a moment to realize he was asking for the keys. You had to fish in your purse to find them, while you were looking he addressed you.
“What do you want me to say?” He asked with a tilt of his head. There was no subtle accusation of weakness in the question, which is what you’d expected from the harsh man. You’d figured he’d have more than a little condescension for you, but no, he spoke with an honest curiosity. Like he was trying to suss out what sort of person you were. You blinked at him, left speechless by the question, and glanced down at his hand. The water droplets from the rain had crystallized into a dusting of frost, and you had the strangest urge to brush it off for him.
“Do you want me to say no? That I roughed him up and sent him on his way, scared him so much he swore to never speak to you?” You still didn’t know how to respond, but you knew that wasn’t true. And you supposed that was the point, did you want to live with an obvious lie to alleviate the guilt you were going to inevitably feel? As much as you hated your boyfriend, you’d loved him too. For all his cruelty and all the ways he hurt you, he’d brought so much joy. There had always been more good times than bad, even if they were no longer worth the suffering.
“Or are you hoping I’ll say yes. That I’ll tell you he went to his death screaming and crying, in pain and begging for mercy? What do you want to hear?” Still there was no accusation, no implication of who you were. It didn’t seem like he’d blame you for wanting the revenge, or for the ease of guilt off your conscience either way. The truth was though, and it made your heart hurt so very deeply, is that you didn’t want to hear either. You’d held it together so well all night, but finally the tears rolled silently down your cheeks. It had finally sank in, the man you loved despite all his failures was dead.
“The truth,” you finally said, and he actually looked impressed with you. He slid the keys into the ignition and started the car, but didn’t shift into gear. Instead he turned to face you completely before speaking again.
“The truth is he was dead before you got to the elevator. He didn’t suffer. It was quick, clean, and as painless as death can be. The clean up took considerably more time.” It was a fact he reported, he had no emotional investment in it and you realized that this wasn’t a thing he’d never done before. It made your hands shake between drags on the cigarette to realize you were sitting next to an expert on the subject.
“How much do I owe you?” You said it like you were cracking a joke, a smile on your face while tears rolled down your cheeks. Like saying it in jest could some how disguise what you were asking. What you were asking was him to refute your suspicions, or confirm them. You’d already told him you wanted honesty.
“You couldn’t afford it,” he said with a side long glance to you and finally moved the car out of park and pulled out of the lot. Your heart almost stopped in your chest, and the cigarette slipped out of your fingers when you went to dust the ash out the window. It was lost in the rain.
“But if you want to thank me, you can buy me a couple of drinks.”
----------------------------------
The bar was the sort of shitty little joint that stayed open due only to the dedicated regulars that came to drink in a spot where no one would bother them. For a night like this, with bruises darkening your cheek and neck, with your mascara running so far down that it was in danger of dripping off your jaw, it was the only place you’d want to be seen. The waitress didn’t even give you a second glance when you ordered, most likely no more than another sad face in a place that catered to them.
The initial shock, the fear, the pure and inescapable misery had slipped behind a wall of numbness. All those emotions you could feel tugging at your conscience, begging for attention, but unable to penetrate through the thick fog in your brain. You hadn’t looked at him since you realized what he was, not really, and most definitely not in the face. Even now, sitting directly across from Bi-han you could stare only at the stiff drink you’d ordered but had yet to taste.
“Are you afraid of me now?” He asked breaking the long period of silence that had stretched for almost half an hour. You finally looked up, and squinted at him considering his attractive face and cold demeanor you’d found charming before, but now seemed so dangerous.
“A little,” you said it and finally picked up your glass for a drink. It burned all the way down, especially on your already pained neck. That was fine, it felt nice to feel a little through all the numb.
“You’re smart for that,” he replied, that intense gaze fixed on yours. You didn’t hold it though, instead you looked down at the table and watched your fingers rub along the grain. He was most definitely the judgmental sort, and hearing him praise you for anything, especially after the humiliating night you had felt odd. You knew it was coming, that harsh tone he wielded so often, when he chastised you for staying with your now former boyfriend for so long. It was a small miracle that he hadn’t dropped it on you already.
“Am I going to get a lecture from you?” You decided to prompt it. Normally that sort of conversation prompted a fight, one of which you could storm away from to avoid dealing with your situation a little longer. You weren’t sure running out on paying the tab for a career killer was something you wanted to do.
“A lecture?” You looked up to see his brow furrow, he legitimately didn’t know what you were referring to.
“You know, that same lecture everyone wants to give out about this shit. About taking responsibility and leaving. About how I need to respect myself more so I don’t fall for it again.” You didn’t bother keeping the bitterness out of your voice over all those people who claimed to care, but didn’t want to try to understand. That wanted it to be your fault because if it was your fault, it could never happen to them. It reaffirmed their sense of safety and their imagined moral superiority for having never been emotionally manipulated and beaten. The anger of all the memories of that condescending speech told to you so many times was enough to inspire a glare at him, silently daring him to deliver it to you. He didn’t look much moved though, in fact he rolled his eyes at you.
“I don’t care enough,” he said and tilted back his glass to finish off the drink, and you knew you were going to be buying him a second one. He did have you by the figurative balls here. For some reason that casual dismissal hit your heart in a painful way, and that misery the numbness had kept away started to creep back in. What did you expect though?
“At least you’re honest,” you replied but sounded much less bitter. No, the tone of your voice was defeat.
“Don’t be like that. What I meant is that I’m not going to sit here and blame you for the shitty things someone did to you. I don’t care about him, or what happened because it is very fucking much done. You want to feel bad? Then feel bad. I can’t stop you.” He was calm but you saw the muscle in his jaw tense up, he was clenching his teeth. You had far too much experience in looking for the little signs that someone was upset, and you could spot them far more easily then most. But he was in control of himself, that much you knew. It should’ve scared you more that he had so much of it and he was capable of what he’d done not long before. Instead it made you feel strangely comfortable.
“But you care?” It was halfway between a statement and a question. His jaw relaxed and you could swear his eyes softened, if only just a little. He nudged your glass towards you, encouraging you to take another drink, which you did.
“You think I’m giving a freebie out to anyone else? Like I’m some avenger of the fucking innocent using my talents to rid the world of evil? No, brat, that was just for you.”