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myeongchokrp · 5 years

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PROFILE LOADED • • • 《 CHAE JIWOONG 》

“On the surface, CHAE JIWOONG is a seventeen-year-old STUDENT at SEUNGRI HIGH SCHOOL and BARISTA at BREWED AWAKENING. Dig a little deeper and you’ll discover that he’s also a THIEF that goes by the alias LUAN. His allegiance lies with COLUMBA.”

TW FAMILY DEATH, ABANDONMENT

《 WHO ARE YOU? 》

“chae ‘woong, high school senior and barista,” swallowing another chunk of bread, his cheeks deflating from his now empty mouth, he quips, “although, i’m sure you’d mistake me for kim soohyun—happens all the time. so many people have mistakenly asked for autographs that i’ve started giving them fake ones—try to see them sell that online, heh.”

with that, he takes another large bite of what was the third sweet yam-filled bun that had made its way into his hands, ripping a giant hunk off.

( for someone with facial features that harken to that of a deer’s, he has a monster’s appetite. )

after a momentary pause, jiwoong swallows again, and tilts his head, eyes glimmering.

“but that’s not why you’re asking, is it? how about this: as a favor to ‘ya out of my own good will, i’ll say it. i’m actually luan, columba’s official cat burglar. i’m the one that stole those pertinent documents on your most recent crime investigation, and all the transaction receipts that you were this close to getting ahold of after months of chasing leads. i’m also planning on stealing all of your hidden snacks in the mini fridge outside this interrogation room in the near future—better keep one eye on that leftover tteokbokki on the top shelf before you open the door one day and it’s nowhere to be found.”

he laughs, a quick burst, vibrating with a youthful energy that’s overwhelming enough to seem a bit too over the top, maybe even volatile.

“that’s what you wanted to hear, right? ‘m afraid to say, you’ve wasted both your time and your food. if i really was a thief, you’d be here and i’d be gone along with all the tteokbokki.”

he sees the thin line of tension connecting him and the officer, how it twists and splinters and snaps fiber by fiber. luckily for jiwoong, he had always wanted to try tightrope walking—the more worn away the rope, the better.

“but hey, let’s play a game. i’ll make it real easy f’r you, just ‘cause i love giving myself a challenge. there’s a lie surrounded by truths somewhere in what i just said. figured out which one it is yet?”

《 HOW DID YOU GET HERE? 》

leaning back in his seat with no more space to rest his arms amongst all the plastic wrappers littering his side of the table, jiwoong grins.

“well, i was eating my daily ramen at the convenience store when one of your officers approached me. to be honest, i’m still not sure why i’m here. the biggest crime i’ve committed is drawing on the bathroom stalls with a permanent marker in middle school—you didn’t need to know that, did you?”

at this point, he can’t tell nor bring himself to care about whether he was lying or not. all he knows is that he sees the stern lines of his uncle’s face in the man sitting across from him, and he suddenly feels like seven year old woongie again, making up whatever ludicrous excuse he can to smooth out the wrinkles of disappointment and replace them with lines of laughter. he hates it.

“got here by police car, don’t you know? you saw me get dragged out of the back seat like some kind’a convict. even brought the bread in for me when i said i wouldn’t talk unless i got some kind of compensation for the noodles i had to leave behind.”

there’s no longer any bile that rises in his stomach when he says the last word, trying to blot out the sentimentality that wells up, blurring vague images of a warm hand patting down stray tufts of hair on his head and the softening edges of a hard-cut face. it’s getting harder and harder to curb his spite the longer he stays here. feels suffocating. he wants to go back to his little corner, hidden away from the view of that tired middle aged lady at the cashier who always gave him a sad-eyed smile with too much motherly affection for his tastes. hidden away from his actual mom—or aunt’s—apathetic gaze.

( ironic how the one closest to his heart was the most distant. sometimes, the spiteful voice in the back of his head asks him if it’s because he genuinely cares about her, or because she’s the only person who took enough pity on him to come back after the only person who ever loved him was taken away from him. )

the look of sheer disappointment is what ticks him off the most—it’s a sign the officer could give two shits about him, as if he’s some kind of misled kid that’s never had a real family. no matter how true it was, he despises how it feels like he could be seen through so easily. it’s too late for him to turn back around and spill all his secrets, come clean and cry for all his crimes, all the things he’s stolen without a second thought, all the times he’s laid in bed as a child looking up at the ceiling all night, wondering what it’s like to be tucked in and told stories and helped with homework. he was too old to cry for his uncle, to mourn over the invisible body that was already buried six feet under. all he remembers crying over is yellow caution tape and strong arms that push him back from the flashing lights, faces covered by police caps.

blinking his eyes a couple of times to readjust to the white lights that engulfed the interrogation room, jiwoong shakes his head, playing it off with a chuckle.

“anyways, if you’re asking about this columbus-whatever because y’ still think i’m part of some gang, you’re not gonna get anything out of me. now, if you’ll excuse me, i have to get home. m’ aunt’s worried sick.”

surprisingly, the rest of the transition is rather peaceful as he is allowed to stand up and head towards the door, not looking back once. as he finds himself leaving the station, he scoffs to himself in the cold night air.

worried sick? no, probably enjoying his longer than usual absence from the apartment.

he killed himself. that’s what the lady told him, her cold hand there on his arm but her eyes somewhere distant.

his first true taste of reality was at the ripe age of eight, when his uncle’s ex-wife briskly told him that his only anchor in this world ended itself because of money troubles as they left the funeral. that’s what you get for making a deal with gang members.

his second taste of reality came the next day when he learned about how his real parents didn’t want him—they disappeared without a trace after leaving him on his father’s brother’s doorstep. and now, here he was, in the hands of someone who could barely be called his relative or anyone remotely connected to him except for by a no longer existing contract.

aunt, big sister, mother, whatever—unlike uncle, auntie didn’t care what he called her. he could pretend she didn’t exist and she’d just continue on as usual.

all he woke up to every day was a wad of cash on the dining room table for him to buy breakfast and anything else he wanted that day, the price being that he stayed out of her way, kept quiet enough for her to not deal with any troubles he might cause.

there had been no one to witness all of his important milestones, how he slowly grew out of baggy jeans into skinny ripped ones, how he slowly shifted from gangly limbs and skin into a lithe, adept machine. no one to watch him steal everything from those bastards that had taken everything from him.

an eye for an eye makes the world go blind, but he’s already got nothing left to lose except for someone who couldn’t care less about his existence. might as well go out with a bang.

#mi:accepted #mi:columba #han jisung #stray kids #krp

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