TW // graphic depictions of violence (slight gore towards the end), suicide, mention of cutting, mention of homophobia, this fic is like- cute fluff uwu and next part is jUST ANGST, you are going to get hurt.

HELLOOOO tis just a short drabble I wrote a few days ago after getting inspired by a comment on a TikTok- so liKe if u notice the last and first sentence?? yes yes READ THE WHOLE FIC BEFORE LINKING THEM TOGETHER PLS IT WILL SPOIL THE PLOT

-- tear Of gOd by OnlyOneOf --

"So I can't escape, the pain mixed with you is still awake"

"When I was little, everyone said my art was beautiful, and that I could grow up to be a successful artist," Wookjin ranted on before taking another drink, "But what am I now? Just a useless good for nothing piece of shit."

Jisung patted his brother on the back. He has asked Wookjin to go out for a drink with him, completely forgetting Wookjin was a lightweight, and now has to accept the consequences that came with it.

"Come on I've seen your art - Van Gogh can't even compare, you just need time to complete pieces," Jisung said, trying to comfort Wookjin, "It's always going to be ok in the end. If it's not ok, then it's not the end."

Wookjin nodded in response before taking the alcohol bottle to pour himself another glass. Jisung quickly stopped him, knowing another drink was likely going to knock him out, and carrying an unconscious grown man all by himself was not something he was up to tonight.

Wookjin blinked when Jisung put his hand on the bottle, setting it back down and sliding it out of Wookjins reach. "That's enough drinking for tonight," Jisung sighed, "you are literally going to blackout if you drink any more."

A loud whine came from Wookjin. "I'm literally not drunk - you aren't my mother, stop telling me what to do," he wailed, clumsily reaching for the bottle again. Jisung slapped his hands away, before quickly grabbing them to wrap around his neck. Before you know it, Jisung has already holstered Wookjin onto his back and walking out the bar.

It was fairly late, and the streets were mostly deserted except for a few cars that came around.

"Shit it's cold," Wookjin mumbled, shivering. He snuggled closer to Jisung and set his head on his shoulder.

"Thanks for.. all of this," Wookjin murmured, half-conscious, "for listening to me and not leaving."

"Ya," Jisung replied, "You can always count on me, I won't betray you. I can't promise to fix all your problems, but I can promise that you won't have to face them alone."

That was three years ago. 

"Do you still remember that? What you last said?"

Jisung's eyes were wide, looking down at the bloodied figure leaning against the wall.

"All the empty promises you assured me," Wookjin continued, teeth gritted, head tilted towards the floor.
"'I won't betray you?'," he let out a low chuckle, voice laced with malice, "What a lie. If you did, you would've defended me. You would've defended me from our parents. But you didn't."

Jisung's lips were trembling. "I'm so sorry Wookjin... but there was no way I was able to defend you from their homophobic ways, they would be out for me if I did - but that was all in the past, we still have time to work it out just please-"

"Shut up!" Wookjin shouted, cutting him off. He raised his bloodied arm and pointed at the number that had been scratched onto it.
"Do you see this?" His head snapped up, eyes wide, lips curing upwards into a smile, "This number. Twenty-nine. I want you to take a good look at that number Jisung. Hammer that into your skull."

"What.. what are you talking about? I don't understand-"

"Don't understand?" Wookjin's smile somehow became wider, "That was the twenty-nine people you locked away. The twenty-nine individuals that were accused and tried for murders they didn't commit. Murders that all were executed the exact same way - but the evidence somehow all led to different lowlife scums scattered around the city? You knew who it is, who committed all these murders - but you still locked away twenty-nine innocent souls, some of them dead already, yet it was me the whole time. Lashing out at you, killing left and right, at twenty-nine different people that you knew, some of which you were even friends with. Killing every time you degraded me, mocked me, shoved me away. I would mark an innocent someone that you knew, so I could exact my revenge. Oh Jisung, twenty-nine people had died because of you."
Wookjin laughed maniacally, slipping a knife out of his pocket, "And now you can make it thirty."

Jisung flinched at the sound of wind and ripping skin. His eyes were wide, and he sucked in a shaking breath, trying to steady himself. He saw the shining silver blade rammed in his brother's neck, and blood was beginning to pool on the floor. The stuffy room reeked with the stench of iron. His vision became blurry, as he watched Wookjin's body slowly losing its strength, sliding towards the floor. His brother's gaze was still firmly set on Jisung, a small smile dancing on his lips. Wookjin opened his mouth to say his last words.

"But now I have grown up and no one's with me anymore, so I had to tell myself that my art is still beautiful... when I drew with silver and it comes out red."